As Anders and his Dynamo Core research team were getting caught up on the progress made by the team at Arcane University, the rest of the family were preparing to set out on an expedition into town. Of the five of them only Katja had visited the Imperial City before, and that was years ago. She was looking forward to it as much as the rest of them were, and was delighted to find as they stepped out the front door of their Temple District house, that the sun was shining. Imperial City got even more rain than Whiterun did, though fortunately with its extensive sewer system and stone-paved streets it never became a mire the way little Skyrim towns like Morthal did.
As the impressive Temple of the One was just across the road from their house, they stopped there first. Here, a couple of centuries before, Martin Septim – last of the Septim emperors (until now, that is) – had transformed into a dragon and defeated the Daedric prince Mehrunes Dagon to forever close the portals that had sprung up between dozens of locations in Cyrodiil and various planes of Oblivion.
Katja, Vari, and Sigi, all of whom could also transform into dragons (though not because they were avatars of divine Akatosh), stood looking at the enormous stone statue that occupied the temple's center in reverence and awe. There was some speculation, too – was it possible that Martin, once deep in the mysteries of Daedric magic and the Cult of Sanguine, had been dragonborn? Still, it didn't seem possible that any ordinary dragon could have defeated Mehrunes Dagon. Not when even Alduin, a god among dragons, had been defeated by a mere six humans.
From there they wandered through a gate to their northeast and entered the central ring of the Imperial City, surrounding the emperor's palace. "Sigi, can you tell us who the emperor is?" Katja asked, unable to resist making this trip part of her son's education. He, Meri, Vari, and the five other dragon kids had been well-schooled by Francois Lanya in recent months. How much of it had stuck?
All of them were gazing in wonder at the enormous palace that rose before them. Its diameter was nearly 1/5 of the city's itself, the largest building any of them had ever seen. "The current emperor," Sigi said with a grin, standing up straight and parodying a rote recital in class, "Is Giorgio Septim I. He took the throne in year 210 of the Fourth Era, that is nine years ago, after Emperor Titus Mede II was killed, while visiting in Skyrim, by a Dark Brotherhood assassin. The Council of Elders selected him to rule – partly because his family, the Augustinos, was descended through the maternal line from the ancestors of the Septim emperors. He took the name Septim to bring back the line."
Sigi took a little bow, and they all smiled and applauded him. He was scarcely an energetic student, and could not hold a candle to his sister Feykrokrein, but he was bright and knew a lot more than people realized he did. Vari chimed in, "And the next emperor will have to take a new name, as well. Giorgio's only son and heir, Bruno Septim, died in an attack by minotaurs while traveling between Imperial City and Skingrad around five years ago. As his wife is now past the age where she might have another child, he has named his sister's son, Tiberius Appolonius, as the new heir."
"Show-off," Sigi chided – but with a smile. They all continued walking the vast circular road that led around the palace, going in a counter-clockwise direction from the gate by which they'd entered. Mina was smiling serenely, her eyes alight with interest as she looked here, there, everywhere. The Imperial City had so many amazing views, so much to see. Smiling fondly at her, Wyll threw an arm around his daughter and kissed the top of her head. "Glad you came, Mina bean?" he rumbled quietly. She squeezed him back, her strength something of a surprise. All that cow-milking and swordplay had laid muscles of steel beneath the smooth golden skin. "It's wonderful, Papa! Where will we go next?"
"I'd like to see the Arena, if nobody minds," Wyll said. Katja gave him a tolerant smile. In the beginning months of their relationship they'd slaughtered foes side-by-side in many a bandit den, vampire lair, and draugr-infested tomb. But decades of motherhood had mellowed The Dragonborn a lot – even if she and Wyll had been in the thick of a battle together just last year. Wyll had proven to be a wonderful husband and father, as happy and cheerful working at the forge or shoveling manure as he was mowing down his enemies. But he was one of nature's warriors, and there was no escaping that he was damn good at it. Of course he wanted to see the Arena.
The Arena District lay just beyond the Arboretum through which they'd come from Arcane University on their way to the house. It picked up the circular theme so popular in Imperial City once again, with the multi-story, hollow circle of the Arena itself standing in the middle of its pie-slice grounds. It was flanked by heroic statues of Saint Alessia (after whom, no doubt, their housekeeper had been named) and Morihaus, and backed by gardens.
"They used to fight to the death here for the entertainment of the spectators in Martin Septim's time," Katja remarked. Mina shuddered. What a pointless waste of life, and how gruesome that people would pay money to come and see it! "For the last century, of course," her mother continued, "it's been more about skill at arms than blood. Contestants fight for prizes until one of them surrenders. The judges can stop the match, too, if it looks like one of the contestants is about to get killed. Some people still die anyway, of course, but you can get killed walking across the street I suppose. And the spectators still get to cheer on their favorites and bet on the outcome."
"Did you ever do anything like that, Papa?" Sigi wanted to know. Wyll chuckled. "When I was young and foolish, I got into a few informal contests. Nothing to the death with my friends, of course. And then your mom and I 'won' contests with more than a few bandits. The winners of those contests got to walk away, breathing." "Oh," the boy said softly, reminded that the stories he'd heard all his life were more than just stories.
They walked around the grounds a little, then went in at the gates. It was now past 10, and they could hear crowd noises coming from the far side of the heavy stone wall before them. A smiling Elf in a leather jerkin and hose greeted them. "Here to watch the fights, are you?" he asked them. Family groups were a common sight here, these days. "It's three septims apiece to come in, and if you want to bet on any of the matches I can sell you a scorecard for an additional two septims."
Wyll looked around at the group. The boys looked eager, Mina less so, and Katja's eyes were sparkling. She may have abandoned her former bloodthirsty lifestyle, but that didn't mean she had lost all interest in the excitement of combat. Wyll paid the man and got a scorecard as well, not because he planned to do any betting (how could you bet when you knew nothing about the contests or the combatants?), but just so he could get a feel for this interesting part of the local scene.
They turned to the right and went through an ancient-looking wooden door up a stone ramp to the stands. At this hour of the morning there was plenty of seating available on the stone benches that ringed the arena. Down below, separated from the stands by spears standing upright (whether for decoration or to keep those above apart from those below, who could say?) a broad iron grating stood in the center of the circle. It was ringed by sand.
As they entered the stands area they spotted a squat, middle-aged Imperial woman standing with her back to the rear wall. She had a tray suspended by a strap around her neck and resting on her belly beneath her prodigious bosom. On it were gold septims and slips of paper. "Place your bets here," she boomed. "Two to one on Morto Avenzio." "No thanks," Wyll said, and they took seats along a bench in the front row.
Across the Arena, they could see a sort of box seat area with three figures in it, seated around a table and looking comfortable. "Those are probably the judges," Katja said pointing. A fourth person, a broad man holding a megaphone, sat on a chair off to one side of the box. As some helpers assisted a very battered-looking man off of the field and his opponent, an enormous blonde woman, struck a pose, he put the megaphone to his lips.
"Winner of the match is Louana the Lioness," he announced. "Please collect your bets. Next up, we have the current third division champion, Andre the Breton Brute, with warhammer, fighting challenger Morto Avenzio with short sword and dagger." The crowd cheered as the blonde giantess strutted off into a doorway that led into the fighters' "red room," where wounds would be attended to. In this day and age, they would probably just get a health potion and a sponge bath.
From doors on opposite sides of the Arena two new combatants emerged. The one nearest them could only be the Breton – from his size, flaming red hair, and the warhammer he carried. "Andre!" Sigi and Vari exclaimed in unison, grinning. The rest of them smiled as well. "Wait'll we tell Andi we saw his namesake fighting in the Arena!" Sigi said, and the two boys stood up to press themselves against the stone railing for a better view.
Katja, sitting next to Wyll, remarked "I notice that all of these fighters seem to have stage names." He grinned. "Well, they are performers. I suppose having a good, tough-sounding name helps you get a following. It's probably not just the purses they're hoping to win. Wealthy patrons, free food and drink, adoring fans… I wonder what my name should be?" He winked at her.
"How about 'Wyll the Wonderful' or 'The Skyrim Smasher'?" she said, squeezing his bicep. "Hmm," he mused. "Maybe 'The Nord Annihilator'?" "Your choice," she replied. "Let's watch the fight." They turned their attention to the Arena, where a dark-haired, olive-skinned Imperial wielding two blades was facing up against his much-larger opponent. No wonder the odds were two to one!
The darker man might have been shorter, but he was powerfully muscled and walked like a panther on the prowl, ready to explode into action. Both fighters were wearing the official Arena garb, issued to all in an effort at fairness – though they chose their own weapons. But Morto had opted for the light version, while Andre had gone for the heavier, and more protective, armor.
Both Katja and Wyll knew that was a good choice, as the warhammer (while devastating when it struck) was a slow weapon – and you needed two hands to wield it, so you couldn't fend off your opponent's sword strikes with a shield. It all hinged on whether Andre was faster than he looked. The man, as near as they could tell from this distance and angle, was a little shorter than Wyll but even wider.
"Let the match begin!" the announcer commanded, and the two fighters began circling one another. They were both standing on the iron grid, which in dry weather like today's would provide acceptable footing. Even Mina was watching intently, lower lip caught in her teeth, as the two prepared to close with one another. Andre was now facing them, and they could see an evil grin on his scarred face. He was not a handsome man.
Morto feinted with his dagger, flicking out with his left hand, and then crouched and spun to come in from the side as Andre swung his hammer. He had more than a foot of reach on the smaller man, between the length of his arms and the length of his weapon. It whistled through the space Morto had occupied a split-second before, but the Imperial had already dodged out of the way – striking at the Breton with his short sword as he came near. The blade scored the bigger man's armor, but didn't draw blood.
Suddenly Andre surged into action. He was faster than he looked, and he had more than one trick up his sleeve. One hand slid up the steel shaft of the warhammer, and he was suddenly wielding it like a quarterstaff. It was poorly balanced for that, the weight of the head throwing it off and making it hard to spin – but clearly the Breton had practiced this maneuver a lot. Avenzio danced around him, trying to get at him with his blades, but his strikes kept getting deflected by the whirling steel shaft.
The crowd was on its feet, chanting "Andre! Andre!" Clearly the Breton Brute was a big favorite. Sigi and Vari were shouting along with them. After all, they were both sort-of redheads and at least half-Breton. Plus this guy had their brother's name! The crowd gasped in unison as Morto slipped through with his dagger and scored a bleeding cut across the bigger man's knuckles. Ow, that must sting!
It seemed to infuriate Andre, but he didn't lose his head. He was a veteran of these combats, and many more lethal ones in his days as a soldier and adventurer before coming here. He stepped back nimbly, out of the Imperial's reach, and then letting both hands slide down to the far end of the warhammer's handle he thrust it straight forward into Morto's midsection as he was about to advance again. Oof!
The blow had just missed caving in his ribcage, which would likely have been fatal with the force that was behind it. As it is, it may have ruptured something inside – and Morto was doubled over in agony, dagger falling to the ground. Katja gasped. Her instinct was to dash down there and administer Healing, but of course that was absurd. Just like all those bandits and hostile mages she'd killed, these guys knew what they were getting into and would just have to take what came to them.
Morto's dagger had landed on the iron grating, clattering against the metal, but he still held his short sword. As he began to straighten up, raising the sword as if to strike, the Breton brought his warhammer down head first, breaking both bones in the Imperial's forearm. The sword dropped from lifeless fingers, and Avenzio sank to his knees, clutching the injured limb.
"The bout goes to Andre the Breton Brute!" bellowed the announcer as the crowd went wild with excitement. Vari and Sigi were still smiling, but they looked a little pale. So did Mina. It wasn't anything Katja and Wyll hadn't seen before, hadn't done before, and they shrugged it off. But Katja was alert to what her children were feeling.
"Well, that was fun. How about we go see something else?" she suggested. "Not yet, we want to see some more matches!" Vari piped up, seconded by his brother. They were occasionally dragons, after all. "I wouldn't mind staying for a few more," Wyll said with his lazy grin. "Why don't you and Mina go over and look around the Market District?" "That's fine with me," Mina said. While she'd found the combat exciting, a whole district devoted to shopping sounded fine too. And less likely to spoil her appetite for lunch.
As the women stood up to leave, they saw Andre, his warhammer hanging down, step over and help his fallen opponent to his feet. Then he walked off toward his own red room, looking a little subdued. You got the sense it hadn't been enough of a contest to really stir his blood. "Sure you can find your way back to the house?" Katja asked before they left. Wyll pulled a folded map out his pocket and waved it at her. "Found this in my nightstand this morning," he said. "Besides, I'm pretty good at making my way around – and I can always just use my Tamriel map to fast-travel back to the University and walk from there."
They both hugged and kissed him, then took their leave as another match was being announced. For Katja, it was one thing to be in a fight for your life because somebody was trying to kill you, or stop you from getting what you needed. But to go in front of a screaming audience and try to maim someone just for money and the adulation of the crowd, seemed distasteful somehow. She was a bit surprised when Mina remarked, as they were making their way northwest from the side of the Arena to the gate leading to the Market District, "I'll bet Dovi could have kicked that guy's ass."
Katja eyed her daughter. One of the things Mina and her sweetheart did for fun together was sparring with practice swords, and he certainly was a lot better than Mina was – though the regular practice had improved her skills, too. But banging on somebody with a stick of wood was a bit different from going up against someone who seriously intended to do you harm. She shuddered at the thought of that kind of harm being done to her friends' magnificent young son, just as she did at the idea of similar harm coming to any of her own children. She'd lost one child, and didn't ever want to lose another.
She smiled wryly. "Did you see how ugly that guy was, Mina?" she said. "It would be a travesty to put Dovi in the Arena and spoil that face of his." Mina sighed slightly. Dovi was that rare thing – an amazingly, utterly gorgeous guy who was completely unaware of his own good looks. Before they'd gotten together, he'd confessed to her, he'd been convinced he would never be able to find a girlfriend. Clueless, but she loved him.
It was late afternoon by the time Katja and Mina returned from their explorations of the Imperial City's Market District. They were weighed down with packages, "just a few things for the house while we're here," and found the entire group gathered in the parlor having a sort of "cocktail hour" before supper. The women were flushed with the exercise of walking back here, as well as the fun and excitement they'd had, and looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.
They also found, on a small silver tray sitting on one of the parlor's occasional tables, an invitation for the whole family to attend a dinner and dance at the city home of Count Enzo Terentius of Bravil, in the prestigious Talos Plaza district this coming Loredas evening. Mina was over the moons, and Katja was seized with anxiety as she realized the party was only four days away – and none of them had anything to wear.
"I need to get everyone party clothes!" she exclaimed, biting into a little slice of cheese around which a paper-thin slice of a salty, fatty, smoked sausage had been rolled and washing it down with a swallow of wine. "You know what size I wear," Anders assured her. He had the feeling even his fairly fancy Arch-Mage's robes weren't going to cut it for an affair of such splendor. "Me too," Wyll pointed out. The last time he'd enjoyed shopping for clothes had been when he and Anders selected their wedding outfits at Radiant Raiment in Solitude, nearly 18 years ago.
"You can probably buy me clothes too, Mom," Andi said. "But actually I think Zira and I can get away from the project for a few hours and come with you. We haven't had a chance to see any of the city yet." "Yes," Anders confirmed. "Today we mostly compared notes and learned from each other what doesn't work. Then we brainstormed some possible solutions, but before we can proceed with actual testing we need to do some more research. It's too bad Papa isn't here."
Francois Lanya was one of the foremost scholars Tamriel had produced in the last few generations. That the Dragonspring children got to have him as their tutor was amazing good fortune – which they, for the most part, did not appreciate. But his son was no slouch at digging up nuggets of useful information out of old musty tomes, either. "It'll probably be a couple of days of nothing but reading and research, Andi," he said. "Why don't you and Rezira and Gylabris just take some time to explore?"
Gylabris was now literate, one of the first of his race to become so in thousands of years. But he lacked the practice at research of this type to be useful for the task at hand. He looked a little uncertain. "I suppose it'll be all right, if I come with you…" he said, addressing Katja, Andi, and Rezira. He was all too aware that the sight of a Falmer wandering around the Imperial City, however nicely dressed and articulate, might provoke negative reactions.
Katja took another canapé and another sip of her wine. Her mood of effervescent pleasure was returning. "That's settled, then. First thing tomorrow we'll mount a mass assault on the Market District and get everybody fitted out with finery for Count Terentius' party. Once that's done, everyone can continue exploring however they like."
Sigi looked at his mother. "Do we have to go?" he asked, with that innocent and loveable expression that had always been so successful in the past. "Why not?" she asked, "You haven't even seen the Market District yet. Aren't you curious?" Sigi ducked his head, and Vari chimed in, "After you and Mina went shopping this morning we watched a few more matches, and Papa Wyll got us some lunch. Then he gave us his city map and let us go off exploring. We met a new friend, a boy who lives here, and we said we'd meet up with him tomorrow morning out at the waterfront."
Katja cast her extra-large husband a level look. "You just let them run off by themselves?" she asked sweetly. He gave her the full benefit of his blue-eyed, innocent grin, and shrugged. "They're big boys," he said. "I gave them my map, and they didn't get lost. Or into any trouble. Come on, Kat, think about what this city is like for a 12-year-old. And it's not as if they can't handle themselves."
He had a point, she admitted reluctantly to herself. They could both become fire-breathing, flying, scaly monsters bigger than two horses laid end-to-end, after speaking a few words. Or Shout an attacker down the street while they ran for safety. They were both also becoming adept at Restoration magic, and could repair any hurts in a few minutes' time. Wyll's easy-going attitude was one of the things she loved about him, so perhaps she just needed to lighten up a little. She took another sip of her wine.
"All right you two, I'll buy you party clothes without you having to participate. But use your heads and stay out of trouble. I don't want to be having to bail you out of the Imperial jail!" The boys grinned. "Thanks, Mama!" The wine was making her feel more relaxed by the minute, and Katja turned back to Wyll. "Okay," she said, "what's your excuse for not coming on the clothes-shopping expedition?" He grinned at her. "Tomorrow morning at 11," he explained, "The Skyrim Slasher is having his debut match in the Arena."