Chapter IV

The axe came down with a hefty force, splitting the small wooden log clean in two.

It was mid morning and Achilles was stood on the porch, watching the large Orc Burag chop some wood for the fire. Yesterday he had done rather well at fixing the roof, stopping the leak that was threatening to get worse. Now he was going through the pile of logs at an alarming rate.

"I don't like the way he holds that axe!" Arlianna screeched right in his ear-hole.

Achilles turned to his Breton caretaker with a scowl. "Do you have to scream that right in my lug?" he asked in annoyance.

"I wasn't screaming," she told him, folding her arms. "I'm just trying to warn you, but you're too pig-headed to listen."

"Okay then, how exactly should he hold it?" the old man questioned, angered by her incessant accusations regarding Burag's motivations.

Arlianna glared at him. "Not like he's about to cleave someone with it," she told him.

"For goodness sake woman, he's only chopping wood!"

"Now he his. Just you wait, he'll be using it to cleave skulls before too long. Nothing but a barbarian that one."

Achilles decided to ignore her prattling. All she had done since he had first met her was moan and complain about everything. It was becoming tedious to say the least.

"Are you listening to me!?" she questioned.

"Would you either shut up, or leave!" he snapped. "I'd prefer it if you left!"

Arlianna stared at him for a moment. "Well, I can see you're in one of your moods," she chided.

"Only when you're around," he shot back.

"I see. Well I'll leave you be till tea time. Hopefully by then you'll have started to act your age, and not like a child."

"Fine," Achilles accepted wondering if she knew the irony of what she had just said. Though it was unlikely that she did. Regardless, he would much prefer to have a discussion with Burag, rather than verbally duel with her. So far the Orc had said very little, and Achilles wanted to find out more about him.

In truth though, he was a little afraid to ask. He did in fact know a little about the Orc, from what he had seen in his dreams. The Rampaging Orc in them, and the one that had been chopping wood only moments before were very different people. Something had changed him. What exactly he wasn't really sure.

With one final swing, Burag cut the last piece, before scooping up a handful of cut wood, bringing it over to the house, carefully stacking it atop of the pile of wood by the side of the house.

"You're certainly the hard worker," Achilles commented.

"Yeah," he said before turning to grab some more wood.

"Leave that for now, I want to have a chat," Achilles told him.

Burag stopped what he was doing and turned around. "Okay, I s'pose."

After clearing some phlegm that had built up in the back of his throat with a cough, Achilles began. "So, what brought you here?"

"I dunno," Burag said. "I got a feeling, so I followed it."

"And it led you here?"

"I s'pose," Burag responded.

Already Achilles could tell that it would be quite difficult to get anything out of the Orc. He had a deep emotional wound, as well as real ones in the form of scars that littered his face. One scar in particular had caught the old Cyrodilic man's attention from the moment he first saw him. It was a large one on his right cheek.

"How did you get that nasty scar on your cheek?" Achilles asked.

"Arrow,"

"Looks like it was painful," he observed.

"Can't really remember it that well."

"I think I'd remember an arrow going into my face quite clearly."

"Yeah?" Burag asked, showing annoyance. "Well I don't."

Achilles realised that he was aggravating the Orc, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. "If you don't want to talk about it then I won't bother you," the old man said as he turned for the house.

He wondered if it was even possible to get Burag to open up. If it was, then it was unlikely that he'd be the one to do it. He wasn't really a people person, and often came across as pushy, and he knew it.

The truth of the matter was that Burag was very important to Achilles. The reason was because he showed the old man that his dreams did have some foundation in reality, that they weren't some crazed reoccurring dream that he'd put unfounded faith into.

Then there was the issue of the source of his dreams. Were they Divine, or were they Daedric? That one question had plagued him most of his life. While there wasn't anything that felt evil in his visions, there was always that chance that something foul had corrupted him long ago. Much like what he felt had happened to Burag, but with far less blood-letting.

Still, from what he'd read, Daedra preferred a more direct approach to that of visions, or at least that was what he'd read and heard. They preferred blights, deaths and general corruption. This was none of that. It was simple visions of others, most of which hadn't even been born when he started having them.

Achilles stepped inside the house, closing the door shut behind him.

"Finished acting like a child?" Arlianna asked him, her arms folded, her face covered in a deep frown.

The old man sighed before he pulled the door open and stepped right back outside again.

Durza was dressed in her heavy armour, with a hefty shield in her left hand and a sword in her right. All of it was made from the thick metal known as Orichalcum.

She was leading Valerie, Rontag and Jo'Agro along the road, hoping they could see any sign of Meratur and Wren. So far they hadn't found anything.

They would get as far as Dragon Bridge then turn back. None of their rides ever took them further than that, and if they weren't there, then they might be on the mountain road that lay to the north.

There was a chance that they'd been caught off guard by a bear, or even the ghost-like apparition of an ice-wraith. They could be injured, and need help. It was unfortunate that they didn't know which route they'd taken.

Finally, they arrived at the small village sometime in the early afternoon. They asked around to no avail. They hadn't come here, which meant they'd probably taken the mountain road.

Despite Valerie recommending they rest and eat something before they continued on, Durza refused and pushed on, taking them back along the road.

They would find the junction and head up the mountain road to see if there was any sign of the two up there.

Meratur watched as the same two Nords from before opened his cell, and placed a plate of meat in front of him.

"I am going to untie you," the male told him. "We have taken precautions. If you notice, we have put an amulet of silence around your neck. That will stop any spells you might think of casting on us. If you try and reach for it, then we'll kill you. Understand?"

"Yes," Meratur said. "I understand."

The woman moved around the back of him, and untied his wrists. He waited till she had moved back out of the cell before he moved his hands around in front of him, stretching them out as he did so.

The cell door closed shut, but the two remained, watching him as he took some of the meat and took a bite out of it.

"We think that you're innocent in all this," the woman told him. "We think that you were tricked, and we want to prove it to you."

Meratur finished chewing the meat, and swallowed it before addressing them. "I believe you have made a mistake," he told them simply. "She isn't a vampire. She cannot be a vampire."

"How do you know her?" the man questioned. "And how long have you known her?"

"I was in the Imperial Legion around twenty-five years ago. I met her there."

"That's a long time," the woman pointed out. "I guess she looks different now then she did back then. Even an elf will show a change in that time."

He had to admit. The first thing he'd thought when he'd laid eyes on her was on how little she'd changed. She looked as he remembered her. But that didn't mean she was undead.

"She hasn't changed has she?" the man asked with a satisfied smirk. "She looks exactly the same as she did twenty-five years ago."

"Means nothing," Meratur said, dismissing it. "I know of a fellow Altmer who's over a hundred-and-eighty and looks like any human of forty-five to fifty. Just because she looks how I remember twenty-five years ago, doesn't mean that she hasn't aged."

"You're letting your feelings of friendship and loyalty get in the way," the woman told him. "It's blinding you from the truth."

"You are unbelievable!" Meratur snapped. "Just because I don't remember her looking different doesn't make her a vampire!"

"What about her flesh?" the man asked him.

Meratur's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Is her flesh cold?"

"A bit, but what does that have to do with anything. She's used to the climate of Cyrodiil, not Northern Skyrim. When I first moved to High Rock people noticed how cold my extremities were. It means nothing."

"Doesn't it?" the man questioned. "What about her eyes? What colour are they."

Meratur knew where the man was going with this, and he had no time for more foolish games. "What colour are a Dunmer's eyes?" he asked right back. "She has red eyes, as do the Dunmer. I might also add that she is of mixed descent, Dunmer being one of them."

"Do you know that for certain?" the woman questioned. "Or is that some story she made up?"

The Altmer shook his head. "You're grasping at nothing." He picked up the meat and began to eat some more of it. He no longer wanted to continue this stupid conversation.

"You simply don't want to admit it."

"It is not that. It is because you failed to convince me. Give me something that is evidently, undeniably true and I'll believe it."

"We've done that," the woman told him. "You just refuse to accept it."

"Again, I have to disagree. You have given me three reasons, which can all be explained without jumping to the absurd conclusion that she's a vampire."

"You're blind to the truth," the man said sympathetically.

"No, you haven't put forth the necessary evidence."

The woman sighed, shaking her head. "The elf's kinda right y'know."

The man looked at her sceptically. "How so?"

"Well we're asking him to believe someone he knows is a vampire, with very little evidence beyond our say so."

Meratur felt a little snark coming on. "Well, she's a smart one."

She glared at him. "Unless you want to be bound and gagged, I suggest you refrain from those kinda comments."

"I understand." He didn't really want his hands bound again. It was his hope that when they left, they would forget to bind his hands back up, and he could remove the amulet of silence they had put around his neck. Then he could figure a way out of here without having to worry about the binds or the amulet.

The man began scratched his face. He looked at the woman, then at Meratur. "What kinda evidence would convince you?"

"I don't know. If she had an obvious aversion to sunlight, which she doesn't"

"How about a repel undead spell?" the man suggested. "A powerful one?"

"Only if it affects her," Meratur told them. "Whatever you do has to affect her in a way that it wouldn't affect a mortal."

"Then that's what we do," the woman agreed.

"Of course," Meratur continued, "You have to catch her, which I doubt you'll accomplish."

"Don't be too sure of that. We'll get her, it's only a matter of when."

The man gestured to someone who was out of Meratur's sight. An Altmer dressed in white robes stepped into view, before he placed his hand over the lock to his cell.

"There is now a seal over the lock," the Nord man said. "Try and use magic to open it, and it'll kill you. Understand?"

"Yes," Meratur replied, fully understanding the implications of what the man had just said.

It seemed he would have to rethink his intended method of escape, as using magic was now not a very wise option..

Sneaking into Solitude was easy. Especially when you knew a few tricks like Wren did.

She moved through the city as swiftly as possible towards her house, not drawing any undue attention to herself. She arrived at her front door, and promptly unlocked it.

Looking around the house, it quickly became clear that Durza wasn't here. Her armour and weaponry was even gone, which meant that she was probably out looking for them.

Now she had two choices. Wait for the Orsimer to return or go out looking for her. Wren decided that she couldn't just sit here for the next several hours.

After relieving her self in the rest-room, she grabbed some fresh clothes, a large satchel and as much coin as she could fit in it. Then, she promptly made her way out of her house, her destination being the blacksmith. It was her hope that she could grab some decent weaponry, before she headed out.

It wast too bad the local smiths knew nothing about making crossbows, as she could have done with one about now. Whatever he had in stock would have to do, as she didn't have the time to wait for him to smith anything.

Making her way through the castle grounds and through the arch to where the blacksmith had his shop, she found him outside by the forge, a line of steel swords on a table.

"Excuse me?" she said, getting his attention.

The smith near jumped clear out of his skin. "Woah!" he barked. "Where did you sneak up from!?"

"Lost in thought?" she asked him.

He nodded, resting his hand on his chest. "Something like that. What can I do for you?"

"I need a good sword," she told him.

He gestured towards the table. "We got Nord steel, Imperial steel and some iron I made for those who don't have the coin. A lot come through looking for cheap swords." He smiled. "But I hear retirement for an ex-general is quite generous."

"Anything better?" she asked, anticipating disappointment.

"Better?" he questioned. "If you want better, then I s'pose you can order one. If you have the material you want it made of, then I'll smith you one up the best I can. Might take a few days, though."

"I guess Nord steel will have to do."

The smith, who Wren had never learnt the name of, screwed his face up. "Don't say it like that. Makes it sound like Nord steel is useless."

"Not at all," she said, not wanting to offend him lest he raise the price. "I'll take a steel sword."

"I'll sell you one for fifty gold, how's that sound?"

"I'll take it," she said, reaching into her satchel. She passed him the gold and took one of the Nordic steel swords off of the table.

"I hope it serves you well," the smith said, as he turned back to his forge.

She promptly left, heading silently along the road hoping that she would find Durza. While she didn't really like the Orc, she needed her help to save Meratur, as she was undoubtedly a skilled warrior, and would make an excellent diversion.

The road was much colder up here then it was further down in the Haafingar mountain range. Durza had led the small group all the way up here from Dragon Bridge, as they had been known to ride this way. The late afternoon air was surprisingly crisp, and all around them the ground was covered in soft white snow.

The Orc stopped and raised her head, sniffing at the air. Rontag looked over at his wife with frown.

"What's wrong?" Valerie whispered to her husband.

"She's sniffing the air like a dog again," he replied.

"I heard that!" Durza warned him. "But that's not important now. I smell the flesh of the recently dead on the wind."

"They're dead!?" Valerie questioned in distress.

Durza looked at her with annoyance. "Not them, fool; something else." She began to move on, the rest following closely behind.

It wasn't till they moved over a crest in the road did they see a dead horse with a pack of three wolves eating its carcass.

"Disgusting," Jo'Agro said under his breath.

The Orc raised her hand and the others stopped. "That is Meratur's horse," she told them.

"Looks like they were attacked," Rontag said. "Bandits?" he questioned.

The Orc drew her sword. "We won't find out with those wolves in the way."

Rontag reached for his two-handed battle-axe, before he remembered with a grimace that he no longer had it. He awkwardly drew his steel sword as Valerie drew her imperial sword. Jo'Agro on the other hand simply stood and watched as the three of them began to move forward, towards the wolves.

One of the wolves pulled its head out of the horse's gut and began to growl. The other two did the same shortly after.

"Pick a target," Durza said to the two Nords. "I'm taking the largest one."

The wolves began to move around the dead animal, protecting it from the threat before them.

"I'll take the one on the far side," Rontag said.

"I guess I have middle," Valerie said.

"No messing around," Durza told them firmly. "Go for the brain, neck or heart. Preferably the brain." Durza began to run towards the targets, catching the two Nords off guard. They increased their own pace, keeping up with the Orc. The wolves began to move themselves, bolting towards the three that approached them.

The Orc raised her sword up, angling it so that it was facing downwards. As the wolf lunged at her, she brought it down, the blade penetrating its skull.

Valerie and Rontag on the other-hand, had a little more trouble. Valerie swung at her target, but it leapt clear, while Rontag simply swung his sword wildly, unsure how to properly wield it, unlike a battle-axe.

Durza moved over from the lifeless wolf before her, and promptly decapitated the one Valerie was fighting, before moving over to Rontag's target stabbing it through the side of the head.

The Orc glared at the two Nords for a moment, disgusted by their incompetence. She then continued on towards the dead horse. She knelt by it, before looking around at the tree-line.

"Do you think the wolves attacked them?" Rontag asked.

Durza looked over at him before shaking her head. "No, this horse was killed by fire."

"Fire?" Valerie asked looking around. "As in magic fire?"

"It smells like magic."

"You can smell it?" Rontag questioned disbelieving.

The Orc stood up inhaled deeply. "Meratur!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

"Think they're nearby?" Valerie asked her.

The Orc looked back down at the horse. "It is worth trying," she told the Nord.

"Do we continue on?" Rontag asked.

"Yes," Durza said. "We shall head another mile or so down this road."

"And after that?" Valerie asked.

Without answering, Durza began to make her way down the road. Valerie and Rontag moved after her, while Jo'Agro ran to catch them up.

"Meratur!" Durza shouted again.

"One moment!" Jo'Agro said urgently, stopping in his tracks. The others halted, turning to him.

"What is it!?" Durza questioned.

"Jo'Agro thought he heard someone shout the Orc's name," the Khajiit told them.

"Was it Meratur?"

"Khajiit does not know," he said. "However, it came from behind."

In an instant Durza was moving quickly past him, back in the direction from which they had come. "Meratur!" she shouted even louder.

Faint on the wind, they heard someone shout something back. The Orc broke into a jog, the others following her close behind.

"Meratur!" Durza shouted.

"Meratur!" Rontag joined in.

Suddenly they heard the crackling of flame. They looked around to see Jo'Agro shooting fireballs into the sky. "A marker," he told them. "To guide the one shouting Durza's name this way."

The Orc shouted Meratur's name once more. They then listened to what sounded like a female voice shouting back.

"Wren!" the Orc sputtered. "If she has gotten Meratur killed, then I will show her, her own heart!"

"Woah!" Rontag blurted out in surprise. "Bit much don't y'think?"

Durza stopped, as did the others. "We wait here," she said ignoring him. "When she gets here, she better explain herself!"

"I'm sure she'll tell us what happened," Valerie said confidently.

Wren soon became visible as she made her way up along the road. She broke into a run, quickly coming up on them.

The first thing that the two Nords noticed was at how unusually young she looked. The second was at how oddly pretty she was.

"Where's Meratur!" Durza bellowed at her.

"Calm yourself," Wren responded, her voice harsh. "We were attacked along this road, and Meratur has been taken captive."

The Orc looked her up and down. "You've changed your attire," she observed.

"I went to Solitude looking for you." She looked at the other three that stood with her. "Who are they?"

"The Nords are friends of Meratur. The cat is a tag-along."

"Hey!" Jo'Agro said in defiance. "Khajiit is not a tag-along."

"So where is he?" the Orc questioned furiously.

"In an old fort, Northwatch Keep."

"Take us there now!" Durza shouted.

"I intend to," Wren responded calmly. "Follow me."