I looped Lore's reins around a tree branch and peered through the crumbling pillars and tall grasses towards what could only be Sancre Tor. My meeting in Chorrol had gone well and I had succeeded in gathering aid for Bruma from every major city in Cyrodiil save the capital. I still wasn't happy about the Chancellor, but I understood his position. He truly had no other choice. Just as I had no other choice as I now faced Martin's most recent task.

Something moved in the mist on the mountain and I started forward slowly from Lore's side. He whinnied uneasily and I waved a hand backwards at him, signaling him to be quiet. These were dangerous places we were in now and I couldn't afford to lose my only companion. In addition to being a friend, Lore was my swiftest ride back to Cloud Top. I highly doubted the local mountain lions were agreeable to passengers.

As it was, however, I doubted even more that there were any mountain lions in the area- or any other living creatures. The same tense, slinking aura of nastiness that surrounded Hackdirt was present in this place, too. My mind wandered over Martin's description of the fort: it had once been the home of the Blades and Emperor, the oldest known resting place and memorial to the Empire in all of Cyrodiil. But it had been over run with an evil necromancy many, many years ago and now no one dared enter its gates. It was kept locked and the key guarded by the head of the Blades himself: Jauffre.

The precious key which kept such evil from roaming Cyrodiil at will…which now lay about my neck on a strip of cloth I'd torn from my hemline. I would have worried about defaming its importance with such an action, except that when you're a hero, you tend to stop worrying about how things look. I could have cared less what Jauffre thought of my hanging the key about my neck like it was a road stand bauble. I wasn't doing any of these things for him, after all.

I was startled from my musings by a sudden movement to my left and I turned just in time to draw my sword and slice through a skeleton warrior. My heart didn't even have time to race with excitement before I was watching the now destroyed bones fall to the ground. I decided to leave my sword unsheathed after that and started forward impassively once more. It was a miracle I'd remembered to even pack my magically charged weapons at all for the trip. I much preferred cold blades of steel and iron to those that crackled with electricity and magic. I had no use for mages, wizards or anyone else who thought he could rule the forces of nature. Show me a man who wields magic and I will show you a corpse. Perhaps it was my Nordic blood which gave me a better fighting chance against such men, an immunity to magic, if you will, but I would never put much store by the practice. I used it myself because I had to; the plains of Oblivion were unforgiving to non magic users. I had seen enough corpses in those hellish lands to believe I need either use my spells or die where I stand.

I walked forward more aware, but no more concerned. I was facing demons every other day of the week; why would I be worried about a little, cursed, damned, necromancy filled fort?

I paused and peered through to the building once more, securing myself behind one of the broken stones. Crouching down, I waited…what I was waiting for, I wasn't sure. My courage to return, perhaps. Although I was used to skeletons and demons, the nearer I drew to the heavy oak doors of the locked fort, the weaker my knees grew. It was inexplicable that I should be so terrified of a legend. Why, no Blade had entered the premises for near on centuries. Why should I be so frightened of mere rumors? There was no telling what actually lay beyond the doors; for all anyone knew the demonic presence which had filled the halls so many years ago had long since departed.

I willed my courage to return and stood again, shakily, glancing over my shoulder one last time before heading forward again. I could not see Lore through the debris and mist any longer, but I knew he was there. I only hoped I had tied him up far enough away so that he would not be in danger. Had I remembered to heal him after our stay in Chorrol? No, there was no time to go back and check now. If I turned from the task at hand I might never return to it, I knew. The truth was, I had no idea what to expect in those halls…but Martin would never purposefully lie to me. Which meant if he thought the place was still dangerous and did not relish asking me to complete the task for him, I ought to listen to my instincts. And my instincts were telling me to run back to Lore as fast as possible and ride him hard all the way back to Skyrim. My mouth quirked in a smile and I felt hysteria trying to bubble its way past my lips.

No, I told myself, concentrate. You have done so much already. This is just another path on the road to salvation. Focus and keep at it. It will be over soon. I shook my head to regain my focus and suddenly found myself before the locked doors of Sancre Tor. Blinking, I took a deep breath and ripped the key from about my neck, muttering a quick prayer to the All-Maker before quickly inserting the key into the lock and turning it. Then, with a mighty shove, I opened the doors, pushing them across the darkened threshold of the damned fortress.

I was not prepared for the icy blast of air which greeted me. It was cold and smelled foul, like old bones and dead rats. It rushed past me in a belch as the fresh air crept inside and lifted the hem of my cuirass, blowing the hood from my head. I lifted the cloth over my hair again and raised my sword high by my side before continuing inside. The halls were not as dark as I had initially thought; after my eyes adjusted to the entrance, I realized an unearthly glow seemed to pulse from some unseen source. I remained in a thieving stance. Although I knew that anything supernatural was bound to see me regardless of any spells I cast or my creeping ways, I felt safer- more cautious- in the crouched position. More ready to fight at a moment's notice.

I hefted my sword a little higher and continued on. In truth, though they were occasionally interesting places to loot, the old forts were complete mazes to me. They made me yearn for the uncomplicated forts of my native Northern lands and the simple wooden and stone buildings with their great halls and upstairs bedrooms. The buildings of Cyrodiil were round and full of stairs and pillars and hallways which went nowhere, filled with nooks and crannies anyone could hide in- and successfully ambush me from. I hated them. They made my skin crawl and Sancre Tor was doing an even better job than the usual fare did.

I disposed of a few more undead skeletons before I made my way through the underground hallways to what was once the great hall of the fort. Glancing around, I cautiously picked my forward through the lingering cobwebs and grimy passages into the large, domed space. I paused at the head of some stairs and looked ahead into the dim, wavering light and could see another staircase across a wide, open floor that led up to some kind bridge walkway.

There was a movement upon that floating walkway- an ethereal figure appeared to be pacing back and forth, but it had yet to spot me. I watched it for a few seconds more, debating on my next action. Should I tackle the cursed spirit now or wait until I had explored more of the ruined fort? I decided upon the former and started my cautious walk down the stairs and across the empty floor.

There was no denying it now; I was genuinely frightened of the thing I was heading for. How could I not be? Any intelligent warrior feels some degree of fright upon encountering an enemy for the first time…especially a new enemy as strange and powerful as the thing I was certainly heading for.

Anything not immediately recognizable beyond the normal undead skeletons and liches was probably very old and very strong and I was right to be concerned. I felt naked and very alone in the middle of that bare space, staring up the staircase that would take me to my newest trial. I could hear the murmuring, disquieted voices of the spirits that had died within Sancre Tor's walls and my heart skipped a beat. Oh, Martin, I whispered to the ethers of my mind, what have you asked of me this time? And how do you know me so well, to be certain I will do whatever you beg of me? For I knew that if he could have helped it, he would never ask such horrors of me again; not after the bile which spewed from my mouth during my fever a week ago. Still, I would walk to the ends of the earth and back if he asked me to. My loyalty…and my heart…were my emperor's.

My fear, however, was desperately real and the rate at which the heart that belonged to Martin was beating was far too fast for my own good. I climbed the steps slowly and hesitated as I reached the top. Hefting my shield a little higher, I held my sword in front of me and climbed the last steps to stand on the landing. Down the walkway I could see the ghostly figure pacing, carrying its own sword and shield and blocking a gate at the end of the platform.

I didn't know then if I would need to get past him for any particular purpose, but I was certain that the suffering remains needed to be destroyed. It was no ordinary undead that walked so steadily in front of me. I recognized the armor it bore and realized it must be a cursed Blade, dead these many years and forced to walk the empty, defamed halls of Sancre Tor.

I moved forward, careful to avoid detection and lifted my blade higher in order to strike a heavy blow.

At the last minute the creature turned and seemed to stare directly at me. I lost my footing. My armor clanked against itself and the spell was broken. I felt my opponent's blow like iron to my sides and quickly regained my footing. I brought my shield up just in time to avoid another unlucky blow from the undead and swung my sword out wide. From the shriek of horror that reached my ears I knew I had struck my first blow.

But the creature was not dead. I barely managed to parry another attack before it had raised it's sword again- I felt my breath coming quick and shallow and knew I was losing ground. The thing was attacking without pause, effortlessly, aided by his murderous, necromancy strength.

Then it happened. I felt his blade pierce my armor and the tip drive home to my ribs. No! Martin's voice rang through my head as the shock of what had happened invaded my body along with a searing pain. I couldn't help but swear. Get out of my mind! You asked this of me, now let me do my bloody job! I demanded, teeth clenched around silent screams. I lifted my shield with my floundering strength and brought it down hard upon the arm which carried his sword. The blade was ripped from my body with a deathly screech as the arm I'd hit fell from the monster's side. I looked up into the thing's eyes and drove my own blade through its weakened body even as blood began pouring from my side.

With a final groan, I collapsed to my knees as the skeletal, undead body fell to dust on the ground. I sat abruptly on my heels and dropped my shield to press one armored hand to the hole in my side. I felt faint, but I managed to mutter a healing spell that was enough to patch the skin together. It would have to do for now- just enough to stop the bleeding until I could pull out my potions. Thank the All-Maker I bought more when I was in Chorrol, I sighed to myself. At least the blade didn't pierce my ribcage. Then I probably would have died. I might yet, even, I thought and wheezed some in lieu of a chuckle.

There was a sudden motion in front of me and I brought my sword up again, only to meet with air. I looked up and realized that there truly was a ghost in front of me now. He looked down at me, eyes peering out from under a helmet- the spirit of a Blade.

He spoke, and I could do nothing but listen, eyes wide and mouth closed in a thin line against the pain and the fear.

I would only wonder later: if Martin had known what he was truly asking of me that night at Cloud Top, would he have let me go?

I was one woman, a Nord and unfamiliar with such horrific things. I had faced werewolves and Hircine and the Uderfrykte, but I did not know of the Underking. And I was bound by more than duty now to find out.