[A/N] ... And another chapter completed! This was a busy week with lots of moving parts - most of them academic-related - but I'm glad that I was able to finish this, because we finally get to... well, I'll just let you read.
[DISCLAIMER] I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or anything related to it; that's Bethesda's deal, not mine (sadly). However, Ronan Sorleigh, Kajsa Red-Blade, and Fenella Cadarn are my original characters, and they belong to me.
CHAPTER X – Under Attack
The paws, black as night and tipped with razor-sharp claws, were the first thing that struck him. Ronan felt the breath yanked from his lungs as he fell back on the snowy ground and the hound leapt on his chest with a snarl, spittle dripping from its snaggle-toothed maw and red eyes glowing in the dark.
He flung out one hand in front of him to try and stave off the hound – or whatever it was – from his throat, gritting his teeth as he felt his shoulder being forced back with the effort. The other hand desperately scrabbled for one of his daggers. Come on, come on – please let it be here –
The hound-thing snarled, lunging forward again, and the Breton brought his weapon up and drove it into the beast's stomach. Letting out a whining growl, the hound collapsed on top of him as it died; Ronan gasped for breath as the weight of it collided with him.
He flailed in the snow for a moment and succeeded in wriggling out from underneath it, yanking his dagger out as he staggered to his feet, frantically looking around. Where in Oblivion did that thing come from?
"ZUN – HAAL VIIK!"
His head swiveled towards the source of the cry, still brandishing his weapon. Kajsa had her own blade out, stabbing an shambling, unarmed bandit dressed in furs; he disintegrated into ashes almost instantly.
Lowering her sword, the Dragonborn glanced over at him. "You all right?" she asked brusquely.
The Breton was about to answer when he saw a shadowy figure flit out from a wrecked homestead behind her. "Look out!"
Kajsa spun around, her blade flashing in a wide arc around her. Her new attacker – a stocky bearded man with pale, filthy skin and blazing orange eyes – snarled as he leapt back, summoning a sinister-looking crimson spell in one hand and aiming it towards her. The Dragonborn charged forward, but he dodged, slashing out at her with the steel sword he gripped in one hand. It caught Kajsa in the arm, slicing through her leather armor.
The Dragonborn cursed through gritted teeth. Switching her blade to her other hand, she drew a silver dagger from a sheath at her belt and brought it back to throw it at him.
Suddenly, her opponent stiffened, his sword falling from his grasp and the spell in his hand snuffing out. Letting out a choking gurgle, Kajsa's attacker dropped to the snowy ground; unlike the bandit before him, his body did not turn into ash.
Ronan blinked at the sight of the oddly short arrow protruding from the man's back where it had ran him through. Who fired that?
A gruff, rumbling voice came from behind him. "Nice work, boy."
Turning around, he saw a tall, broad-chested Orc with graying hair gathered into a topknot, wearing armor that the Breton had never seen before: a leather coat underneath a buckled, belted vest reinforced with steel plates, along with sturdy boots and gauntlets. A war axe with a strangely curved blade was tucked into his belt, and he held something that could be best described as a stubby, mechanical bow made of wood and steel; its utilitarian design reminded Ronan of a Dwemer mechanism.
"Thank you," he said finally, finding his voice. "Erm... good shot." The Breton gestured awkwardly back towards the dead man on the ground.
The Orc chuckled humorlessly. "Just have to fire before they do." He slung the odd bow onto his back, then turned to address Kajsa. "You're not bad with a blade yourself. The Dawnguard could use more warriors like you."
"I'm a bit busy ruling Skyrim at the moment," the Dragonborn said wryly, sheathing her sword and summoning a restoration spell to mend the cut on her arm. "Besides, I'm used to my opponents being slower than me."
His eyebrows lifted, but he bowed his head slightly. "Then I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at your swordsmanship, High Queen."
Ronan's brow furrowed. "Who are you? And what's the Dawnguard?"
"We're vampire hunters. We search out and destroy those bloodsucking scum wherever we find them." He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the dead man – vampire, Ronan corrected himself. "As for me, I'm Durak. I'm out recruiting anyone who wants to fight with the Dawnguard against the vampire menace."
"I haven't noticed any 'vampire menace,'" the Breton said hesitantly.
"I'd have to agree with him," Kajsa said coolly. "This is the first I've heard of it."
Durak snorted. "Then you aren't paying attention, High Queen, like most everyone else around here." Despite his caustic tone, he sobered. "A night ago, the Hall of the Vigilants was destroyed by vampires. They never took the threat seriously, and now they've paid the price."
The Dragonborn frowned. "Truly? The Vigil is wiped out?"
"I witnessed the destruction they left behind at the Hall. I've been tracking some of the bloodsuckers who perpetrated the attack, and one of them decided to flee up to Winterhold." He shrugged tightly. "You know the rest."
Kajsa's countenance was bleak. "My husband should be informed of this. I hope you do not object to accompanying my companion and I back to Windhelm; we'll need your testimony." Her voice was colder than the night air.
"Hold there, Orc." A helmeted guard holding a torch aloft approached them before the Dawnguard agent could answer. "What's going on here?"
"Vampire attack," Durak said shortly. "I'd suggest you make sure that the townspeople get inside and lock their doors."
"Vampires?" Despite the fact that his face was hidden, Ronan could almost hear the guard's eyes bugging out. "By Talos, what are we going to do?"
By now, other guards had clustered around the corpses of the vampire and the hound, murmuring fearfully to each other. Some townspeople exiting the tavern stopped in their tracks to stare in horror at the scene.
"I'll tell you what you can do." The Orc turned to the small crowd, raising his voice. "You can join the Dawnguard and help defend your homeland against these monsters." He smiled grimly. "Prayers won't make them die, but a few well-placed bolts definitely will."
A long silence hung in the air after his words. A few guards glanced at each other, but neither of them made to move forward.
"I'll do it." A heavyset, blond Nord man elbowed his way to the front of the crowd of tavern-goers. "I'll come with you and help you kill the bastards."
The Breton suppressed a gasp. That's him! The man Nocturnal had me pickpocket!
"Ranmir!" the young woman in the worn yellow dress next to him hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Doing something with my life, like you've always wanted me to do," Ranmir said acidly, his syllables slightly slurred. "Got no money, no prospects up in this shithole of a town – so why in Oblivion not, Birna? Tell me that."
Birna's face fell. "Please, brother," she pleaded. "I don't want to lose you."
Ignoring her, her sibling swaggered forward towards Durak. "So what do you think? Is the Dawnguard willing to take me?"
Durak examined him with a critical eye. Then: "I think Isran can make some use of you. Just lay off the drink and you'll be fine."
Ronan felt a chill seep through him as Nocturnal's words echoed in his mind again. You knew this would happen, he accused silently.
Oh, he was going to leave Winterhold at some point or another, the Daedric Prince purred. I – excuse me, you – just gave him a little incentive.
The Breton swallowed.
I'm not wholly malevolent, Ronan; I just have unorthodox ways of going about things. But now that you've met Durak... well, the pieces can start falling into place.
"The pieces of what?" he muttered.
As he expected, Ronan did not receive an answer.
"With all due respect, High King, I don't think you're grasping the severity of the situation." The woman's hard voice rang out in the still of the throne room. "The Vigil is all but wiped out and the Hall is destroyed. We need –"
"– aid in hunting down the vampires who attacked your comrades; I heard you before, Vigilant," Ulfric said coolly. "Forgive me, but I was under the impression that stamping out Daedra worship and hunting the undead was what the Vigil did."
"It would appear that the High King has already heard of what's transpired," Durak muttered to Kajsa, letting the tall bronze door fall shut behind him.
"Apparently," the Dragonborn agreed neutrally, beginning the long walk down the hall with the Orc beside her; after a pause, Ronan and Ranmir followed. "You didn't mention that there were survivors."
"That's because I didn't think there were any. The Vigil was always a soft bunch; they couldn't have hoped to stand up to an attack of this magnitude," Durak scoffed.
Upon hearing their approach, the woman standing before the throne turned around. She was a Breton, with long blonde hair pulled back from her round face in a tight plait and eyes like chips of ice. Raw, scarring slashes ran over her nose and mouth, marring her face, and there were bandages around her hands. Her robes were dirty and torn, and the steel mace hanging at her side looked suspiciously bloodstained.
"Vigilant Cadarn," the Orc stated flatly. "Somehow, I find it easy to believe that you made it out. Your blood too bitter for the vampires?"
Most likely. Nocturnal laughed herself, quiet and unsettling. When a person is consumed with hatred for too long a time, it starts to become part of who they are.
Like Mercer? Ronan asked hesitantly.
Like your father, she agreed. But the hatred of Vigilant Fenella Cadarn has nothing to do with jealousy or greed.
He was about to ask what the Daedric Prince meant by that, but Fenella cut into his thoughts. "Have you come to gloat, Durak?" she snarled. "Come to dance on the graves of my brothers and sisters – of my mother?"
"It's a shame about Keeper Carcette, Fen," the Orc conceded gruffly, "but it was bound to happen. You Vigilants were never prepared for this."
"Because we are not like the beasts we hunt," the Vigilant spat. "Stendarr and His Vigil stand for mercy – and Isran and his lot are godless, remorseless animals. I've heard the stories of his time with the Vigil, and they're enough to make even the strongest heart quail."
"Yet look who's survived," Durak said sardonically. "Not the Vigil, that's for damn sure."
Ulfric interjected before Fenella could retort. "And who might you be?"
The Orc stepped forward, inclining his head briefly. "Durak. I'm recruiting anyone who wants to fight the vampire menace alongside the Dawnguard. I saw the aftermath of the attack on the Hall of the Vigilant, and I was up in Winterhold tracking one of the bloodsuckers who did it."
The High King's eyes flitted to Kajsa before he turned his attention back to Durak. "Vampire hunters, you say? I expect you're here looking for potential recruits."
"The Dawnguard needs all the men and women it can get," Durak answered.
"I'd advise that you speak to my Captain of the Guard, Ralof. He might have some names for you." Ulfric waved his hand towards a door at the far end of the main hall. "He should be in the barracks."
The Vigilant was aghast. "So you're willing to give men to these – these barbarians and not lend any to one who is in need of men?"
"The guards are well-trained, but they are not prepared to face something as dangerous as a vampire," Kajsa cut in, stepping forward, "whereas hunting and killing vampires is what the Dawnguard does for a living. My husband and I are not willing to lose good men to something they can't possibly fight as they are."
Fenella's eyes narrowed. "Very well. If you will not aid me, High King –" she glared at Ulfric "– then I will seek help elsewhere."
"That would be best," the High King stated tightly, his eyes hard.
Without bowing, the Vigilant shouldered her way past Ronan and the others and made her way to one of the doors. She yanked it open and vanished into the night before it closed behind her.
Durak was the first to break the still. "I'll see what your Captain has to offer me, then." He turned around, clapping Ronan on the shoulder. "Change your mind about joining, boy?"
The Breton shook his head. For the entire ride back from Winterhold, Durak had been trying to recruit him; he'd demurred multiple times. "Thank you, but my fighting skills aren't exactly up to par to fight vampires."
"That's the whole point of the training," the Orc said, chuckling. "If you ever change your mind, boy, go to the old fort in Dayspring Canyon, southeast of Riften, and talk to Isran."
"I – I'll keep it in mind," Ronan conceded reluctantly.
Durak nodded approvingly. "I'll see you there, then." He started towards the door to the barracks; after a pause, Ranmir tore his eyes from the bottles of mead on the table and followed him.
As soon as they'd left, Ulfric stood and descended from his throne. "You have an eerie sense of timing, my Queen."
"I thought you needed a little help, so I swooped in to the rescue," the Dragonborn said wryly.
The High King smiled, shaking his head, but it only lasted for a moment before he frowned. "Were you indeed attacked by vampires in Winterhold?"
Kajsa shrugged. "Well, it was only one vampire..."
Ulfric's mouth tightened. "Kajsa –"
"Can the haranguing wait until we're somewhere less public?" she interrupted, glancing at Ronan.
"Of course," the High King said smoothly, turning towards the door to the war room. "I will be waiting for you – ol unstiid." With that, he walked away and disappeared into the adjoining chamber.
Sighing irritably, the Dragonborn faced Ronan. "I trust you know where the room you stayed in last time was at?"
The Breton chewed his lip. "Actually, if – if you have no more need of me, I – I was thinking I might as well leave."
Her face remained largely impassive, but something akin to concern flickered in her eyes. "Where will you go, then?" she asked coolly. "Back to Daggerfall?"
Ronan swallowed. He had no desire to go back to High Rock and the house that could never be a home again, back to the Guild with his failure hanging over him, back to Jolaine, the woman who'd lied to him – the woman he'd once loved.
I can't go back to the way things used to be. Now that I know...
"No," he finally said. "I – I can't go back." Even though he didn't say the words, it felt as though he was admitting that he was lost, that he had nowhere to turn.
Kajsa smiled, but it was rueful and bitter. "Then you go forward."
"You need a ride?" The cart's driver, bundled up in a thick fur cloak against the snow filling the night air, squinted down at him through the storm. "I can take you to any of the hold capitals for a price."
Ronan hesitated, his fingers clenching around Ranmir's coin purse as if it would help steel his resolve. He still had no idea what he was going to do, but at least he knew where he was headed.
"How much to go to Riften?"
[A/N] Well, I've finally kicked off the Dawnguard questline! (Took me long enough.)
Next chapter: Ronan pays a call on a certain Nightingale, and then gets himself into a spot of trouble when he crosses paths with an OC that readers of Mirage159's fics will definitely know. Until then, please leave a review, 'cause you know I love those things!