The Emperor's Heart
Chapter 13
Gods-damn Ayleids! Lysara was burning with anger as she clumsily mounted Shadowmare outside of the ruins of Miscarcand. If she had been alive when the cousins of the High Elves ruled Cyrodiil, she would have loved to hang their entrails like garland over their stupid dwellings!
It was bad enough that she had to traipse through dark, booby-trapped hallways deep underground; but add in hordes of goblins and undead? And a lich! That bastard had been fierce on his own. But oh, no- let's throw in a couple of zombie guardians to the fight!
The Hero grabbed her shoulder where one of the King of Miscarcand's rotting servants had gouged her armor, leaving a nasty-looking scratch. In truth, it wasn't that bad. At least, it shouldn't have been…
Lysara wiped the sweat from her brow. The cool air of the morning did nothing to alleviate her discomfort. At least she had her prize- the last Great Welkynd Stone, wrapped carefully and tucked away in her pack hanging from the saddle.
Only a half-day's journey back to Cloud Ruler. Gods, she still needed to obtain more guards for Bruma. She had to go to Skingrad, Anvil, Bravil…
She groaned and rubbed at the red skin beneath her wound. She should probably get it looked at, and have her armor fixed… again.
She pointed Shadowmare east, towards Skingrad. She remembered seeing a fancy-looking Mages Guild there. They might have something she could-
A wave of nausea took hold of her, causing the Nord to clutch the reins suddenly, halting her ebony steed. He neighed anxiously, as if to inquire if she was alright.
"Keep going, 'Mare." Her eyes watered, blurring her vision of the dirt road. The horse nickered unhappily, but moved forward.
Something was wrong…
A light breeze passed, chilling her to the bone. Hadn't she been hot a moment before?
After drying her eyes, she signaled the horse to gallop, eager to get to… anywhere with help. He moved agilely down the smooth path, sensing her urgency. But now her vision was blurry again, this time without tears. Something was very wrong.
Castle Skingrad was in sight- if she could have seen it. Lysara coughed violently as the trees and rocks swirled in her vision. Her head was pounding from the force of her body bouncing in the saddle. Surely it was just a little further?
She leaned back. The last thing she heard was Shadowmere's panicked whinny as she fell from the saddle. The Nord hit the ground hard as darkness overtook her.
Martin drummed his fingers on the table as he looked at the great hall's doors for the hundredth time. Lysara was due back any time now. As much as he would be glad to see her again, he didn't look forward to what he had to tell her.
The priest had tirelessly poured over the Mysterium Xarxes in order to decipher the final item needed to open the portal to Camoran's paradise. He had his answer. But rather than feel victorious, he was left feeling dreadful.
How could he convince anyone to go along with it?
The books Lysara had brought him, along with her field knowledge, had given Martin many answers as to how the Oblivion gates remained open. They needed a sigil stone as a sort of anchor; remove the sigil stone, remove the anchor. Lysara had even brought one for him to study. It clearly held power within its black casing.
All this had led him to understand that in order to open the way the Mankar's world, which was in essence, a portal to Oblivion…
The dark-haired Imperial looked at the door again. She had promised to come back as soon as she had the Great Welkynd Stone, rather than stay in the county and find more aid for Bruma before returning. He had told her not to; she didn't need to travel across the province more than necessary. But Lysara had insisted… so where was she?
It was Jena's turn to stand watch at the great entrance of the temple. It was freezing, standing at the top of the gate. But at least the sunset made for a lovely view. As her eyes scanned the horizon, an object caught her attention. It was moving slowly, but steadily.
Squinting, the Imperial woman was able to make out the shape- a horse! And not just any horse, but Lysara's! But… where was Lysara?
"Open the gate!" She shouted down before running around to the steps. She tromped down, her heavy armor clunking loudly as she made her way out of the gate towards the steed. Her cry had alerted a few others nearby, including Baurus and Jauffre, who made their way down to see what the commotion was about.
Jena ran as fast as she could to meet Shadowmare. By the Nine, what could have brought the horse all this way? Wasn't Lysara near Kvatch, at that ruin? The horse snorted anxiously, but continued its slow approach. It only took the Blade a moment to realize why: it had something laying awkwardly on its back.
No… someone.
"Help! I need help!" Jena carefully pulled a flushed and unconscious Lysara off of Shadowmare and laid her on the ground, supporting her head. Great Akatosh, she looked terrible. Her closed eyes were sunken and her face slightly gaunt. The Blade stroked the Nord's cheek. Her skin was burning with fever!
Baurus was the first to make it to her side, having earlier removed his armor for the evening, opting for a simple red tunic and dark green breeches. He took one look at the Hero before scooping her up into his arms. He carefully yet quickly carried her up the large staircase.
Jauffre watched curiously before realizing what was happening. He immediately flanked Baurus's left, as Jena was close behind and on his right. She rushed forward and opened the door to the great hall, making way for them.
Martin had heard shouting coming from outside, and had rose to see what was going on. Just as he reached the doors, they burst open.
"What has happened?" Martin asked, brows knitting together. Jauffre and Baurus swept passed him, but not before the priest caught sight of what the Redguard was carrying.
His heart in his throat, the Imperial man chased after them. "What is wrong with her?" He demanded.
"I don't know, your Highness. She was passed out on her horse when she arrived." Baurus offered, heading towards the barracks.
Martin placed a hand on his shoulder. "Take her to my room. She'll be more comfortable there."
Baurus and Jauffre exchanged looks, but quickly conceded and turned in that direction.
Entering the chamber, the Redguard gently laid the Nord woman on the intended emperor's bed. Concern etched on his face, Baurus brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.
Martin rushed to the other side of the bed as Jauffre watched from the doorway. The priest pressed the back of his hand to Lysara's brow. Good gods, she was burning up…
"She has a fever. We need to cool her body. Jauffre, have Jena bring a shift and a basin of cold water, with a cloth."
The monk nodded, leaving the room. Martin set to work removing her leather armor. As he went to pull the cuirass off, he noticed the wound on her shoulder. It looked infected!
"Baurus, in the library is a book on diseases. Bring it to me." Martin ordered.
"Yes, Sire." He was reluctant to leave, but he didn't dare cross the emperor at the moment, and set off in search of the tome.
"Forgive me, my friend." Martin whispered as he cautiously pulled all of Lysara's armor off until she was in nothing but her small clothes. He tried not to look, wishing to respect her privacy, and more concerned for her wellbeing.
Jena came in with the items requested. She offered to dress the Nord woman. Martin agreed and turned his back until the Imperial woman told him it was safe to turn around.
The priest immediately set to work, submerging the cloth in the cool water and ringing it out before gently dabbing Lysara's forehead. Baurus returned with the requested book. Martin flipped through the pages while examining the deep scratch, continuing his ministrations with his other hand.
"What is it?" Baurus asked.
"I don't know… it's hard to tell without knowing what caused the wound."
Martin used the damp cloth to wipe crusted blood from the cut. As he looked closer, he noticed something lodged there. Very carefully, the priest pulled it out of her skin. Lysara whimpered, her face pinched in pain. Her reaction was a good sign, but it nearly broke his heart.
Holding it up to the light for a better look, he turned it over in his hand. It looked like a piece of fingernail. But it was a sickly yellow-green color. His mind clicked, and he flipped through the book with purpose. Scanning the page, he sighed in frustration.
"She's been infected by a zombie. Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow it down by much. Zombies carry many diseases." Martin anxiously ran his free hand over his face.
"I'll run down the mountain to the city and find the apothecary. I'll tell him to make everything!" Baurus rushed out the door without bowing; a true sign of his distress.
Jauffre stood by the door again. Jena sat across from Martin on the other side of the bed. She took the cloth from him and refreshed it before dabbing the Hero's brow. Lysara shifted and whimpered again.
"Jauffre, can you heal her?" Martin asked.
The monk's frown deepened. "I am afraid not, your Highness. Faith aside, my vocation is mostly a pretense. I never bothered to study restoration."
The intended emperor had feared as much. "And I am not much better, having favored conjuration." He did know a very basic healing spell, but he had only ever used it on himself.
Still, he had to try.
Martin sat down on the bed. Leaning over the unconscious woman, he cupped her face. She was still too warm. Closing his eyes, the priest concentrated on his magicka, imagining it swirl and flow. Inhaling deeply, he willed it out of himself and into Lysara. At first, he wasn't certain it was working. But then he felt the familiar drain of his magicka reserve. A pleasant gust whirled around them. He felt rather than heard her gasp softly as his energy swept over her.
After a moment, he opened his eyes, catching the last remnants of a blue light as it faded. Looking down, the priest was relieved to see the scratch was gone, and the flesh no longer angry.
Unfortunately, illnesses could not be removed by healing spells, only wounds. She was still flushed and her brows were knitted together, likely from pain. Martin hoped Baurus could find the apothecary, and the man would have something- anything that could help her.
Whatever the zombie had infected her with was severe. Many feared that being diseased by the undead would cause the victim to become one. This was merely a superstition, however. Zombies were a result of necromancy, a form of conjuration recently outlawed in Cyrodiil by the Arch Mage.
But that didn't mean Lysara couldn't die from it.
Clutching her hand in his, Martin closed his eyes and began to pray.
"Merciful Mara. Be with your beloved in her time of need. Cleanse your child of impurities and renew her spirit."
As he repeated his mantra, a small part of him wondered why he chose to pray to the goddess of love over Akatosh, his chief god of worship.
"Merciful Mara. Be with your beloved in her time of need. Cleanse your child of impurities and renew her spirit."
She had to come out of this. He needed her. It wasn't for her prowess in battle. It wasn't for her experience and knowledge of Oblivion. It wasn't that she was Tamriel's only hope.
He needed her.
Martin's voice wavered, joining his other hand to their entwined hands, squeezing his eyes tighter. "Merciful Mara-"
The sound of quick footsteps caused the priest to look up. Baurus whipped through the door with a small vial in hand. He was out of breath, but looked triumphant.
"I caught him just before he locked up for the night. He said it didn't matter what she had. All she needs is this." Here he held the small pink bottle up before handing it to Martin.
Cradling the back of Lysara's head, he gently tilted the vial to her lips, not wishing for her to choke and sputter before the liquid could take effect. As the bottle drained, the deep flush of the Nord's skin immediately began to dissipate, and her body became less tense.
The room stared in awe as the Hero of Kvatch, nearly at death's door moments before, now seemed to sleep peacefully.
"Good gods, Baurus. What was that?" Jauffre asked, incredulous.
"The apothecary called it the 'potion of cure-disease'. Said it's a recent alchemical finding."
"Gods be praised… well, let us leave her in peace, that she might rest and regain her strength." The monk motioned for everyone to exit. When Martin didn't move, Jauffre sighed.
"Your highness… we should discuss Bruma. Now that Lysara is incapacitated, we must think of an alternative plan to gain forces."
The Imperial man glanced at the sleeping Nord before releasing her hands. As he stood to join the monk, Lysara mumbled almost inaudibly, blindly grasping for his hand before settling back into deep sleep.
He hadn't recognized the word, but it had caused a surge of unexplainable emotions. He stared down at her to see if she would say more.
"Your highness?"
"I'm coming, Jauffre." The emperor followed him out of the room. If Jauffre was speaking as they exited, Martin didn't hear, his mind echoing the woman's uttered word.
Pel.