Alarys Drethen plunged his sword deep into the Argonian slave's chest, his opponent letting out a frantic, pained gasp. Pulling the blade free, the Dunmer watched the still living lizard plummet to the ground, clutching at the bleeding wound, squirming in the grass. Lord Drethen stood over the dying slave with an expressionless gaze, watching as this pathetic wretch took his final, dying breaths. Their eyes meeting that moment, Alarys put the Argonian out of his misery with a swift slash across his throat, a jet of blood spewing forth onto the ground.
Alarys dragged his Daedric longsword along the dead Argonian's armor, cleaning off the wet, fresh blood dripping from the blade's edge. The slave owner then looked ahead, grinning briefly as he spotted another slave charging straight for him, this one a female Bosmer who wielded a short sword in each hand. Alarys gave a spin of his weapon, remaining perfectly calm and still as he prepared for this new foe.
When the Bosmer's clumsy, graceless opening attack came, Alarys suspected with near complete certainty this was the first time she had ever wielded steel, not unlike the majority of the slaves Alarys had slain thus far. With four centuries of experience with the blade to his name, in addition to having never lost a duel in his life, Alarys had faced every type of fighter under the sun, and knew just about every tactic in the book. The Dunmer could masterfully gauge the skill of any foe he came across within seconds, oftentimes before any attack was even made. Just as he suspected from the very beginning of this revolt, most of these slaves fought with little true skill, driven only by blind rage, and a flame of false hope for victory that waned more and more by the second.
Alarys easily sidestepped the Bosmer's opening blow, retaliating with a swift counterattack. The Bosmer slave was barely able to deflect Alarys's strike, and she hastily lunged forward in a thrust out of sheer panic. Alarys deftly spun out of the way, the Bosmer staggering forward as her momentum was thrown off. Lord Drethen whirled around behind her, bringing back his left arm as he prepared to deliver what he knew would be the killing blow. Before the slave could even react, Alarys drove his sword into her back, piercing straight through her heart. He kicked the body forward, his blade dripping streams of crimson.
Four more slaves advanced upon Lord Drethen shortly afterward, swiftly encircling around him from all sides. The Dunmer eyed each of them closely, noting the healthy distance they kept from him. The fear swirling within each of them was as visible as a morning sunrise, and Alarys knew these slaves were nothing more than deluded would-be heroes, foolishly thinking they could sway the tide of battle with a couple swings of their swords. Outnumbered as he was, Alarys knew he could defeat these fools even in his sleep. Alarys quickly grabbed one of the swords from the Bosmer he had just killed. Now wielding two blades, the Dunmer twirled and spun them in his hands before holding them straight out at his sides, waiting patiently for his opponents to make their move.
Another moment, and the four slaves closed in on their owner simultaneously, their desperate battle cries sounding through the air. Alarys, collected as could be, effortlessly deflected their blows, his blades dancing and whirring around him, the shrill clash of steel resounding in his ears. The Dunmer nimbly whirled around, blocking an attack from the rear. One of the slaves, a brown-skinned Khajiit, then attempted to flank Alarys from the left, his blade high in the air. Alarys parried the slave's attack, his foot then launching forward and landing right in the Khajiit's ribs. The Khajiit staggered back, and Lord Drethen's left hand shot forward, his Daedric sword burying right into the slave's heart. Kicking the dead Khajiit to the ground, Alarys maneuvered his way in front of the remaining three slaves, twirling his blades again, silently goading them into attacking.
Predictably, the slaves charged headfirst at Alarys, the Dunmer taking a defensive stance. His swords still twirling through the air, Alarys easily batted aside each of their strikes, the same way one might swat away a troublesome, buzzing insect. Metal rang again as their swords collided, the slaves attacking with impressive vigor, but unable to breach Alarys's impeccable defenses.
The slave in the very middle of the group, an Argonian, came at Alarys, his blade lashing out in a series of aggressive attacks. Hardly breaking a single sweat, Alarys parried and blocked each of the slave's blows, the Dunmer skillfully maneuvering with the utmost precision, grace, and meticulousness in each step he took. The two other slaves joined the skirmish, Alarys hardly paying them a second thought as he swept away their attacks. Lord Drethen remained focused on the Argonian in the middle of them, the Dunmer's swords blurring through the air at nearly blinding speed. The Argonian slave then lunged forward as he attempted a thrust, with Alarys batting the weapon downward. The Dunmer retaliated with a pirouette, his body spinning, his swords circling around him. The Argonian stumbled as he just barely blocked Alarys's counterattack, leaving himself open that moment, and that was all the Dunmer needed.
Alarys sprung forward, thrusting forth both his blades. The sound of ripping flesh met his ears as his swords buried into the lizard's chest, death claiming him only a second later. Two slaves still remained, both of them Khajiit. Alarys pulled his blades free and immediately launched himself at the Khajiit standing to his left. The feline was too panicked to even defend himself, and Alarys opened his throat with a horizontal slice of his Daedric sword.
Alarys turned to face the last remaining slave left of the four, the gray-skinned Khajiit dropping his weapon, quivering at the sight of his slain comrades. Alarys brought back his right arm, hurling the dead Bosmer's sword right at the terrified slave. The Khajiit did not make so much as a sound as the blade plunged right into his throat, and his corpse soon joined the other three in the large puddle of blood marring the grass.
Alarys took a moment to catch his breath after that, again cleaning his sword on one of the dead slaves. Gazing far ahead, the Dunmer lord keenly surveyed the ongoing battle between his guards and the revolting slaves, death screams and ringing metal continuing to echo through the night. The unexpected reinforcements from the soldiers of House Dres was most welcome indeed, and Alarys was beyond certain it would only be a matter of time before this tiresome rebellion was thwarted once and for all.
"Lord Drethen," a voice called from behind. Alarys turned around, giving a nod to the approaching Dres soldier.
"Your arrival couldn't have been better timed," said Alarys, still observing the battle.
"We were passing through the area, my lord, and spotted the smoke rising from the distance," stated the Dunmer soldier. "We immediately assumed there was trouble, and came to investigate."
"You assumed correctly," Alarys replied. "You are the commander of this unit?"
"I am, Lord Drethen. And I await your orders."
"Continue your attack," Alarys commanded, "but spare the life of any slave that surrenders and lays down their arms. Those that do so are to be rounded up and brought back to the plantation grounds."
"By your orders, my lord," acknowledged the Dres soldier, giving a respectful bow of his head.
"One more thing," said Alarys. "I don't suppose there's any chance you've seen my wife anywhere?"
The soldier shook his head. "Can't say I have, my lord. But I will certainly keep my eyes open." Alarys gave the soldier a nod.
"As you were then."
The soldier took his leave to rejoin the battle soon after. Alarys stood by his lonesome, continuing to watch the bloody mayhem raging on before him, more bodies piling on the ground by the second.
Are these n'wahs truly going to fight to the bitter end? Alarys wondered to himself. The Dunmer could not help but admire the spirited, albeit foolish obstinacy with which the slaves continued to fight. Even with the arrival of the Dres soldiers, even in the face of a now certain, assured defeat, the slaves fought on all the same with ardent, ferocious zeal. Alarys would have greatly preferred to not have to kill every slave of his plantation, as he knew it would cost him tens, or even hundreds of thousands in gold to replace them all.
Several minutes passed, Alarys still silently observing the battle from his position. The revolting slaves were soon becoming hopelessly overwhelmed by the combined forces of his plantation guards and the soldiers of House Dres, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they either laid down their weapons, or faced obliteration.
Lord Drethen rejoined the battle, many more slaves falling to his blade. Looking over, he suddenly noticed several of his men being cut down in rapid succession just a short distance away. The Dunmer looked on with keen interest, watching silently as more of his men fell, their screams filling his ears. As more corpses piled to the ground, Alarys carefully inched closer, eager to see just who was bringing down so many of his men. His question was answered only seconds later, and Alarys gave a subdued smile as his new opponent emerged before him.
At last, a true challenge.
Svigny Frost-Heart stepped over the pile of bodies, fresh blood dripping from her weapons. The Nord proceeded to where Alarys stood, her eyes glaring fire at the slave lord. Alarys casually twirled his weapon in his fingers, keeping utterly calm as the woman approached his position. From the moment he first saw her in that cage back at Tear, Alarys knew that the Nord was a true firebrand, and he was only eager now to see just how she would fare against someone of his immense skill.
"I've killed many this night just to find you, Lord Drethen," Svigny spat, and she tightened her grip of her sword and axe. She inched a step closer to the Dunmer, pointing her sword at him. "Since I was first brought to this blasted plantation, I have dreamed of this very moment. Ending your life shall be a tremendous honor, worthy of song."
Alarys's face did not display his amusement at Svigny's words.
"Brave words, Nord," the Dunmer growled, his eyes narrowing at Svigny, "but this little rebellion will soon be crushed, and your pathetic dream of freedom dead in the dirt. Just like countless of your fellow slaves already." The two stood only mere feet from one another now, their eyes piercing into each other as a brief, but unbearably tense silence passed between them.
"Lay down your weapons, little girl," said Alarys mockingly. "Continuing to fight is naught but pure folly at this point. Surrender now, and your life will be spared. Make the decision to fight me, and I promise it will be the last one you ever make."
Svigny's resolve did not falter, and even before she so much as spoke a word, Alarys already knew what her choice would be.
"I am a Nord of Skyrim," Svigny declared firmly, her voice filled with strength and valor. "My entire life, I was raised to never back down from a fight. If this is the day I am fated to die, then I will die free. A life lived in captivity is far worse than death could ever be. I will fight to the very bitter end, and if death claims me this night, then I will rest with my ancestors, knowing my honor is unsullied."
Alarys gave a subtle, disappointed shake of his head at her, readying himself for the battle he knew was now inevitable.
"Then you choose the way of the fool. So be it," said Lord Drethen, raising his own blade out in front of him. "You are the challenger. To you goes the first blow."
Uttering not a word more, Svigny charged at Alarys, her sword and axe high in the air. Bellowing a ferocious battle cry, the Nord delivered a mighty swing of her weapons in a diagonal arc. Alarys raised his longsword, easily deflecting her opening blow. The Dunmer nimbly spun to the side, and the two combatants circled one another, fire burning in their eyes as they both shut out the rest of the battle around them.
Svigny came at Alarys again, her blood-soaked weapons whizzing through the air as she unleashed a barrage of aggressive strikes. Alarys again displayed a masterful defense, effortlessly parrying every attack the Nord delivered. Svigny did not relent, continuously hammering away at Alarys's blade, desperately seeking an opening in the Dunmer's defenses, but finding none. Alarys was utterly unintimidated by her display of brute force, having lost count long ago of just how many fighters like her he had come across throughout the years. Svigny finally retreated after a moment to catch her breath. Alarys chuckled silently to himself then, twirling his sword in his hand.
This broad has no stamina, he thought to himself. She'll tire herself out before I even break a sweat. As predicted, the Nord woman soon rushed him again, her weapons crossed over her chest. And Alarys was ready.
Lord Drethen ducked low to the ground just as Svigny attacked, her weapons passing over the Dunmer's head. Alarys launched forward, his right hand balled into a fist. With every bit of force he could muster, Alarys threw his fist forward, and Svigny gave a cry as the blow struck her right across the nose. Alarys swung his blade in a horizontal arc, which Svigny was just barely able to dodge. Alarys then pivoted on his right foot, thrusting forth his weapon as he spun. Just as he'd hoped, the Nord was thrown off balance, and Alarys immediately followed through with a low sweep attack, managing to graze Svigny's left leg.
A brief cry of pain escaped the Nord, but her determination and fury was only further fueled. Swiftly steeling herself, Svigny came at Alarys again, forcing him back on the defensive. Alarys's sword blazed through the air, the Dunmer's movements nearly resembling those of a dancer as he skillfully dodged and spun. Alarys parried a forceful thrust from Svigny, and he promptly retaliated with a swift riposte, the tip of his blade just narrowly missing her abdomen. Alarys swung his blade left, immediately following through with a downward diagonal swing from above. Svigny raised her weapons above her head to block Alarys's attack, holding them crossed together. She caught Alarys's weapon right in between her sword and axe, and she then lashed out her right leg, landing a firm kick into the Dunmer's stomach.
Alarys staggered back several steps, and Svigny was soon upon him again, her sword and axe slashing and cutting through the air. The shrill chime of steel filled both their ears as their weapons clashed again and again, all amidst the ongoing battle that still raged around them. Blocking an attack from Svigny's sword, Alarys attempted a counteroffensive, his blade circling in every which direction as he unleashed a relentless flurry of attacks. When Alarys came at her with a lunging thrust, Svigny suddenly sidestepped to the left, nimbly maneuvering to the Dunmer's undefended right side. She gave a swing of her axe, Alarys whirling around in the nick of time to deflect the blow.
In a moment Alarys did not expect, the curled edge of Svigny's axe wrapped right around his Daedric longsword, and he was unable to pull it free. With a firm downward tug of her axe, Svigny flung Alarys's sword straight out of his hand, and for the first time during this entire battle, the slave lord panicked. Letting out another ferocious cry, Svigny raised her sword high in the air, bringing it down upon the defenseless Dunmer's head.
The split-second decision to swing his body backward no doubt saved Lord Drethen's life, but that did not stop Svigny's blade from landing a deep, diagonal slice down his entire face, remarkably missing his eye. Alarys plummeted to the ground, howling in pain as a searing, scorching agony tore through him, his face feeling as if it had been doused in lava. He could already feel the streams of blood pouring down his face from the gaping wound, spitting out several drops that had trickled into his mouth. Alarys rolled onto his back, Svigny standing directly over him, her weapons raised in the air.
"Now you meet your end, slaver scum!" the Nord cried, giving a ferocious downward swing of her sword and axe.
Alarys rolled out of the way, narrowly evading Svigny's would-be death blow. His leg shot forward, driving his foot into the side of the Nord's leg. Svigny staggered, and Alarys retrieved his Daedric sword before launching back to his feet. Svigny was quick to recover, and she had just enough time to deflect Alarys's incoming attack.
Lord Drethen was now fully on the offensive, unbridled fury and wrath burning through him as he unleashed a deadly wave of attacks upon Svigny, refusing to give her an opportunity to retaliate. Fully ignoring the excruciating pain of having his face literally split open, Alarys hammered blow after blow upon the Nord, who was now struggling to keep up. Alarys brought back his left arm, channeling all of his strength into his next blow, with Svigny raising her axe to defend.
The sheer force of Alarys's attack shattered Svigny's axe, a deafening chime sounding as numerous shards of metal scattered in every which direction. Svigny, now armed with just her sword, gripped the hilt with both hands, coming at Alarys with vicious speed. The Dunmer maintained an expert defense, but the blinding pain that plagued his face was growing nigh unbearable, streams of blood continuing to spill out from the massive gash.
Alarys countered with a swift pirouette, his body twirling through the air before delivering a forward thrust. Svigny deflected the blow, coming at Alarys again as she retook the offensive. She kicked Alarys in the stomach, sending him careening to the ground. Directly in front of him in the grass lay Svigny's broken, but still very much sharp war axe. Grabbing the axe in his right hand, Alarys rolled onto his back, grinning as Svigny charged at him.
You had your chance to surrender, little girl.
The Nord closed in on Alarys, and just as she raised her blade to deliver her attack, he swung the axe in a horizontal arc. Svigny gave a shrill cry, the sharp edge of her shattered axe tearing a deep laceration into her left leg. As she fell to her knees, Alarys shot back to his feet and speedily maneuvered behind the Nord. With but one overhead swing of his Daedric sword, Alarys severed Svigny's entire right arm at the shoulder, and the scream that immediately followed could easily have been heard from a mile away.
The Nord woman collapsed to the ground, clutching the stump where her arm had just been. Crimson jets of blood sprayed into the grass as Svigny cried and screamed nigh hysterically. Alarys slowly walked toward where his fallen combatant lay, his eyes seething as he glared at her. The Dunmer quickly ran a finger down his face, feeling for the first time the severe wound Svigny had inflicted upon him.
Lord Drethen stood directly over the wounded Svigny, giving her a sinister grin as he held out the shattered axe.
"Just because a weapon is broken, doesn't always mean it's useless," he remarked, before throwing the weapon in question to the ground. He then grabbed Svigny right by her hair, pulling her up and forcing her to look straight at him. The Nord was panting and wincing frantically, torrents of blood painting the ground around her.
"You gave a worthy fight, Nord, I will not deny that," Alarys muttered, staring into Svigny's wide, frightened eyes. He ran his hand again across the wound marring his face, the warmth of the blood dripping over his fingers. "For that, I suppose the least I can do for you is grant you a painless death."
Svigny met her owner's gaze, her eyes narrowing one last time into a fiery, piercing stare. Defiant to the very last, she would not give Alarys the gratification of pleading for her life. Having been raised a Shield-Sister of the Companions, Svigny would face her impending death with honor and courage, knowing that glory would soon await her in the afterlife. Still clenching the heavily bleeding stump of her arm, the Nord snarled at Alarys, and spoke the words she knew would be her last.
"On this day…I go to Sovngarde."
Lord Drethen brought back his left arm, taking only a brief moment to prepare his final blow. With one swift, precise swing of his sword, Svigny Frost-Heart's head rolled off her shoulders, her blood-soaked corpse slumping gracelessly to the ground immediately thereafter. With an expressionless gaze, Alarys stood silent for several moments, staring at the lifeless body of his slain foe, watching the growing scarlet pool as it seeped slowly through the grass.
Alarys placed a hand over his face, only now feeling the full extent of the flaring pain of his wound. The Dunmer hastily scurried away from the still ongoing battle, the sharp stinging of his bloodied face growing more severe with each second. He sat against a nearby tree, letting out a long, suppressed grunt of pain, his entire head feeling as if a knife were being driven through it repeatedly. He reached into his pocket and brandished a handkerchief, quickly tying it securely over his face so it covered the entirety of the wound. Though his makeshift bandage would hopefully stifle the bleeding enough for now, Alarys knew he would still need to have it treated properly before long.
"Damned Nord…" he muttered to himself, briefly adjusting the handkerchief. "Looks like I'll have something to remember you by for the rest of my days." Alarys leaned his head back against the tree, his eyes wandering aimlessly across the black clouded sky, the lingering echo of clashing steel in the distance passing through his ears. His gaze then swept hurriedly across his entire property, a wave of concern suddenly flooding through him as one burning question resurfaced in his mind.
"Where in Dagoth's name is V-"
"Lord Drethen!" a voice called from the distance, interrupting Alarys's thought. The Dunmer shot to his feet, promptly looking to the direction of the voice.
"Lord Drethen!" came the voice again, this time far more urgently. Alarys then spotted one of his plantation guards headed towards him, running at breakneck speed.
"My lord!" spoke the guard again, stopping to catch his breath upon reaching Alarys.
"What is it?" Alarys inquired.
"It's…it's your wife, my lord," the guard answered direly, still catching his breath.
Alarys's eyes immediately widened, panic surging through him.
"What about her?" he asked. The fact that the guard was seemingly unable to look him directly in the eyes only exacerbated his worry. After an unbearably long hesitation, the guard cleared his throat before answering.
"Lady Drethen has been gravely wounded, my lord," he replied, his voice grim and fearful. Alarys's heart skipped a beat.
"Wounded?! What are you talking about?" he exclaimed, his chest suddenly feeling as if it were being crushed by a massive weight. The guard hesitated again before giving an answer.
"A few of us were passing through the garden, my lord," the guard explained. "We heard a scream come from the cemetery, and we immediately set off to investigate. We soon found your wife lying on the ground my lord, riddled with multiple arrows."
Alarys's breath caught in his throat.
"Resenna…" he whispered. Churning within him was a tumultuous mixture of heart-freezing dread and blood-boiling anger.
"Where is she now?" Alarys demanded. The guard shifted nervously, his eyes pointed to the ground. Alarys grabbed him with both hands, his face contorting to a fearsome scowl.
"She's carrying my daughter, you fucking n'wah," Lord Drethen growled. "Where is she?!"
"The others who were with me carried Lady Drethen back to the manor, my lord," the guard replied. "I came to find you immediately."
Alarys released the guard from his grip, letting out several exasperated breaths. The Dunmer was rendered entirely speechless by this dire news, his thoughts and emotions swimming uncontrollably all throughout him. He turned his gaze toward the battle still raging across his property, his eyes wide with teeming fright.
"Who was it…" Alarys muttered angrily, his voice carrying a slight shudder. "Who was it that shot her?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, my lord," the guard replied. "We never saw anybody else. We got Lady Drethen back to the manor as quickly as we could. We can only pray that your nurses can save her." Alarys briefly shifted his gaze toward the manor, before looking back to the battle again. Beads of sweat poured from his head, his heart racing like it never had before.
"You should go inside, Lord Drethen," the guard urged in a sympathetic tone. "You should be with your wife."
Alarys remained silent, his eyes still fixed upon the slave revolt.
"We'll have this uprising quelled before long, my lord," the guard stated firmly. "The slaves are hopelessly overwhelmed, and many of them have now begun to surrender. This will all be over soon enough, Lord Drethen, and order shall be fully restored."
Alarys turned his gaze back to the manor then, his rapid breaths betraying his panic and fear. For several moments the Dunmer could only stand there as if frozen in place, his mind unable to fully process any of what he had just heard.
"Please go inside, my lord. We have this under control," said the guard again after a momentary silence. "Valarya needs you."
After another few seconds to properly collect himself, Alarys began to head back towards the manor. After only a few steps, however, he stopped abruptly, turning around to face the guard once more, his eyes narrowed into a frightening, piercing glower.
"Gather thirty guards," Lord Drethen curtly ordered. "Whoever did this to Valarya, I want them found before they can escape. I want every last inch of the gardens searched. Fail me…and I promise you will be worse off than these damned slaves. Am I understood?"
"Y-yes, my lord…" answered the guard. "I swear I will not rest until Lady Drethen's assailant is found." The guard promptly took off then to carry out his lord's order. Alarys turned back around, thoughts of his wife and daughter overshadowing all else in his mind.
I'm coming, my love. Hang in there.
Wasting not a single second more, Alarys Drethen hurried for the manor with all due haste, the Dunmer running as fast as he was physically able.