The morning air was cold, flowing through the grass around my armoured knees as I knelt with dew and sweat soaking my clothes. My cloak was wrapped around me tightly, hood over my head but for the moment my helmet was clasped down on my side out of the way as I watched the ruins below. It was peaceful and serene but it was not a situation that was going to last for much longer as my vampiric hearing picked up traces of shouts and the tramping of armoured feet.

Behind me, hidden within the vegetation of the forest awaited every knight from the Order of the Nine and the Black Knights of Talos. I knew that if I turned I might have been able to pick them out with my supernatural senses but for those hundreds of beings occupying the ancient Ayleid fort of Garlas Malatar there would have been no sign of our presence. It had taken hours through the early hours of the morning to slowly make our way into position but now we were ready, waiting silently as the first stage of our attack to commence.

It was impossible not to feel nervous at what was happening. I was in command of over two hundred souls in a battle that hung in the balance before it even commenced and this was even before the usual pre-battle jitters that turned bowels to water and left hands shaking. I may have fought numerous times, especially in the past months and had my vampirism to assist but this was not a battle I could fight on my own which seemed to amplify my anxiety.

No amount of vampiric might or esoteric abilities would allow me to face the dread being down in the ruins, let alone the hundreds of mortal and daedric followers he had at his disposal. Carodus' spyglass was again proving its worth as I watched the ruins and for signs of our impending attack, and I had caught glimpses of a being arrayed in gold, standing as tall as a Auroran and appearing as though made from blades and spear points. The Aurorans were almost human in comparison to the Unfeathered and even the tiny glimpses I had seen, even from such a distance had left me retching from the sheer power of its malice and corruption. There was no doubting the power, or the identy of the daedric monstrosity within the ruins but I was still left wondering whether we were truly ready to face him even as the attack commenced.

The first signs that anything was amiss was a sudden slowing of activity within Garlas Malatar, followed by a surge of anxious movement as those who had not yet awoken were startled into activity and those that already were began rushing about. From the distance it truly did resemble an anthill as people poured out of their tents and the buildings they were staying within as the faint echo of bells and warning horns reached my ears.

It also wasn't hard to see the source of their alarm, even without the use of Carodus' spyglass. Several kilometres to my south an almost pathetically small group was marching over the gentle slopes towards the ruins in what was undoubtedly a battle formation. Arrayed in ranks four deep and followed up by a small collection of cavalry there would have been no doubts in our enemies' minds as to their purpose, even if they were comparatively smaller in number by a considerable margin.

Hundreds of elves were shifting through the ruins, flowing out along the roads and as I watched they too began arraying themselves for battle. They formed up in a single block of troops much like the Order's, their golden armour glittering in the sun and I watched with interest through the spyglass. Guessing their numbers by how they had formed up in perfectly ordered ranks was easy, but the simple fact of how they had managed to get into formation was enough to show me that we were not facing some unprofessional rabble, but instead a well-disciplined group of soldiers. A well-disciplined group of soldiers that already outnumbered the small contingent of men-at-arms by at least a hundred or more.

What was even more concerning was the additional support that they had at their command. Even before the formation of armoured mortals had finished taking their positions their supernatural allies were already on the move. Unmistakable from their sheer size and the way their golden flesh-armour glittered unnaturally in the sun I quickly counted thirty Aurorans taking up their positions to the rear of the formation, and dozens of other smaller, stranger appearing daedra that cavorted about like poorly made puppets worked by an unskilled hand.

My time in Vvardenfell's legion and the previous month's experience had provided me with better knowledge than most regarding Oblivion and its denizens but the Atronachs moving into a skirmishing line between the two armoured formations were unfamiliar to me. That they were like the light Atronachs we had fought in the cathedral of Zenithar was impossible not to notice, however these were not the same malicious beings of twitchy light. They were somehow armoured, clad in crudely strung together metal plates and what appeared to be chains locking them all together into the semblance of a humanoid shape. My first impressions were of enchanted suits of armour, if they had been imagined and put together by a young child or someone with no experience of what armour actually looked like but I doubted that the daedra would be any less deadly as a result.

There was one single detail that left me grinning fiercely as I gazed over the ranks of our assembled foes and the flutter of anticipation was growing stronger as they began to advance to meet the rest of the Order. With the spyglass I could see their weapons, count their ranks and determine a lot about our enemy and what I saw was reducing the advantage they had in numbers. I could see swords and axes, hammers and maces, thin, angled faces wearing grim or snarling expressions within moonstone barbute helms but what I couldn't see were spears or polearms of any kind. They had none. No spears, no lances, halberds, billhooks, mauls, or even town handed axes. Every weapon they had were short and single handed and what I also noticed was that they had no archers or skirmishers of their own.

My grin was growing even stronger now, and I could feel my anticipation slowly overwhelming the anxiety that I had. I watched as the elves began marching forward, their ranks perfect and glittering like precious metals under the morning sun in comparison to what I could only describe as a rag-tag group cobbled together from across the empire. There was no real uniformity within the Order of the Nine but there was also no doubting their identity, especially when a standard with a blood red diamond on a white background was raised high above their heads.

"Et Novem vult!" echoed across the wind from the tiny band of soldiers and I saw weapons raised into the sky for a moment as they continued to advance. There was no hesitation that I could see in their own advance towards a greater foe, and if anything it appeared that they were almost straining to engage their foes in battle.

The distance between the two forces was shrinking, even as the elvish host stopped in place a few hundred metres from the edge of the ruins. They seemed content on waiting for the Order's attack to reach them, sitting back and waiting on the defensive with their array of Atronachs ready to absorb the first charge, and the Aurorans hanging back within the ruins. If not for my own personal experience fighting such creatures it would have appeared that they were too far back to render any form of assistance but in Leyawiin's cathedral they had proven capable of running like horses when they desired.

I could see a hundred or more elves still within Garlas Malatar, moving about as though gripped by panic and as far as I could determine now of them were armed in any meaningful degree. Some were dressed differently, moving about in flowing black robes with golden trim as they rushed towards the summoning circle, others appeared nothing more than labourers as they too rushed about in their own tasks. What I couldn't see however was the nausea inducing form of their master, Umaril who had appeared to have vanished from sight.

Metre by metre the Order advanced in good order, their ranks and shields locked together and even from such a distance I didn't need the spyglass to see the billowing white standard, or the glowing form of Caleb mounted on his horse in the centre. There was no doubting that the elves could see the same from the way that their own battleline hardened when the distance between them closed to bow range and the skirmishers commenced their deadly trade.

As I lifted my fist into the air and rose to my feet, I could already see the handful of archers and hunters in front of the Order's formation began launching their deadly projectiles at the massed ranks of the elves who immediately raised shields and locked tighter together. With my vampirism I could hear the strange hissing and buzzing of arrows, and the clatter of metal on metal as they shattered or stuck fast into moonstone shields but there were the odd one or two cries of pain intermingling through the racket. Still, the Order advanced and with our foes' attentions drawn to the obvious attack, the next stage of our plan commenced.

From the forests behind me I heard the clanking of metal plates, the jingling of chainmail and the snorting of enormous warhorses as they were lead through the vegetation. Branches were snapped aside, shrubs and smaller trees crushed underfoot and anything smaller than a sapling was left broken and bent by the mass of knights that made their way to my position.

From the smallest charger to the largest destrier of the Black Knights, each horse and rider were completely armoured and weighed over a tonne and they crushed their way through the forest as though it was little more than a mist or low hanging fog. Like myself, the sixty other riders were fully ready for war and my confidence couldn't help but grow at the sight.

Without a word spoken Alexi moved over to me, leading his own steed and Trygve and handing over his reins. Most of the knights were dismounted to move through the forest and unlike the numerous plays and shows throughout the Empire that portrayed knights as heavy and cumbersome we all quickly climbed into our saddles without too much effort. The armour we wore was no longer training or tournament plate designed for the utmost protection, but instead was now designed for war. After months of training I felt as light as a feather as I too climbed into Trygve's saddle wearing my daedroth scale armour, pulling my padded coif over my head before pushing my own helmet down until it fit snugly.

As I cast my gaze over the assembled knights I couldn't help but shiver, feeling their gazes upon me and the commencing battle on the plains. They were a swathe of colours and armours, dressed as differently to each other as their backgrounds and ye they were all united under my command against a common foe, with a common faith. From the gigantic Black Knights on each of the formation's flanks, the handful of Knights who had shed their livery and sin from the Host of the Horn and the likes of Detane and Alexi on their own steeds close to me they all were watching and waiting for me command.

"For the Nine." I said, loud enough for all to hear but not loud enough to be truly considered a battlecry before pulling down my visor with a metallic thud.

"For the Nine!" came the reply, following quickly by a series of metallic clicks and thuds as every knight under my command with visors lowered theirs and there was jingling and scraping as we prepared ourselves.

Everything about this moment was alien, despite the months of practice that Alexi and the others had put me through. I had trained and fought and lived as a forester, as a legionary specialised in scouting and attacking from afar and despite my own skills with a sword to fight on horseback was almost going against everything I had ever done. And yet, here I was, having trained almost as long with the Order as I had with the legion as a Hastatii, grasping my lance from its saddle holder and feeling the leather straps of my kite shield in my other hand.

It shouldn't have been something to be comfortable with. It should have been alien and wrong and yet I rolled my shoulders, twisting my head about and looking through the single slit while listening to my breathing and the muffled sound of those around me. My heart was racing in my chest and as I held Trygve's reins in my left hand I could feel his growing excitement in his powerful frame. Like the rest of the knights and their steeds, he too knew what was to come and he was revelling in it.

"Forward!" I called, the weight of my lance somewhat unwieldy as I lifted it into the sky, digging my heels into Trygve's flanks and feeling him begin to move forward without hesitation. The others were close behind, moving a fraction of a second after I did and while muffled through the padded coif and helm I could hear the crashing and crunching of the forest as the sixty of us trampled it flat.

By now the battle had truly begun and the distance between us seemed to stretch on to oblivion. My entire world had been reduced to nothing more than a finger wide slit across my eyes and yet it was filled with the sight of a ruin, and two forces finally engaging each other. Across the hundreds of metres separating us there was nothing by rolling green-yellow fields and gentle hills but I could barely see it, instead finding myself fixated upon the fact that the elvish host and the men-at-arms were now within a hundred metres of each other.

Moving like deformed puppets, it was the Atronachs that first moved against their enemies after being maddened by the light hail of arrows loosed from the skirmishers. Every scout had been recalled and while there hadn't been enough time to train them to fight in the proper manner of archers they were quite effective nonetheless. Instead of loosing their limited arrows in volleys they took their time and aimed, focussing their attacks instead of a blanketed swarm designed against formations. Even from such a distance I could see the crumpled remains of banished daedra where they had been struck down, and the formation of elves were shifting slightly as a handful of wounded were pushed to the rear of the shield wall. it was achieving its purpose though, as those elves within the formation were locked together and had their visibility severely limited which aided in our own sudden appearance.

It was impossible to remain hidden for long, even though our numbers were few the sight of so many heavily armoured cavalry emerging from the forest was impossible not to notice and the bells in the ruins began ringing once more. Those remaining in Garlas Malatar had seen us within seconds and were doing their best to warn their soldiers but had their own, immediate concerns.

In a charge so fierce that we could hear it over the clanking of armour and the thudding of hooves the Atronachs smashed into the men-at-arms and the sounds of death and dying was all too easy to hear. Their role completed, the scouts had fled back through the ranks of the Order's formation with seconds to spare before the cavorting daedra slammed full force into a wall of flesh and metal and began being cut down. The line held, and as we rode our massive warhorses across the flowing plains of grass we could see the mass of stabbing, hacking and cutting men and women fending off the daedra and the elvish formation beginning their own advance.

Whoever was in command of the elves seemed oblivious to the threat that myself and the knights represented, even as we urged our horse into a canter towards them. The bells within the ruins were soon joined by horns echoing their haunting notes of warning into the skies but it was growing too late for the enemy. More and more of the Atronachs were being struck down with every second, and through my narrowed vision I could see the lengths of spears and the wicked heads of halberds leaning over the front ranks of shield wielding men-at arms to stab and smash the daedra back into oblivion. The men-at-arms of the Black Knights were proving especially effective with their own polearms and between the shieldwall and their lengthy weapons they were reaping a bloody tally.

So effective it seemed that the elven commander did something that struck me as ridiculous even as I watched it unfold. With over a thousand metres between us and the enemy I saw how the first two ranks of the elven shieldwall suddenly fractured and rushed forward with a roar, and in a display of superb discipline and skill the rear two ranks condensed and rotated to face us head on.

I had no doubt that my own grin was being mirrored under the layers of metal, leather and cloth of those knights around me at the sight of the enemy splitting their force in two. Under me, Trygve was straining, his power and might held in check only by his own discipline, generations of selective breeding for this one specific task and my own tight grip on his reins. The other horses were also beginning to strain with the enemy in sight but I felt, rather than saw the way that our own formation closed together. My knees were bumping against those to my flanks, my right knee actually touching Alexi's as we closed our horses together and slowly, the pace of our charge increased.

This was what we had spent months training for, practicing and riding and spending hours not just learning how to correctly utilising lances and fight from the saddle but how to correctly hold a formation. This was what separated knights from other cavalry throughout the empire, even horsemen as superb as Extraordinarii and as the distance between us and the enemy was suddenly measured in hundreds of metres instead of thousands the pace quickened.

In two ranks of thirty we rode armoured knee to armoured knee and covered an area just less than sixty metres wide. Although I was mostly blind and deaf to the other rank, I knew from our practice that they were no more than ten metres behind us; enough space to be able to react to a fallen rider but not enough space to reduce the impact of our charge.

Part of the trick of such a charge was timing it. Even across perfectly flat and open ground, breaking the horses into a gallop across the entire distance would break the formation and tire out our steeds. They were not bred for endurance or for speed, and so we waited, continuing on at a canter until the distance between us and the elves was reduced to less than two hundred metres.

My breath was huge and deafening within my helm, my sight limited to the strip of light which was now almost entirely filled with a formation of foes bracing for us and yet I couldn't help but grin with a mouth growing a pair of fangs. I could feel every jolt of Trygve's hooves into the ground, the shuddering of his armoured weight and from the times that I had stood and watched the Order's Knights train I knew it was something that the elves would be feeling all too well.

A single horse and rider was enough to be felt from a hundred metres away in the soles of the boots.

A dozen was enough to be felt in the guts.

Sixty knights with raised lances charging right at you would have been enough to be felt in the very soul.

"Et Novem vult!" I roared, the sound metallic and muffled and yet powerful in the confines of my helm and I dug my heels into Trygve's sides. His canter was suddenly gone and I felt the surge of power flow through his body as without hesitation he broke into a gallop.

Every other knight added their own voices into the battlecry, digging their own heels in and having their steeds begin galloping within a split second of mine. My knees were still bouncing, almost painfully off my companions but the distance was now too short for the formation to truly splinter apart, and so we let our steeds rush forward as fast as their hearts desired and as a single entity our lances dropped.

I had been close to the knights over the past months as they trained, seeing and feeling the might of galloping warhorses in close proximity but I could not have imagined what it would have been like for our foes at that moment. The sound and feeling of crashing hooves that would have been shuddering the ground itself would have been unnerving but to find yourself suddenly faced with a mass of giant animals and their riders the moment that they spurred their horses into a gallop could have broken most people. The Knights of the White Stallion, in a formation no more than five times our current number had attacked a daedric horde head on and utterly crushed it. The elves that we were facing were less than a hundred and fifty and didn't stand a chance.

My mind seemed to slow in those last moments as I couched my lance, bringing the steel point down and tucking the long base under my armpit where I somehow managed to place it into the hook attached to my spine. It had taken me months to do such a seemingly simple act but now I found myself looking down the enormous length, my eyes finding a target amongst the shieldwall in front of us and bringing the point to bear.

As one single mass of riders we struck the enemy, our lances spearing out and at the very last fraction of a second we thrust forward as one, putting all of our weight and that of our steeds and their momentum into a single powerful strike. Each single thrust had behind it over a tonne of metal and meat, and it proved very quickly that there was nothing on Nirn that could stand before it.

Without spears or pikes there was nothing that the elvish infantry could do to stop our charge. They had no spikes to plant into the ground, no caltrops to break our charge and had instead relied on their shieldwall to fend off over ninety tonnes of armoured horseflesh and riders. We struck the centre of their formation with even more force than siege engines and gutted it entirely.

The tip of my lance found the wide eyed expression of an elven soldier in his moonstone barbute, and I faintly registered that their shieldwall was already breaking as many of their members were turning to run. This thought was quickly washed from my mind as the lance simply punched through the elf's face and skull without any resistance, ripping through the side of his head, spearing his comrade at his back through the throat and continuing on to kill the third. The sheer force of the lance strike was so powerful that it made a complete mockery of three sets of moonstone armour and their owners, coating its length in their blood and spraying Trygve's chest even as he smashed through their remains.

In that moment their formation was utterly shattered. We didn't have the numbers to truly crush the entirety of their ranks but we had enough to rip their centre into bloody shreds. The survivors on the flanks we left stunned and dazed as our horses simply rode over the top of those few that hadn't felt the bite of a lance, the weight and speed of our enormous horses pulping and crushing bodies whether they were armoured or not. Such was the weight and power of the charge that we bowled them over and our second rank had nothing else to do but storm through the gore in our wake, pulping the remains even further, coating their horses' flanks with blood and leaving very few survivors.

With the crash of metal and meat ringing through my ears I suddenly found myself and the others beyond the broken elven formation, tasting copper on the air and feeling sweat soaking my tunic under my armour. I had expected success but this was insanity and as far as I could tell from my frantic glances around at our dissolving formation was that none of us had fallen in the impact.

Dozens were dead or severely maimed from lances and hooves, but those who survived and still had the mental faculties remained counter attacked before we had a chance to regroup. It was at this point that we were at the most vulnerable, where the shock of impact and our formation broken from the charge and even though our foes were armed with little more than swords, axes and maces, a knight and horse that wasn't moving was a worthy target.

"Kaius! The Aurorans!"

I couldn't tell who the shout belonged to but their warning was more than enough. Towards the ruins and in response to our charge the Aurorans were now joining the fray, stomping their way across the open field with long powerful strides that were comparable to the speed of our horses.

Bent, cracked and coated with gore and jellied brains my lance was thrown into the face of a screaming elf as the survivors began rushing our milling formation. They still heavily outnumbered us but I ripped Sunchild from its shealth and drew a circle in the sky. "Divide!"

Moving our horses in a steady trot the first and second ranks began fighting their way through the growing numbers of elves as they charged us but there was little they could do to stop us. The knights of the second rank and those few within the first rank that still contained unbroken lances immediately galloped free of the swirling melee while the rest of us drew our other weapons to fend off the increasing number of attackers.

We had practiced this moment, knowing full well that the seconds after such a charge was where we were most vulnerable and even as I began to hack and slash at the encroaching soldiers in their moonstone plate I watched as a large majority of our heavy cavalry broke free. Even the strongest of knights and the most heavily armoured horses could be overwhelmed by a mob of peasants if they stopped moving and with one hand on the reins and the other slashing at any flesh I could see I tried desperately to keep Trygve moving. There were dozens of enemies and I soon felt as though I was alone in the battle, hearing and seeing nothing more than metal framed faces filled with hate and tasting blood and opened bowels on the air through the tiny holes in my helmet.

This was also where Trygve had been truly bred for and I barely even had to guide or command him to act in such a situation. He had been trained for this, bred for this through the Nine knew how many generations and war and battle was a part of him as much as his flesh and blood. He stamped and kicked his way through the press, twisting and turning around to snap and bite at any exposed flesh and his powerful legs kicked and stomped with impunity. The sounds of screams and the loud crack-thuds of his steel-shod hooves striking our foes echoed loudly in my helm and I saw more than one foe flung backwards through the press with dented armour and pulped flesh.

I was screaming, feeling Sunchild as more part of my arm than my very bones as I stabbed and thrust, using my height and reach from the saddle to keep my foes at bay even as Trygve twisted and threatened to throw me from the saddle with his movements. One elf went down hard as Sunchild gouged through the open face of his helm, stabbing deep into eye and brain before being wrenched out and chopping hard into the throat of another. I saw another shriek as Trygve reared up on his hind legs, flailing out with his hooves and crushed the elven warrior into the bloody grass and dirt as though he was an insect but there were too many of them to fend off.

The corners of my eyes caught glances of the advancing formation of men-at-arms as their opponents broke and tried desperately to regroup their shattered formations and the sound of horns was threatening to be drowned out in the screams of rage and pain. There was too much to see or absorb, too much happening and I was beginning to sink under the waves of the battle despite my desperate attempts to stay afloat.

Whatever semblance of a formation the elves were trying to achieve was suddenly crushed almost as quickly as before and I fought the pressure on myself lessened as another force of cavalry rode straight into the heart of the fighting. Unlike myself and the other knights this was not a force of heavy cavalry but it struck with far greater speed, their lighter horses riding down the loose ranks of elves and Atronachs and trampling any who weren't fast enough to dive away.

The sensation of pressure in my mind was impossible to ignore, as was the way how it appeared the sun seemed to grow brighter with Caleb's arrival in the battle. If I didn't know better, I would have guessed that the clouds themselves had removed themselves from the sky to ensure that he was never cast in shadow. He struck the enemy with all the force of a thunderbolt from the skies or an avalanche from the Jeralls, riding hard on his own steed with Suumdostrun couched under an arm.

In that moment there was no doubt in my mind that he was Pelinal's heir, and I was struggling not to consider that he indeed was Pelinal as he rode into the mass of elves. Every piece of his armour was aflame with resonating power, glowing and burning with such intensity that wisps and tendrils of it was streaming away. The helm of Dibella concealed his features but there was something unnatural with the burning glows misting out of the thin visors and from the breathing holes, but not as much as the lance being wreathed in the same powerful energies.

Stanvond had told me that the lance had been wielded by Tiber Septim before he had ascended into godhood and I could believe it. The steel tipped lance was thinner and somewhat shorter than the more traditional lances wielded by myself and the other knights but it cleaved through flesh and armour like paper. It also seemed impervious to damage or wear from blows and I watched in amazement as he rode down his foes, killing half a dozen elves in a single charge and obliterating a pair of Atronachs who failed to get out of his way.

All around me the Order of the Nine fought for their lives and I could see the men and women who I had travelled and trained with for months or more fighting against our foes. Only a dozen or more metres away, but it may as well have been kilometres due to the number of enemies was the formation of men-at-arms and I caught glimpses of Viconia leading the infantry into the melee. Her white-blond hair was streaming in the wind and her face was a snarl of blood-streaked anger but she was alive and unharmed for the moment. Alongside her the veteran Carodus was bellowing orders from a lifetime's practice that could be heard even over the sounds of fighting and death as he exhorted the men-at-arms to advance into the maelstrom. High above them I could see the white-and-red banner of the order held aloft by a green skinned hand as Mazoga too shouted encouragement and orchish-sounding insults at our elvish foes.

The entire order was there in the bloody grass of the Gold Coast and as I fought I caught glimpses of men and women I had known fighting and dying. I saw one of the twins shifting back through the ranks of the men-at-arms clutching his bloodied face while his brother threw a pilum with deadly accuracy at the being responsible. I saw Areldur sitting high in his saddle, bleeding from a thigh where an axeblow had stuck through the armour and into the meat even as he jammed his own blade into the neck of the other Altmer that had injured him. Avita was close by as well, coming to the sickly, ex-bishop's aid with her own sword tracing a dazzling pattern of steel around the two of them as she proved that years had not degraded the primae lancea's skill with a blade.

Alexi and Detane were also thick in the fighting, as was Falid and his fellow knights. The sword champion of Cyrodiil and the previously disgraced baron appeared to be attempting to out-do one another in their abilities, fighting side by side on their horses and killing anything that came within reach with increasingly impressive strikes. Falid on the other hand was a simple force of nature, a behemoth of black metal and horned helm with a trio of his brother knights on their armoured horses cutting a bloody swathe through anything foolish enough to come close. They seemed to have drawn the majority of the surviving Atronachs in their cobbled-together and possessed forms but their daedric fury was no match to the horned giants in black plate and were hacked into pieces without hesitation.

"For the Nine! For the Nine!" Someone was shouting and it took what felt like minutes before I realised that it was actually me roaring through my closed helm. All around me I could hear the call being taken up by others but it was being met by another, more sinister sound.

Screaming overwhelmed the sound of battle but it was not the screams of the dead or dying. It had taken them some time to reach the battle but the Auroran's had finally reached the wild melee and without slowing they simply smashed their way into the depths of battle, hacking and killing all within reach. They were just as large and powerful as their brethren had been in the cathedral but their numbers were telling as they waded into the press without pause or concern. I saw one of the knights and his steed die from a single blow of their daedric weapons, the wailing sword in one of the daedra's hands hacking down hard enough to cut the man in two and continue deep into the horse. Another horse was screaming in fear and pain as a battle-axe crashed down hard into its shoulders, cutting the animal open and spraying its rider with gore as it toppled.

They were moving too quickly, and were too powerful to be held back with horsemen alone and while the rest of the elves and the surviving Atronachs rallied around their giant reinforcements I was struggling to gain any control over the surviving knights. Another two plated horsemen and a trio of lighter cavalry were quickly left dead or dying in the crushed grass as they were hacked from their saddles, or had their horses' legs cut out from under them and within seconds of their arrival our cohesion had been utterly lost.

Many of the knights fell back from their charge, some tried but failed and I watched as several of the men and women that I had trained with for weeks or months were pulled out of their saddles or had their steeds killed under them by our foes. More of one I saw land heavily on the ground where the elves wasted no time in kneeling on writhing chests to flick open visors with knives at the ready. The shrieks of those under my command seeing the blades before they stabbed into eyes ripped into my very soul and yet I and the others could do little for them through the press of seething hatred that continued to attack us.

"For the Nine!" I roared again, feeling the jarring sensation up my arm as I cut down a light Atronach in its crudely formed body of iron and chains. "For the Nine!"

"For the Nine!" roared the Men-at-arms at my back as their used their shields to bash their way through the press of faltering enemies. Polearms and other weapons swung and stabbed and hacked down onto the moonstone wearing Altmer with horrific ease and step by bloody step they were advancing.

"For the Nine!" Bellowed the lance wielding knights as they galloped back into the battle in a thundering roar of hooves. While not as cohesive as our first charge this one still bit deep into the press of enemies clustering around the Aurorans and I saw how several of the knights managed to reach the golden giants. Despite all of their size and their resilient daedric natures, they proven insufficient to deal with the power of a tonne and a half of armour and flesh behind a lance tip and at least two of them were stuck down. Ludicrously one of the giant Aurorans were ripped off their feet by a trio of Black Knights who managed to spear the daedra with their lances, their combined strength and momentum plucking the creature off the ground where it writhed and kicked like an insect on a pin.

"As balangua, Ehlnada racuvar!" Whispered a voice that seemed to flow through my brain without reaching my ears and at that moment the battle became somewhat stilled. Every man and women under my command shivered as the voice spoke directly to their souls, flowing directly into their minds instead of being heard. The elves and their daedric allies were pulling away from the fight as best they could and it wasn't hard to see why.

Nausea threatened to overwhelm me at the sensations that were washing over my body and mind and somehow this new arrival had managed to appear on the edge of the battle without being seen crossing the open space between us and the ruins. It was as tall as one of the Aurorans, but strangely elegant and disturbing at the same time. The Aurorans appeared to giant armoured humanoids with golden flesh-metal, but this being was entirely golden. His eyes were burning with a white light that was somehow pure and yet hideously corrupt, a power seeping from flesh that appeared fashioned or even grown into the shape of ancient elven armour and yet the face was not armoured. It was a face that was regal and yet damning, a scowling mask of angular lines and unmistakably elven.

His body was a mass of spines and blades, his shoulders erupting with golden protuberances that would have taken the shape of skeletal wings if not for the fact that they were more like featherless tendrils. There was no mistaking the daedric link that he had with the surviving Auroran's, or the elven blood that he shared somewhat with his mortal followers but he was somehow the same as them, and yet infinitely greater.

Umaril the Unfeathered was as terrifying as any creature I had ever seen or encountered, surpassing that of the vampiric nightmares Viconia and I had fought and the savage horror of werewolves. Trygve was shaking under me, the other horses that I could see also panicking and it was hard not to feel my own growing terror at such a being stepping through his minions to face us.

There was no moment's hesitation from the creatures and mortals at his command as he gestured and sent those not already fighting into the fray. Those knights who had only just conducting their lance charge were suddenly faced with a charging mass of towering daedra that counterattacked ferociously, killing several within seconds even as they tried desperately to fend them off. Others struggled to ride their steeds free of the swarming mass of the surviving Altmer as they chopped and stabbed at the flanks and legs of horses in their attempts to cut them down.

Cries to rally were rising up among our number and my voice was among them, the spirit of our cavalry hanging on by a thread and the appearance of the daedric monster standing on the other side of his minions being all too much to handle. The men-at-arms were also beginning to waver despite the best efforts of Carodus, Viconia and Mazoga and I knew that it would take much for this battle to turn into a rout.

There was one individual among our number that wasn't affected by the appeared of the daedric champion. One person out of all of us that didn't immediately consider turning tail and fleeing but in many ways he was no longer truly mortal himself. On the back of his own horse Caleb stared down the daedric monstrosity and his horde of the damned with fey light glowing from every seam of his armour, lowered his lance and charged without hesitation.

It was this single act of defiance that let the rest of us stunned as he conducted a one-man charge again a hundred or more foes. Our own private battles forgotten for a briefest of moment we watched as he crashed into the thickest part of their formation, spearing the energy wreathed Suumdostrun through the first hapless enemy before rolling the point into the roaring features of a Auroran. The giant shrieked as the holy weapon ripped half its face away in a stream of boiling, evaporating light but somehow the giant managed to grasp and hold onto the lance even as its purity burned its golden flesh. In that moment Caleb was left unarmed but like magicka yet another of his weapons appeared in a gauntleted fist, and the Mace of Zenithar began reaping a bloody harvest.

"Advance!" I shouted as hard and as loud as I could, throwing my arm forward with Sunchild gripped tightly as I did so. "Advance!"

Spurred on by the sight of Caleb bringing holy destruction to the Umaril's host I felt rather than saw the surge of excitement and righteous wrath from the surrounding knights and men-at-arms. The formation had been broken but there was no stopping the charge of men and mer as the men-at-arms as they charged forward without any thought of their own safety, the fear and horror at Umaril's appearance gone.

I felt too confined in the saddle as the two forces came together in a crash of metal and meat and in that tiny moment of breathing space I flung my leg over and vaulted off Trygve. Enemies were still all around but I felt my boots on the blood and shit soaked grass and immediately felt more at home. I may have fought as a knight and had lead the others into battle but this was where I belonged; not in a saddle but knee deep in the fight itself

Pausing only long enough to violently kick a screaming Altmer in the chest with all my vampiric strength, I felt his ribs break and armour buckle from the blow even as I drew my other weapon from where it was strapped to Trygve's saddle. Sunchild was quickly returned to its own sheath but in such a battle I felt though I needed every advantage I could get and so I drew the peerless Light of Dawn without hesitation.

The Order of the Nine and Umaril's host came together like the ending of the world, men and women hacking and killing daedra and elves even as some of their number were cut down in turn. Screams of pain and agony and pure hate were washing over me as I too joined the fight, rushing forward and spearing the first moonstone armoured form through the chest even before its wearer realised what was happening. I could see glimpses of the titanic struggle around us even as I ripped my helm off my head, removing its constricting confines and almost regretting it as my foes tried to take advantage of the weakness.

Caleb was deep in the ranks of Altmer and daedra and fighting hard to get clear of the press as the vomit-inducing monster was sending waves of his minions at the being wielding the relics of the Divines. Despite all those that we had slain there seemed to be a never-ending amount of them throwing their lives away to keep us from going to Caleb's aid. An elf shrieked in agony as the man-at-arms at my side thrust the spike tipped edge of his halberd into the thinner armour at the groin and I simply sliced his head away with the Light of Dawn before kicking the spurting torso clear. Another tried his luck but got nothing more than an axe to his face for his troubles and before I could truly gather my balance a hulking brute of an Auroran was shoving through the press towards me.

Each of the giants were larger and stronger than every man and woman under my command with the possible exception of the Black Knights but it didn't help the giant daedra as a pilum seemed to appear from its chest as though sprouted. There was absolutely no semblance of formation or discipline to this fight as it devolved into a bloody slaughter with each side attempting to kill each other. It was a battle that suited me and the daedra fine, and the Auroran was introduced to mortal pain as I chopped the Light of Dawn into a pillar of a leg, another thrown spear tasted the flesh of its stomach and the lead weighted head of the halberd crashed down hard into its roaring features.

There was less than a dozen metres between us and Caleb but despite the sea of enemies we were advancing to his aid. We were also close enough to feel the effects of his divine power, as each of his blows from the Mace of Zenithar were titanic and blasted the crippled remains of his foes through the press. Wreathed in a corona of energies, the Mace made an utter mockery of the crafts of mortals and daedra alike, crumpling moonstone armour as though it was little more than paper; armour that was renowned for its ability to absorb impacts without bruising the flesh underneath. Against the likes of Aurorans it utterly shattered them, sending great gouts of pulverised flesh and evaporating light-blood hurtling through the air with impacts that I could feel through the soles of my boots and pulsating through the air.

It appeared that there was nothing that could stop him in his attempt to attack Umaril directly, even with the Ayleid Sorcerer-King's attempts to throw more and more of his minions in Caleb's path. He was unstoppable, godly in nature and power but this illusion was shattered as Umaril suddenly strode forward and killed Caleb's steed with a single savage blow of a sword as large as I was.

The unnatural blade cut through barding, armour and horseflesh with ease, leaving the animal to briefly shriek before it crumpled in a mess of gore and pain. Somehow I saw Caleb manage to get his feet from the stirrups at the last second so that he didn't fall under his fallen horse or break his legs and spine as it rolled, but instead he was left sprawled in the bloody grass surrounded by enemies.

In a surge of victorious hatred, the horde swarmed his prone body and the cry that rose into the heavens was one of sorrow from the Order. I was close enough to see that he was still alive and fighting, using his gauntleted fists and the diamond shaped shield of Julianos to ram into the throats and mouths of his attackers as he desperately tried to get off the ground. The numbers of the foes were too much, and there were too many of them between us to kill in time.

Of the things that I expected to see in the middle of the battle, a growing mist was not one of them and even as I hacked and cut my way through every enemy in my path the realisation wasn't sinking into my brain. Caleb needed all the help that he could get at that moment but the type of help he received wasn't expected by anyone in the slightest.

A blade as cold as the grave sliced through the throat of a howling elven warrior trying to find purchase for his knife, a pair of rapiers flashed and an Atronach crumpled into a heap of enchanted iron crudely fashioned into the likeness of a knight and a giant claymore hacked through the press to clear a space for the fallen crusader. A pair of shields blocked blows intended to strike down onto Caleb as he began to rise, and an Auroran dropped, headless and bleeding as a wicked edge of a glaive cut deeply into daedric flesh.

Formed from the mist of ages and memories, nine figures stood and fought around Caleb as he got to a knee and dragged the Mace of Zenithar from the bloody dirt. They were all transparent, the wounds that had caused their deaths visible on ghostly flesh but their skill and determination was unmistakable.

"The vows that we failed in life…" Growled Sir Berich as he stabbed a Altmer in the mouth with his longsword, his ethereal form fading and vanishing just as quickly as it appeared.

"We uphold in death..." continued Sir Torolf as his claymore bisected an Auroran from shoulder to hip as it moved to strike Caleb from behind.

Each of the ghosts faded as quickly as smoke on the breeze but they blinked and reappeared almost randomly as they protected the source of their own faith and vows. Caleb was fighting hard, killing all in his reach but the sheer number swarming him in their attempts to please their master were too many to fight, even for a being blessed by the Nine. Each time a weapon was raised against him in a way that he couldn't defend himself an apparition swirled into existence and extinguished the threat. When a blow was about to land a ghostly blade or shield would superimpose itself between it and Caleb, blocking or parrying it before dealing with the owner in a brutally precise way.

The original Knights of the Nine fought like the legends that they truly were, fighting with such skill and ability that even the likes of Alexi, Detane and Falid paled in comparison. The killed mortal and daedra alike to protect the relics and the man wearing them and as Caleb led the charge, we and the current members of the order surged forward, our exhaustion and wounds forgotten as we fought to stand by his side.

Seeing his minions fail, his summoned underlings slaughtered and the balance of the battle shifting away from his favour, Umaril was stuck in place, seemingly incredulous at the sight of the living and the dead daring to resist him. His nausea inducing proximity was like acid across the tongue and felt as though I was covering in thousands of squirming maggots even as I fought with the rest of the Order to reach him. He was too corrupt, too evil and polluted to continue to taint the world and even as I slaughtered those serving him I couldn't help but laugh at the irony. I; a being cursed with vampirism and polluted with the blood of a daedra paled in comparison to the unholy canker that stood only a few dozen metres away.

The noise was unending, a roar of metal on metal and metal on flesh and the constant screams and cries of pain and anger. With my helmet off it was no longer dulled and it reached my ears with full intensity even as I added too it personally, roaring and hacking with the glittering length of the Light of Dawn. I could hear shouting of orders, the battle-cants of the Black Knights as they reaped with their enormous blades, and even prayers from dozens of the order around me. There was the chiming of the remaining Atronachs and wordless howls from the Aurorans and everywhere else was elvish voices growing louder with fear and pain.

In amongst this hurricane of sound and noise there was one being that we all could hear too clearly. It was a sibilant whisper in a language as old and dead as the race that gave birth to it, entering our minds like a worm chewing through a rotting apple and promising an imaginable fate for us all.

"Pelinal na vasha." Spoke Umaril, almost more in emotion and hate than simple words and despite everything we all could hear him perfectly. "Sa yando tye…"

Caleb fought as a force of nature, but the sudden and shocking movement of the golden giant facing him was all too noticeably powerful. Enraged by the failure of his minions to kill the Crusader and as the nerve of his mortal followers began to crumble Umaril finally stepped forth to meet his foe. He was tall, much taller than Caleb and while similar in height to the Aurorans there was no mistaking that his power was far greater in comparison.

His sword wailed through the air like thousands of damned souls, almost appearing to rip through reality itself. It was nothing like any of us had even seen before and the impact of it striking against the shield of Julianos was enough to knock us all back a pace from the buffering shockwaves. Any other being, myself included would have been crushed or hacked apart from the power behind that single, hate fuelled blow but Caleb survived. Through the blessings of the Nine he stood his ground, blocking the impact that left the boots of Kynareth sunk into the soil to the ankles but it did little against the next series of blows.

Even as we fought to reach him we could see that Umaril was not holding anything back. Each downwards blow of his sword was incredible, delivering four thousand years of undying hatred towards the Divines into each and with every impact the winds were whipped up into a frenzy. There was nothing like him within the bounds of Nirn, and nothing like Caleb as he took blow after blow, narrowly blocking each strike with the Shield and dragging furrows through the bloody dirt as he was pushed back.

Umaril was too large, too powerful of a foe and the four thousand years of entombment in Oblivion had added to his already considerable power. The ghosts attempted to support Caleb but they couldn't stand against the Unfeathered and were struck down as quickly as they could appear, and the sheer advantage of reach ensured that Caleb couldn't even reach the golden giant with the Mace even if he wasn't putting all of his effort into holding off the relentless barrage.

A particularly devastating blow from the wailing sword slammed hard into Caleb and send him sprawling across the carpet of death that was slowly soaking into the ground, the shockwave from the impact knocking several men-at-arms and their mortal adversaries down and I saw with growing amazement as the nearest Atronach was blasted apart just from being within ten metres of the strike. There was no way that mere mortals would be able to face against such a being, but it didn't stop us from trying.

Screaming with a combination of pain and righteous determination, the first of the Order reached the ascended being with shield and hammer and died in mid step. Almost contemptuously Umaril hadn't even look at the man-at-arms as he simply cut him down, slaying the soldier as easily I would an insect.

A Black Knight died as Umaril hacked him in half from forehead to groin, the enchantments within the ebony plate flaring and exploding as the power of his accursed blade overwhelmed them in an instant. Another knight was backhanded away in a spray of gore that left her more of a crumpled heap of bloody scrapmetal than a holy warrior of the Nine and a men-at-arms was obliterated when Umaril stomped down hard.

Caleb too was struggling to rise from the vicious attacked that he had sustained and even as I rushed forward with the Light of Dawn I could see that for the second time in the battle he had been disarmed. The mace was nowhere to be seen, the Shield still secured to his arm by dint of being physically attached and the speed that Umaril was moving ensured that there wasn't enough time to reach back and draw the Sword of Arkay from his spine. All he could do at in the face of yet another world-ending blow from the champion of Meridia was lock his legs into place and begin to bring his shield up to block it.

The flare of light was unexpected, almost as much as the lengthy pole and silken banner being thrust into the elven face twisted with loathing and although there were dozens of mortals now struggling to reach Umaril and support Caleb, there was one in particular that was doing all she could to help. Mazoga, wielding the Order's standard in one hand like a pike was thrusting the bloodstained fabric into the Ayleid's face in an attempt to fend him off, but more surprisingly was holding Zenithar's Mace in the other.

We had tested many of the relics with members of the Order and while Mazoga had never shown any interest there was no mistaking the way that the Mace was glowing bright as she wielded it. In a display of pure skill and brute determination she showed just how much experience she had with such weapons as she distracted Umaril with the standard, letting his snatch it away as a crumpled mess even as she swung the Mace with all her considerable strength.

The crack of metal on flesh-metal was almost as loud as the resulting shockwave as light blasted away from the impact, throwing another handful of fighters to the ground before Umaril's screech of agony ripped through our minds. It was so loud that many of us were left clutching at our skulls, some bleeding from the ears as one of the last kings of the Ayleids collapsed with a shattered leg.

There was no mistaking just how powerful the ancient weapon was when wielded by someone of Mazoga's strength and even with a master of restoration magicka and his daedric nature it would have proven extremely difficult for Umaril to heal such an injury. His golden flesh was shattered and cracked, the leg askew and bleeding the same evaporating light as his fallen Aurorans and it looked like Mazoga had almost managed to sever the limb entirely.

Her moment of triumph was short lived however, as his flailing arms managed to grasp hold of the mace as he attempted to fend off the following swing. The hissing of steam as the weapon burned his hands and the rancid smell of burning daedric flesh caught in the back of my throat, but before anyone could do anything he had flung the offending weapon away and Mazoga with it.

Like a school of slaughterfish we rushed the kneeling Ayleid, instinctively knowing that he was wounded and attempting to capitalise on the advantage while we had it. At the sight of their master down and wounded, most of Umaril's mortal followers began to flee and while the Aurorans were still present, their numbers had been drastically reduced. Most of the men-at-arms and mounted knights were battling the giants who appeared to be trying to move to assist Umaril, and there was the odd Atronach or two still alive but for most our gaze was locked on the being we had come to defeat.

He was wounded and weakened but there was no doubting his strength as he continued to lay about himself with wild swings of his cursed sword. Several of the Order died or were maimed by these strikes that seemed to ignore all armour and attempts to block or parry but there one person among our number who held no trepidation.

"I give my body, heart and soul to the covenant of the Nine." Intoned Caleb as he rose to his feet before the kneeling monster of gold flesh and corruption. "No plea of help shall find me wanting…"

Dragging herself painfully to her feet with her arm wrenched out of place, Mazoga dropped her shield and drew her personal mace from its leather loop at her belt. "No obstacle will stand before me…"

Roaring with growing anger, Umaril swung his blade with the sound of tearing silk but Alexi was faster, rolling under the mighty swing and slashing the Ayleid's arm with his sword. "No evil will taint the lands of Tamriel," he breathed, moving swiftly from the enraged being's reach as more and more of the Order began chanting the oath. "and beyond while I draw breath."

Glittering in a silver arc, a glaive very similar to that of Sir Henrik's drew more daedric blood from Umaril and Thedret staggered backwards from a sword slice that snapped his polearm in half and narrowly missed cutting him in two. "As the Eight and One are my witnesses…" he continued on, drawing out a short sword and preparing to move forward with the rest of us as though we were hunting a bear.

Detane, his scarred face cold and yet covered with sweat stepped backwards as Umaril tried to claw his way across the bloodied ground to strike him and the others nearby with his blade. "That which is sacrament; I shall preserve…"

"That which is sublime; I will protect…" Chanted Avita as she rode over on her horse, spearing Umaril in the side with her light cavalry lance before twisting skilfully out of reach.

"That which threatens; I will destroy!" I added to the dozens of voices around me as we harassed and attacked the downed daedric being that was struggling to contend with our number. The Light of Dawn added to the scores of cuts and gashes weeping burning light on the golden body but now Umaril was faced with something more powerful than anything we could wield.

Having risen to his feet and drawn the Sword of Arkay, Caleb was engulfed in unfathomable energies and the blade of the god of Birth and Death was ablaze with holy fire. Every seam of his armour was billowing power as though his body was incapable of holding it all, and there was no doubting the power of the Divines was infusing the man before us. Caleb effectively was no more at that moment, instead the being standing before us and the downed Umaril was truly the Divine Crusader.

"My holy wrath will know no bounds." While human, the voice that reverberated from the Crusader's helm was more than a mere mortal's. It spoke of love and beauty. It spoke of the power of wisdom and the might of the natural world, the sensations of justice being fulfilled and the compassion of mortals. There were hints of how dedication and work throughout the cycle of life and death could bring untold wonders and how the power of time itself was unmatched in all things, but there was a hint of the new; of mortal might, honour and law binding it all together.

"Abagaianye Ehlnadaya…" The emotion in Umaril's voice was easily deciphered as he practically spat them at the Crusader. There was not enough hate in the world to represent that which was flowing through the Ayleid's veins and for the moment the rest of us we forgotten as he rose as best he could to face the champion of the Nine.

Their blades crashed together, knocking many of us back from the impact alone as the blessed and cursed came tougher with cataclysmic energies. The Sword of Arkay and Umaril's blade rang out over the battlefield and there was not a single one of us who were able to stand within a dozen metres as the two champions of the Aedra and Daedra fought. Blow after blow the Crusader continued his relentless attack wielding the Sword of Arkay two handed like a claymore and I couldn't see anything of the young man who I had met those months ago in Leyawiin, especially as he continued chanting with every strike.

"Time! Life! Beauty! Wisdom! Nature! Love! Justice! Dedication!" Roared the Crusader as Umaril was driven to his knees from the holy onslaught. A creature powerful enough to kill scores of the greatest soldiers the Empire had to offer was forced onto the defensive and it was obvious now that the Crusader had the upper hand.

"Honour!" With the last word flowing from his mouth I felt the meaning of the words more than their sounds, and Umaril felt it even more as his sword hand was hacked away with a masterful swing of the Sword of Arkay. Keening wildly, he fell backwards like a tree, the stump of a wrist spurting evaporating light even as his cursed blade sunk into the soil.

A boot of Kynareth, portraying the marvels of nature smashed into the Elven visage that was screaming with untold agonies and Umaril was thrown backwards from the force of the blow. The being wearing the relics was human, but at that moment it was hard to believe it as he had struck with all the force of Red Mountain erupting and we felt Umaril's body slam into the ground with just as much force.

"Repent!" the Crusader bellowed, rushing forward and putting his boot into Umaril's chest as he stood upon the enormous torso. "For I; the Crusader of the Nine, will be your doom!"

Reversing his grip on the lengthy sword, the Crusader gripped it tight and before Umaril could fend him off he plunged it into the golden chest. The flame wreathed blade flared brightly, far too brightly to look at as it sunk to the hilt and pinned the fallen giant to the ground and before we realised what had happened a storm of energies rushed out.

One moment I was there, moving forward to continue the fight as Umaril squirmed with Crusader on top of him and the sword transfixing his chest and the next I found myself blinding and flying backwards from the explosion of raw power ripped out of the two beings. The bloodied, corpse ridden ground rushed up to meet me and for a tiny moment I found myself wishing I had kept my helmet on before I was rolling, bouncing over the dead and dirt before finally coming to a rest.

Where there had once been a roar of battle, of shouting and screams and the clash of metal there was nothing but silence and I slowly, painfully picked myself up where I had landed in a puddle of half congealed blood. I was drenched in the stuff, my armour caked with half congealed layers but now dirt and dust had been added in significant quantities to my person. Spitting out a mouthful of grass from an almost excruciatingly dry mouth I rose to find myself one among many looking about bewildered at what had happened.

The battle was over, knights and men-at-arms alike were picking themselves up from where they had been knocked over and even a handful of horses were whinnying as they too staggered to their feet. Universally there wasn't a man or woman among us who didn't wear an expression of surprise, and not just from the titanic battle we had just witnessed but of the fact that despite everything we were still alive.

Some were already tending to their friends and comrades, seeking out the wounded among the bodies whether they were friend or foe alike. There did not appear to be any more fight left in our enemies, as the Atronachs and the Aurorans had vanished in the storm of energies when the Sword of Arkay pierced Umaril's chest, and those few mortals were fleeing towards the ruins as fast as their legs could carry them. They were beaten, utterly and entirely and although the Order of the Nine had bled and died for a victory it rung hollow in our minds.

I could see all too well the centre of the battle, where the two champions of their respective gods had fought and they remained there, locked together with sword piercing golden flesh. Umaril's body was already beginning to dissolve like spun sugar in the rain, disappearing back into Oblivion where it had been born but there was no mistaking the person hunched over on the torso.

Caleb still clutched the Sword of Arkay as though frozen in the moment where he vanquished the Unfeathered. Where the rest of the Order was moving now, many gathering around the two bodies he was deathly still and unmoving. I didn't need to see Brellin rush over with his bag of chirurgeon tools ready or the way that he felt for a pulse to know that there was no heartbeat in his chest. My curse allowed me to know even before the Bosmer healer rose with a sad shake of head the simple truth of what had happened.

Umaril the Unfeathered was dead, but so was the Divine Crusader.


Translations:

As balangua, Ehlnada racuvar! - By my power, the mortal gods shall be cast down!

Pelinal na vasha - Pelinal is gone (dead)

Sa yando tye - So also (will) you (be)

Abagaianye Ehlnadaya - I do not fear your (mortal) gods)

One more chapter to go...