The rattling and jostling of the cart brought Taylor back into wakefulness more gently than one might expect. Finding her hands bound finished the job somewhat more forcefully immediately thereafter. She snapped her head up and jerked away, trying to get her head clear. The prisoner across from her reached out and grabbed her by the wrists, preventing her from falling out of the cart they were riding in.
"Whoa there. Wouldn't want you to fall and break your head, would we?" Taylor gingerly sat down, glancing over her shoulder at the rocky edges of the path. The blonde man smiled at her, "There we go. Glad to see you're finally awake."
"Where am I?"
"We're on the road to Helgen. You walked right into an Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." The man jerked his head at a dirty man in sackcloth clothes.
The thief snorted, "She shouldn't be on this cart at all, and neither should I!" He turned to look Taylor in the eye, "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." He tilted his head, glaring at the blond man. "If it hadn't been for you lot, I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now."
The blond man snorted, then glanced at Taylor. Noticing her confusion, he said, "You chose a bad time to try and cross the border. At least you made it into Skyrim, yeah?"
Taylor thought for a moment, then opened her mouth to ask where Skyrim was. She doubted she'd get an answer that meant anything to her, but it was worth a shot.
She didn't get a chance, though, when the thief spoke up, "Hey, what's with this guy, anyway?"
The man he was speaking about looked up to glare at him, unable to do more with the gag in his mouth.
"Watch your tongue, thief. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"
"Shut up back there!" The soldier driving the cart called back at the group. Taylor eyed the thief's quiet panic attack as he tried to get away from the gagged man at the end of the cart. Trying to be subtle about it, Taylor glanced around at the trees and the path the cart was rumbling down.
Guards on horses lead and trailed both carts, and she could spot glimpses of other soldiers in their red armor keeping pace with the caravan through the trees. Frowning to herself, she leaned over to the blond man and murmured, "Who's Ulfric Stormcloak, and why is he important enough to panic the thief like that?"
Keeping his own voice as low as hers, the man replied, "He's the leader of the Stormcloaks; we're opposing the Empire and the Thalmor, who are trying to take away our gods. We were named after him, and wear his symbol on our armor, see?" Shifting, the man displayed a metal disc, etched with a stylized bear head.
The rest of the ride went in silence. Taylor turned the information she had over in her head. She'd never focused much on religion, but could think of a few wars from home that had started over similar conflicts. They probably felt entirely justified in rebelling against these Imperials. The fact that she was in the same cart as the leader of a rebellion was disquieting. It sounded like they'd just been caught, though.
Taylor ran her bound hands through her hair, gently. She couldn't feel any bumps or tender spots, but she couldn't remember anything between the locker and waking up in the cart, which wasn't a good sign. She'd just ask for a doctor when they got processed as prisoners.
Taylor roused from her thoughts when she heard the the head of the caravan hailing the town they were coming into. As the carts rumbled through the gates, the blond man spat, "Look at him, General Tullius the military governor! And the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves."
Taylor craned her neck to see a balding man in a shinier, more elaborate version of the armor the soldiers around her were wearing. He was speaking to three people with golden skin, pointed ears, and elaborate costumes. She ignored the thief muttering prayers to gods she'd never heard of and the rebel soldier waxing poetic about walls and mead, trying to figure out how she'd gotten here.
The carts rumbled to a stop while she was comparing the Thalmor to the larger organizations of parahumans she knew about. They didn't really seem to have much in common. None of the parahumans she knew of had such similar outfits. The gold skin suggested powers of some kind in play, though. The thief made a break for it during processing and was promptly shot in the back by the archers. Taylor tried to keep the shock and horror from her face, hiding it from the soldiers surrounding her, but by the time the soldiers had turned back to prisoner processing, her head had started to ache.
It was clear that she wasn't on Earth Bet anymore, but the only alternate world she knew of was Aleph, which was much more similar than this place. What in the world could have caused such a sharp divergence to create a situation like this? And how did she get here?
"Wait. Who ... are you?"
"Taylor Hebert. Uh, of Brockton Bay."
"Huh. Never heard of it. Captain, what should we do, she's not on the list?"
"Forget the list, she goes to the block."
"What, but I haven't don-"
"Shut up." The woman in fancy, shiny armor turned to glare at the soldier who looked distinctly unhappy, "Make sure she gets to the block, or join her there."
"By your orders, Captain." The woman walked away, "I'm sorry. I'll make sure your remains get back to Broketon Bay."
Taylor stumbled forward in a bit of a daze. She started backing away at the Captain's call of, "Next prisoner, the girl in the rags!"
With a mournful tone and a firm hand on her shoulder, the soldier from before started guiding her forward, "To the block, prisoner, nice and easy."
He handed her off to a human-cat hybrid in soldiers robes, and the cat started pushing her down onto the block. Taylor resisted , but with her hands bound, the best she could do was struggle a bit and stomp on his foot. "Thsss, watch yourself, prisoner, this one does not want to make this any harder than it has to be."
Now parallel with the block, Taylor could kick up more easily. The armor protected him somewhat, but he still went down with a low whine, curling into a little ball. A new soldier took his place, "Face your death with some dignity, girl. No need to make this harder than it has to be."
"Dignity is no use to the dead!" Taylor tried to kick this one, too, but he was prepared for her, and simply knelt on her legs before forcing her neck to the block.
"What in Oblivion is that?!"
"Sentries, what do you see?"
"It's in the clouds!"
And then, as the headsman raised his axe, the disturbance wasn't in the clouds anymore. It landed on the nearby tower, and roared. Taylor's eyes widened, and the headsman turned around. It's a dragon. The sky overhead had started to swirl, and the dragon seemed to regard the tangle of bodies at the block with disdain before breathing forcefully in their direction.
Everyone went tumbling, and Taylor lost focus for a moment, unable to keep her balance.
"Come on girl, the gods won't give us another chance! Focus!"
Her eyes blinked clear to see the blonde rebel from earlier, trying to get her to follow him. When he saw her stumbling upright to hurry after him, he turned and ran towards a nearby tower. Trying to ignore the shaking of her body and the pounding of her head, Taylor took a step to follow him, then immediately took three steps back as a boulder the size of her head smashed to the ground in front of her.
Wide-eyed, she looked up to see more rocks hurtling from the sky. One crashed through the wagon she'd been brought here in, reducing the cart to splinters and shaking the earth. The blond man she was following shouted something she couldn't make out, gesturing toward a tower behind him and beckoning her to follow. A shadow passed briefly overhead, then the earth shook again as another rock slammed into the ground behind her.
Startled, heart hammering, she leaped over the rock, nearly losing her footing when she landed just slightly wrong. A few stumbling steps later, she'd regained her footing and reached the extended hand of the blond rebel. He grabbed her and pulled her inside the shelter of the tower. One of the other blue-armored rebels slammed the heavy oak door behind her.
"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"
"Legends don't burn down villages." Someone had removed the Jarl's gag. The fact that he was calmly dismissing a potential source of information rubbed Taylor the wrong way. She opened her mouth to ask if these legends had any information, perhaps a weakness to weapons coated in spit or a dislike for potatoes. Something. Anything. She had raised her hand to gesture as she spoke, though, and cut off when she realized she was still bound. She turned to the Stormcloak next to her to ask for assistance.
"We're lucky we got them inside when we did," that person muttered, before she could get a word out. She glanced down and blanched at the small pool of blood beneath the woman he was tending. Continuing, he said, "I don't think they'd have lasted long outside."
Privately agreeing, she moved away to talk to the rebel she'd followed inside. He grabbed her shoulder, grinning, "I can't believe we made it! We survive the dragon attack and get out of here, and we'll be home free. Come on, I need you upstairs." He pulled her toward the stairs before she had a chance to ask for help getting unbound.
They still needed to escape, so Hadvar wanted her to help moving rocks away from the top of the tower. Just before they reached the top of the tower, the wall exploded. The beast's head was as big as she was, and it bathed the room in flames before flying off.
"We'll need to jump across." A few moments glance confirmed his guess. Collapsed walls, collapsed buildings, and trails of flame had hemmed them in. The only way out of this trap was through the inn just on the other side of the gap.
"I don't think I can make it!"
"You can. Go! We'll follow as quickly as we can."
Taking a deep breath, Taylor leapt across the gap. Her feet landed on the exposed beams that had once held up the inn's roof, and slipped off. She tumbled to the thatch and slid down, landing roughly on the rocks below.
One hand pressed to her aching side, Taylor pulled herself to her feet, looking around wide-eyed. She'd landed between the inn and the mountain, with no way to get back into the main square or somehow get through the inn. Hustling along the back of the inn, Taylor searched for some way through.
There it was, a gap! Filled with flame, of course. Wonder who's responsible for that. Taylor glared balefully at the sky. It was the only way through. Taylor took a deep breath and charged through the flames.
She hit the ground and rolled the moment she was through, putting out any flame that might have hitched a ride on her clothes. Coughing, she looked up to see the soldier who'd tried to take her side earlier rushing a boy into cover.
"Still alive, Taylor? Good. Stick close to me if you want to stay that way." He looked like he genuinely was happy to see her well, and he seemed to know where they were going. One glance at the burning inn behind her settled the question of whether to follow. She had no idea what the layout of this town was like, and between collapsed buildings and roaring fires, she might not survive long enough to escape execution. As they raced toward an alley behind a burning house, Taylor stuck close to the wall on his advice.
When the dragon landed above them, the earth shook. The corpse that dropped from its claws bounced up, and hit Taylor in the face. As she looked at the deep furrows the claws had made in his flesh, and smelled the caramelized flesh, Taylor swayed a bit; the sight made bile rise in her throat. This is no time to be sick, Taylor thought as she shoved her queasiness away. Her head started to hurt, but the dragon had taken off, so she followed the soldier, Hadvar, down to the keep.
They passed through an open area where the General from the execution had rallied the troops. They didn't have time to pause, but Taylor glanced over her shoulder at the soldiers flinging bolts of fire into the sky. They really lucked out, that power granter surviving. Those fireballs look like they're doing much more damage than the bows those other guys are using. I wonder why only three people are using that power?
The dragon swooped over them just before they passed under a stone arch between two thick walls surrounding the main keep. She didn't understand the language it was speaking, but its deep voice rumbled with power. Her body rattled as it passed over her, the sound of its voice vibrating her bones.
As the soldier and the blond rebel stopped in the courtyard to argue, Taylor paused to catch her breath. The sound of a deep voice speaking words she didn't understand made her look up, where she saw the dragon circling above the keep, and coming in for a landing. We need to be inside now!
Using bound hands to shove the two idiots in front of her through the closest door was not particularly easy, but the dragon was a powerful motivator. Standing in the barracks with a fellow prisoner and the only one of the executioners who seemed to care that she wasn't supposed to be there, she rounded on the two of them. "What is wrong with the two of you?! We're under attack right now, and you're fighting with each other instead of the thing out there that wants us all dead? Haven't either of you ever heard of a truce?"
One of them opened his mouth, and she jabbed her hands in his face, "No. Shut up. We are currently separated from that thing by a thin stone wall, and it's already demonstrated how easy it finds punching through those. You are going to work with him." She jabbed her hands at the other one, "And you are going to work with him. We are going to get out of here without killing each other, then go our separate ways. Are we clear?"
The two soldiers eyed each other. Hadvar spoke up first, "Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off."
Ralof nodded, "We should get you a sword, maybe some armor. Ah, wouldn't want you to depend only on me and this guy."
Hadvar's knife cut through the bindings on Taylor's hands with ease. He grinned at her, then waved toward the rack of weapons on the far wall. "There's a sword there, and there should be some armor in the chest. While you take care of that, we'll figure out how this truce is going to work."
Taylor rubbed at her wrist as she stepped around the wall. The cheap burlap clothes she'd been wearing were quickly replaced a number of articles salvaged from the chest in the corner. Ignoring the soft sounds of argument, she carefully kept the divider between her and the space the two men were using.
Among the things in the chest were some clothes. She wasn't sure what the technical terms were, but they were about the right size, and the way they were inteded to be worn was obvious. Over that, she slipped on what was essentially a leather dress. All the straps were in the front, so she spent a few moments adjusting them for a better fit.
A sword had been in the chest in addition to the one hanging on the wall. Taylor tested the heft of both of them, and selected the one that felt slightly lighter. Hanging the other on the wall, she tilted her head to listen to the two men she'd pulled into the keep. They had gone quiet.
Stepping cautiously around the divider, she glanced at the two men shaking hands solemnly. The rebel turned to her, "We've agreed on a truce. We'll work together until we're in Riverwood. It's the closest place to Helgen. Then we'll wait until the next sunrise to end the truce; that's to give us time to get away from each other."
"I'm keeping my eye on you, though, traitor," the soldier said. "Can't keep loyal to the Empire, can't keep a truce, I'm betting."
"You're the one who's sucking off the Thalmor and abandoning the gods. Give up your gods, give up on the truce! I've got my eye on you, you son of a bitch."