A/N: Don't expect uploads to come this quickly in future. I've only written this as quickly as possible to make up for lost time during my computer's downtime. Anyhow, thanks to all who reviewed, please keep it up, I like reviews. Speaking of which, time to address those aforementioned reviews:
Arty: Just to make it clear to everyone, here's a copy/paste of what I wrote in my review reply: Suppose I really should clear up that Aerin in Blood and Steel is no relation to the Light Armour master trainer in Morrowind, nor the absent Acrobatics master trainer that's meant to be at Aerin's Camp in Oblivion. I just spotted the name in the wiki, liked it, and I'm bad at making up names.
Underpaid Critic: Yes, adding more main characters will definitely make the story a lot more complex, but I personally like writing a lot of characters, and I feel it wouldn't be as fulfilling if it was just Gorgoth on his own. Additionally, yes, Gorgoth at the moment finds Aerin annoying and doesn't exactly want her around, but that'll probably change soon, and you'll probably soon see that she's not dead wood for him to haul around...
Sneer: Apologies, but the new character introduced in this chapter won't be as interesting as Gorgoth, mainly because he's not original. Though I like expanding on the characters of NPCs, bear in mind that my scope for that expansion is more limited, as Bethesda made these characters, not me. Still, I'll do my best.
Anyhow, this happens to be my longest author's note ever, so I'll shut up and let you get on with reading.
Chapter Eight: Ominous Rumblings
The stables near the gates of Imperial City were curiously underpopulated. When Gorgoth commented on this, Aerin shrugged it off. "Snak gra-Bura doesn't sell horses. She makes a good enough living just looking after horses of travellers." Gorgoth took one look at the Orc stablemaster and took her aside for a stern lecture on the disadvantages of eating horses instead of riding them. Meanwhile, Aerin had located her horse and led her out of the stable, Gorgoth eventually joining her, Snak's glare following him through the door. The warrior-shaman closed the enclosure's gate him, and turned to cast his eye over Aerin's horse.
"Her name's Firebrand," explained Aerin, patting the named horse. "I bought her a year ago, and she's only ever lived up to her name." The Bosmer giggled as Firebrand took one look at the large Orc standing next to her and snorted. She lived up to her name at the very least in colour; her hair was a brown deep enough to look dark red in most circumstances. Gorgoth moved around her, taking off his gauntlets, running expert hands over her flanks and her muscles. Firebrand impatiently tossed her head, but endured the examination.
"Not bad," concluded Gorgoth, nodding appreciatively. "Not exactly what I'm used to, but she's got a fair turn of speed, I'll wager. And the stamina to back it up. I'd say she's about the perfect horse for you." The Orc looked back down at Firebrand; next to the massive Orc, the horse looked more like a stunted mule. "Not really my type, though."
"I'll say," snorted Aerin, swinging herself into the saddle with practised ease. "If you tried to get your clumsy arse up here, you'd either fall off before a mile, or kill her with your bloody weight." She smirked as she expertly reined in Firebrand as the feisty horse attempted to let loose pent-up energy.
"Not that'd I'd try," replied Gorgoth, leading the way down to the massive bridge. Aerin gently nudged Firebrand's ribs and joined him. Walking side by side, Gorgoth's head was level with Aerin's chest. The setting sun was throwing red reflections over Lake Rumare. Darkness was already approaching from the east. By the time the duo had reached the other side of the lake, the sun had fully set and Masser and Secunda were surrounded by stars.
"Are we stopping for the night in the Wawnet Inn?" asked Aerin, jerking her head towards the named inn. Gorgoth merely snorted; it wasn't even late yet, not by his standards. There was too much time in the night to waste sleeping. He broke into a jog, heading down the road that was signposted to Chorrol. Aerin sighed and booted Firebrand to follow him.
After an hour's travel, Gorgoth could tell that Aerin had long expected him to slow down. The Orc had settled into an effortless lope, armour and all, that covered ground quickly and easily. Long years of experience had made it seem almost second nature to him. Aerin was less experienced, and clearly wasn't expecting to have to keep Firebrand to a quick trot just to keep up with an Orc in plate armour. They had turned off onto the Black Road some time ago, and were entering the fringes of the Great Forest.
"Don't you ever get tired, big guy?" called Aerin to the Orc. His stamina seemed boundless. A grunt was her only answer.
Ilend Vonius was feeling good. It was the morning after the assassination of the Emperor had been published, but, overall, the population of Kvatch seemed the same as ever. A bit downcast, a bit scared, but, on the whole, coping admirably. The Kvatch Watch Sergeant had had a quiet morning shift patrolling the area around Kvatch's main gate. The Imperial's clear blue eyes, said to be his most distinguishing feature after his long, luxuriant, black hair, were as sharp as a hawk's, but he hadn't seen any trouble yet today. Fine by him.
Ilend, on the outside, seemed like the typical town guardsmen; a simple man, good with a blade and with a sense of duty, eager to help protect the citizens of his town. However, Ilend wasn't as typical as his outward appearance would suggest; he had considerable skill with the silver longsword at his hip, and he'd had long practise in the heavy chainmail armour that was standard issue for the Kvatch guards. The Imperial had been drinking with several members of the local Fighter's Guild branch a few nights back, and was seriously considering joining. There was more danger, true, but that equalled more pay and infinitely less boredom than his current occupation.
Ilend brought himself back to the present; his task was to keep the peace and catch criminals, not dream of a future with the Guild. A roar from the Arena, on the other side of town, reached his ears. It would soon be full. In the few times that the Imperial had been to watch a fight, he'd been impressed by the skill of the gladiators, but knew that he would have the measure of a good number of them if they ever turned to crime, a reassuring thought. Ilend's boots clinked on the stone steps leading to the massive chapel of Akatosh which dominated the city's main square. The huge oak doors only creaked slightly as he pushed them open and stepped into the darkened chapel.
At this time of day, the chapel was virtually deserted, most of the inhabitants of Kvatch going about their normal work. A couple of priests were drifting around the various shrines, generally doing what priests did when they weren't busy tending to their flock. Ilend wasn't one to pry into the business of serving the Divines, but the priests were good for the city, and that meant he often dropped in on them to hear their grievances, of which there were few. He'd also come in sometimes off-duty to pick up a few lessons on how to use his magicka. His affinity for magicka was pathetic; barely enough to cast a fireball, but that could give him a vital edge. Ilend always liked to have the advantage.
One of the priests turned as Ilend walked up to the altar. "How can I help you, Ilend?" asked the youngest priest of the chapel, Brother Martin. In his mid thirties, the priest seemed older than his years, but Ilend had never been able to place his finger on why. He was a powerful enough mage, and had been Ilend's main teacher in learning how to use his puny supply of magicka.
"The usual, Martin," replied Ilend, tucking his gauntleted thumbs into his sword belt. "I ask you if you've seen anything suspicious or something that you're worried about, and I reassure you. That's what we're here for."
Normally, Martin would have responded with an all-clear, and some small talk would ensue before Ilend got back on duty. But this time, the priest frowned and rubbed his chin. Ilend instantly sensed danger. "For once, Ilend, there is something that crosses my mind, regrettably." The priest sighed. "Last night, when I was talking to a beggar outside the chapel, I noticed two men in crimson robes outside the chapel's north door watching me. They departed when I approached them, but they were back again this morning, watching the chapel."
Ilend grunted. "Did you get descriptions?" he asked.
Martin shook his head. "The robes covered them, head to toe," he responded, looking inwards as if in deep though. "One of them was tall but looked thin. Could have been an Altmer."
Sighing, Ilend took off his helmet and ran a hand through his air. He hadn't got enough sleep last night. "Watching a chapel for two days running might be suspicious, but it's not against the law," he muttered, putting his helmet back on. "Sorry, Martin, but-" the priest cut him off.
"I've got a very bad feeling about them, Ilend," he sighed, his face turning grim. "They're still out there now. Would you at least have a word with them?"
"I guess the rest of Kvatch can look after itself for a few minutes," grunted Ilend sourly. He'd been looking forward to a relaxed morning shift. "I'll see what I can do." Martin thanked him and walked over to a citizen who'd just walked in. Ilend left the chapel.
He spotted the two robed figures that Martin had described almost instantly. Not only did they stand out in their blood-coloured robes, but the way they were lounging against a nearby wall screamed the fact that they were watching something. Or someone. Ilend worked his neck, checked his sword, and slowly walked over, making sure his expression was neutral.
The shorter robed figure nodded to the guard, while the taller one, the one Martin thought was an Altmer, seemed to be looking inward, but it was hard to tell when all Ilend could see of his face was a shadow. He sighed and folded his arms. "Citizens, there have been complaints about your loitering here. I have to ask you to explain your presence." Hopefully this would go smoothly. Hopefully they were just people from some harmless cult or some sort who didn't like the Divines. Hopefully they would be responsive and wouldn't give much argument.
"None of your business, guard. Go away," muttered the shorter robed figure. His gravelly voice indicated a Dunmer. Ilend's face hardened. This wasn't looking good.
"The Kvatch Guard upholds the law and protects Kvatch, so, naturally, what you're doing is my business," growled the Imperial, resting his hand on his sword hilt in an intimidating manner. "I asked politely, now I'm asking you again, or we can ask you again at the castle. What are you doing here?"
The Dunmer snorted; his companion was still ignoring Ilend. "I could burn you to a crisp where you stand, Imperial. But that would just mean-" The Dunmer was cut off by his companion snapping back to reality and laying a warning hand on his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, the Dark Elf sighed. "Forgive me. I spoke in error." Ilend was unsure whether he was talking to him or his robed companion. In all his years as a guard, he'd never heard a more false apology.
The taller figure moved forward. "Apologies for my comrade," he murmured, his voice confirming Martin's suspicions that he was an Altmer. "We are merely watching the chapel. Surely there is no harm in that?"
Ilend had opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly realised that there was no harm in watching a chapel, and perhaps he had been a bit harsh on the Dunmer. "Of course, of course," he replied hurriedly. "Sorry for my intruding, but I was just doing my job. Stay safe, citizens." Ilend turned on his heel and walked off, wondering how he could ever have suspected the two robed men. Martin must be paranoid.
Ilend was halfway back to the castle when he stopped short and realised what he'd just done. Even though he couldn't cast them himself, he knew enough to recognise Charming illusion magic when the effects had worn off. "Bastards," he growled, turning around and heading back towards the chapel, his face resembling a thundercloud.
Gorgoth had been running alongside Firebrand for hours already, yet, despite having only four hours sleep last night when he and Aerin had eventually made camp, only to rise at dawn, the Orc was going strong. He'd recognised the value of time long ago, and there was simply too much time in the night to be wasted no sleep. Four hours was enough to sustain him and keep him in good condition.
Aerin wasn't in agreement; that much was obvious by the way that Gorgoth had to virtually drag her into the saddle when they set off, and her eyes were still visibly heavy. She'd begged for just a few more hours sleep, but the Orc had been unmoveable; he wasn't about to wait for the Bosmer and therefore slow down the return of the Amulet to someone who knew what to do with it. She'd made the decision to come with him, and she'd match his pace or he'd leave her behind.
"When's lunch?" moaned Aerin from the saddle. They'd had cold meat for breakfast, about six hours ago, and nothing since. Her stomach could rumble quite loudly for such a small mer.
"No time to waste," rumbled Gorgoth. "We stop for dinner in five hours." A groan was his only response; the normally active Bosmer was understandably subdued. They'd made undeniably quick progress along the Black Road, passing shocked legion patrols, merchant wagons, and other road users on the way. Bandit activity was light; Gorgoth surmised that a battle-ready Orc in full armour and a Bosmer with a bow on her back didn't look like soft targets.
That meant that the Khajiit in leather armour, clutching a warhammer, was either brave or stupid as he walked out into the middle of the road and growled for them to halt. Aerin, for all her lethargy, managed to whip Trueshot off her back and nock an arrow within seconds, despite the composite bow being a bit big for use on horseback. Gorgoth simply stopped and folded his arms, considering the highwayman with a piercing gaze. The cat raised his right arm.
"I've got a squad of archers at the side of the road," he growled. Aerin quickly checked; he was right. She could see at least three bows drawn in the shadows. "If I lower my hand, they fire," continued the Khajiit. "I'll be reasonable. A hundred drakes each, and I'll call them off."
Gorgoth's emotionless face regarded the Khajiit for a moment more, then, without even looking at the hidden archers, he growled two words.
"Piss off."
The Khajiit smirked. "We prefer to take it all when you're dead anyways," he growled, lowering his hand. Four arrows shot out of the bushes. Gorgoth never moved a muscle as all four bounced off the magical shield he'd surrounded himself and Aerin with. The Bosmer wasted no time in firing back as the Khajiit turned to flee.
Gorgoth stepped forward, hand extended. Fine, thin filaments of lightning sparked out of his fingertips, ensnaring the highwayman. His body jerked as Gorgoth lifted it off the ground and bringing him to face the Orc, his feet two feet off the ground, weak lightning coursing through his body, enough to incapacitate him but not enough to kill. By this time, Aerin had picked off all four archers and heeling was Firebrand forward, ready to shoot down the Khajiit until Gorgoth held up his free hand.
"I developed this spell myself, and it's proven to be very useful," he rumbled, ignoring the frantic gurgling of the Khajiit. "The target is completely helpless, and unless a mage possesses enough willpower to fight through the sheer agony, they're as helpless as anyone else." Aerin shot a questioning sideways look at the Orc, who ignored her, continuing to look at the writhing Khajiit. "The magnitude of the spell can be altered so it's almost harmless-" the tendrils of lightning thinned, and the Khajiit drew ragged breaths, his eyes almost popping out of his head. "- or it can be increased, to immense pain-" the lightning crackled, growing in intensity, the Khajiit in too much agony to scream. "- or you can simply end it quickly." The lightning reached a crescendo, a massive bolt slamming into the Khajiit, the multiple magical forces acting apon him blowing him apart even as his flesh sizzled.
"Ya know, big guy... you're kinda weird," muttered Aerin, swallowing unsteadily as she put Trueshot back on her back.
"So I've been told," muttered Gorgoth. He started running again, past the Khajiit's blackened torso, and Aerin heeled Firebrand after him. "We've wasted enough time here."
It was hard to sneak up on someone wearing heavy chainmail boots, but Ilend was doing his best. A narrow alley had an exit right next to where the two mer were leaning, still watching the chapel. Ilend, crouched low to the ground, was slowly creeping up on them, hoping to catch some of their conversation. He had no doubts about what would happen if he confronted them directly again.
Unfortunately, the pair of mer didn't seem the talking type, so Ilend settled back on his heels near the mouth of the alley, waiting for a slip of the tongue. The Altmer was clearly using some kind of spell, but Ilend was no mage; he had no idea what the elf was doing. The Dunmer's cowl swivelled in every direction every few minutes; he was clearly looking out for threats. He didn't think to look down the alley, or maybe he was simply unaware of its existence. Either way, Ilend was able to observe them unseen from behind a water barrel.
Eventually, when the time for the end of Ilend's shift was approaching, the Altmer stirred, coming out of his reverie and looking around. The Dunmer turned to him, and Ilend strained his ears to catch their low speech.
"Is it time yet?" muttered the Dunmer.
"Not yet, acolyte," replied the Altmer, cowl swishing as he surveyed the street before them. "You always were impatient. One more day is all we need, by my reckoning, to determine that this is Uriel's bastard. If he is, then you'll get your chance to see Kvatch burn."
It took all of Ilend's self-control not to make any noise as the words reached his ears. He forced himself to stop and think instead of rushing out and confronting them. The Altmer was obviously a mage, and if Ilend failed to get the element of surprise, he doubted he'd be able to overcome both of them. If he died, then the rest of the Kvatch guard would never know of the impending attack until the attack itself came. He had to get back and warn them. Slowly rising, he began to slowly walk backwards down the alley. His legs, aching and tired after the long period of crouching, betrayed him and he stumbled, chainmail clinking loudly as he took several loud steps to steady himself.
"What the- damn! How did I not see that alley?" The Dunmer's voice was harsh as he berated himself. Probably hoping to redeem himself in the eyes of his superior, he dashed around the corner, drawing a dagger from the folds of his robe. Ilend was ready and waiting. He drew his sword, and, in the same motion, slashed through the mer's chest. The Dark Elf's gurgles were cut off when Ilend decapitated him a second later, already hurrying backwards to avoid the body as it fell.
The Altmer hissed in rage as he tripped over the body of his comrade. He was on his feet in a second and sent a green ball of magic towards Ilend. The Imperial dodged and wisely decided that there was no point staying in the narrow alley where he would be an easy target. He spun and dashed down a side path, sprinting out into the street. Nearby townsfolk noticed him and immediately made themselves scarce apon seeing a guardsman with a bloody sword in his hand. Ilend, running for the castle, looked back and was relieved to see the Altmer retreat back into the shadows.
Fortunately, Count Ormellius Goldwine believed the young Watch Sergeant's account, and dispatched squads of guards immediately to hunt down any red-robed figures and bring them to the castle for immediate questioning. Ilend gave the best description he could of the Altmer. Through his extensive debriefing by the Guard Captain, Savlian Matius, Martin's original complaint about the robed figures completely slipped out of Ilend's mind. He only remembered it as he crawled into his bunk after spending the rest of the day fruitlessly searching for the crimson-cloaked would-be invaders. The Imperial made a mental note to check with Martin in the morning. He then remembered something that the Altmer had said... something about 'Uriel's bastard'. Before Ilend could think about it any further, his body had succumbed to sleep.
After the encounter with the bandits, Aerin had finally woken up properly, and was intensely curious about her new companion. Gorgoth was finding her moderately annoying, but he'd put up with worse before.
"What do ya do back in Orsinium, big guy?" asked Aerin, idly playing with Firebrand's mane as the horse trotted quickly along beside Gorgoth, whose pace didn't mean he couldn't have a conversation.
"I'm a spellsword for hire," he grunted. Sweat was running in rivers down his back, and the only regular stops he allowed were to refill his massive hip-flask to hydrate himself.
"You?" asked Aerin, looking critically down at the Orc running beside her. "You, a mercenary? Come on, don't lie ta me. You're a warlord of some kind, ain't ya?"
"Don't make assumptions about a culture you know nothing about," replied Gorgoth, his face and tone of voice the same as it had been for the last few hours. "I'm a spellsword, nothing more, nothing less."
Aerin sighed and changed the subject; this one was going nowhere. "Don't ya ever smile, big guy?"
Gorgoth looked sideways up at her. "I suppress my emotions in order to remain calm and stoic, which helps me focus on what's important."
"I don't reckon I've ever met an Orc like that, ya know. You NEVER smile?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I smile when there is need of it. But excessive display of emotion could be a potential vulnerability, and I won't entertain something that my enemies could exploit."
"So... you're trying to make yourself invulnerable?" Aerin shook her head in disbelief.
"I'm reducing the number of weak points I have," rumbled Gorgoth. "Any emotion can be pounced on by an enemy and used to his advantage. By not letting him have that advantage, I have a better chance of staying alive."
Aerin threw up her hands in despair. "How did I get saddled with an Orc with no feelings?" she asked the sky. Before Gorgoth could reply, she asked yet another question. "So you've never displayed love ta anyone? Cold-hearted bastard, if you ask me."
Gorgoth snorted. "Think of me what you will. Love is a massive weakness that's incredibly easy to exploit. I simply do not allow myself to feel love. It's better that way."
"You're saying... you've never loved anyone in your entire live? Damn..."
"I loved my mother, though that was before I started conditioning myself," grunted Gorgoth. "She's dead. I suppose the comradeship I feel for some of my brothers of battle could be called a kind of love. But I will not allow myself to be weakened."
Aerin sighed in exasperation and lay down on Firebrand's back. "What about your father?" she asked, hoping to find at least a chink in the Orc's emotional armour.
"You didn't want to ask that question." Gorgoth's face and voice were exactly the same as before, but Aerin knew a warning when she heard it. She shrugged and sat back up in the saddle as they passed an Imperial Legion patrol, the Legionmen looking askance at the odd spectacle of an Orc running along the Black Road with a Bosmer on horseback. "Why don't you ask a question that's actually relevant to our current situation?" suggested Gorgoth. "Or maybe you could shut up entirely. It would be nice, but I doubt if it'll happen in the next century."
Aerin giggled at what she assumed to be the Orc's deadpan attempt at humour, but then realised that he wasn't exactly one to crack jokes, and had probably been serious. "OK, big guy, how long until we get to the priory?"
"Another day's hard ride, by my estimation." Gorgoth turned and looked Aerin straight in the eye. "Four hours sleep, up at dawn tomorrow." The Bosmer groaned. "We should reach Weynon Priory by dusk tomorrow if we keep up this pace, if my map is correct." Aerin simply resigned herself to yet another sleep-deprived night.
When Gorgoth eventually called a halt, Masser and Secunda had been overhead for hours. Aerin was so exhausted she fell asleep almost before she was out of the saddle. Gorgoth got a fire going, chewed on the remainder of the rough meat they'd packed, and filled his hip-flask from a nearby spring. His finely-tuned body clock ensured that he'd be up at dawn, or thereabouts. Removing his armour was a faster process than some would imagine, but with practise came rapidity. The Orc checked that Aerin was still alive, then lay back against a tree and relaxed his body, falling asleep within seconds.
Ilend wasn't sure what had woken him, but he instantly knew something was afoot. There was an excited murmur of voices in the main barracks downstairs, and the atmosphere seemed tense. The Imperial jumped out of bed and ran downstairs while tugging his undershirt on. A large number of Kvatch guards were gathered in the barracks, all talking in low voices with much arm-waving. Ilend managed to pick up that a red-robed Imperial had been captured and taken to the castle dungeon. He wasted no time, dashing upstairs and throwing on his tunic and chainmail as fast as physically possible. He was walking out of the barracks, shivering in the predawn cold, within minutes.
Ilend managed to get past the jailor by informing him that as he was the only one who'd had previous contact with the mysterious figures in crimson, he was logically a good choice to take part in the interrogation. Walking into the indicated cell, Ilend wasn't surprised to see that it was only Savlian Matius and the prisoner inside; Count Goldwine never had liked to get his hands too dirty. The prisoner was dressed in filthy prison rags and was sporting a nasty-looking bruise on the temple, evidently from where a Guardsman had subdued him. He was sitting in a wooden chair, unrestrained save for a Silence spell cast minutes ago by the Guard's attached Imperial Battlemage. Savlian was leaning on the back of another chair, leaning forward. Evidently, the interrogation hadn't reached any physical levels yet.
Savlian looked up as Ilend entered. "Good to see you, Ilend," he grunted. "I was hoping you might be able to give this idiot's memory a tug, seeing how all he speaks about is how some Daedric Prince is going to kill us all."
"Think I'll go for every verbal approach in the book before I start smashing his face in," replied Ilend, idly cracking his knuckles. The prisoner looked defiant, showing no signs of intimidation. He was in his middle ages, with grey hairs starting to show at the temples. His face was entirely forgettable. "What's your name?" asked Ilend. Apart from his robes, a pair of boots and a potion of healing, nothing had been found on the prisoner, and he didn't live in Kvatch, so there was no house to search.
"I need none," replied the prisoner simply.
"Fine," grunted Ilend. "What do you want with the youngest priest at the chapel of Akatosh?" Ilend knew that his captain hadn't asked that question simply because he didn't know about Martin. The guardsman could feel his superior's curiosity from across the cell.
The prisoner's eyes widened slightly, but he swiftly recovered his neutral expression, saying nothing. Ilend gritted his teeth. This was going to be a tough nut to crack.
"OK, let me guess. You're watching the priest because you think he's the son of the late Emperor, and you have a problem with that, and plan to assassinate him?" Ilend heard Savlian sniggering from across the room at the madness of the idea. Ilend leaned in closer to ask a proper question, but stopped when he saw the prisoner's face. It was a mask of pure shock.
"How... how do you know that?" he stammered, evidently amazed at Ilend's knowledge.
There was a gulp and a slight choking sound from across the room as Savlian nearly swallowed his tongue. Ilend hoped that he had concealed his own surprise better than his captain had. Leaning closer, an intense look appeared in his eyes. "Our sources are not important, but let's just say we know a lot more than you think we do." He fervently hoped that his bluffing was working. "We know Martin is your target. How were you planning to kill him?"
"Not just him," started the prisoner, but abruptly his face grew grim and he shut his mouth, folding his arms and adopting a determined stance.
"Who? Who else are you watching?" Ilend's face contorted into a snarl at the prisoner's continued resistance. "Tell me, damn it," he growled, clenching his fists.
The prisoner looked up at Ilend and smiled. That smile sent shivers down Ilend's spine, but the Imperial shook himself and prepared to get his hands dirty. "You're going to talk, and I'd honestly prefer it if we didn't have to go through the messy business of extracting your knowledge from you," he told the prisoner. The Imperial said nothing, that smile faltering but never fading.
Ilend straightened and nodded to Savlian. They grabbed an arm each and dragged the unresisting prisoner off to the specialised interrogation cells, which had thick walls and good drains.
Despite Gorgoth waking up every living thing within half a mile putting on his armour, Aerin was still asleep when the sun peeked over the horizon, falling over the auburn hair spilling in strands over her face. Had Gorgoth been a poet with an understanding of Bosmeri beauty, he might have been tempted to think up a verse or two, but, as it happened, all he did was gently kick her in the ribs. She mumbled something, woke, and glared up at him with bleary eyes.
"Come on, big guy," she whined, snuggling further back into the tree she was propped up against and pulling her blanket further up. "Just a few more hours, I need this sleep, I ain't you..."
Gorgoth responded by whipping her blanket off and stuffing it into Firebrand's saddlebags. The Bosmer had slept in her armour, no big inconvenience due to its lightness, but she still shivered as the cold morning air assaulted her warm body. "Feel free to stay behind if you want," growled Gorgoth. "I won't be waiting up for you. You decided to follow me, so you keep up with my bloody pace." He stretched and worked a crick in his neck as Aerin shot him another glare and staggered to her feet.
He gave her five minutes to wash and take a drink in the nearby spring. They'd camped slightly off the road in a nearby hollow, the tall trees of the Great Forest towering over them from every direction. Gorgoth wasn't used to seeing this many trees in one place – Orsinium and the Wrothgarians lacked large forests – but he'd never let his surroundings distract him; in fact, he often found ways to use them to his advantage. Suspecting one day that he'd leave Orsinium, Gorgoth had extensively studied every region of Tamriel, reading every book he could get his hands on in the nearest library, which meant that he was very well educated for any mer, let alone an Orc.
Aerin swayed back into the remains of the camp, looking a bit more awake, retying her most of her hair back into its ponytail. Gorgoth jerked his head in the direction of Firebrand, and the Bosmer sighed and scrambled clumsily into the saddle. The fiery horse had lost some of her eagerness, but still looked like she was aching for a gallop for a few miles instead of being forced to slow down for an Orc.
Gorgoth led the way back to the Black Road and started running again, Aerin wordlessly following, evidently too tired to speak. The silence suited Gorgoth. He liked having peace to think. The sun rose higher in the sky as they travelled, and Aerin finally seemed to wake up properly, enough to start bombarding him with the usual questions.
"So, what happens when we get there?" she asked, voice heavy with sleep.
"Finally, you ask a relevant question," snorted Gorgoth. "What we do is hand the Amulet to Jauffre. That's all the Emperor told me to do, but somehow I suspect there's a bit more to it than a simple delivery."
"Ya think? I doubt they're just gonna let us walk away. The Empire likes ta use people, I hear." Aerin sighed and idly stroked Firebrand's mane.
"It won't be much, I don't think. Probably might not even need us, just send the Blades to secure the heir, wherever he is." Privately, Gorgoth was hoping that Jauffre would actually send him to find the heir himself; it wasn't like he had anything else to do, and the warrior-shaman knew he wouldn't actually think the heir safe until he saw him to the Blades with his own two eyes.
As the two mer continued along the Black road, the sun sank into dark, threatening clouds, with erupted with rain some time later. While Gorgoth ignored the lashing rain, Aerin cursed and fished out a thick travelling cloak from her saddlebags, quite difficult to do while moving at a fast trot. The rain, however, didn't stop her usual questions, which were becoming less frequent. Maybe she was running out of things to ask him, or maybe his replies of grunts and monosyllables were finally putting her off.
"I'm guessing you can use a few weapons apart from that mace, big guy?" she asked. "I guess you can summon pretty much anything ya need. Pretty good, that."
"It would be quicker for me to list the weapons that I'm not skilled in," rumbled Gorgoth. In his life, he had used just about every weapon type in existence to kill someone.
Aerin sniggered, probably having expected something of the sort. "Go ahead," she invited.
After a moment's thought, Gorgoth replied: "I can't easily use daggers, mainly because my hands are too big for most of them." Aerin snorted with suppressed laughter. "I'm not all that good with shortswords, either, mainly because I use them as daggers. And, while I can use crossbows, I don't like them all that much. Prefer bows or magic if I need to hit someone at a distance."
"That it, big guy? You're good with all the rest?" asked Aerin. The Orc nodded as though there was nothing out of the ordinary. "Figures," snorted the archer. "With all that crap about vulnerabilities, I guess you'd want to be able to use any weapon at your disposal." She fingered Trueshot, the silver-plated wood of the bow safe from the rain under her cloak. "How good are ya with bows?"
"I can shoot straight, if that's what you're asking," replied Gorgoth. "And with a good Orc battle bow, I can shoot further than any nonenchanted bow in existence, not that I ever really need to." He'd always preferred magic over arrows for long-range work; magic was more versatile and could hit harder.
"I guess," conceded Aerin. "I take it your own battle bow is as tall as you are?" Gorgoth nodded. "Figures. Big Orcs need big bows, it seems." She sighed. "You can probably tell that Trueshot wasn't made for a Bosmer; it's too big to be a composite made for us." The Wood Elf fingered the bow fondly. "But it's never let me down, and I can use it well enough."
"I know that for a fact," rumbled Gorgoth, remembering her arrow piercing his strongest shield spell and his hand. They'd reached a fork in the road. Gorgoth's raised fist indicated a halt while he dug out his map from under his armour and consulted it, covering it in a magical barrier to keep the rain off it. "We've made better time than I thought," he muttered. "Weynon Priory is just three hours down the right fork. Never thought we'd travel this quickly." The Orc folded up the map and started off down the right fork.
"So, what did you learn from him, Ilend?" asked Berich Inian, a fellow Kvatch Guardsman, as Ilend vigorously washed the blood off his gauntlets. The interrogation had lasted until midday, and the Imperial was exhausted, but he had an afternoon shift, so there was no time for rest, however much he wanted it.
"Fuck all," snarled Ilend, rubbing at a stubborn stain on one of this knuckles. "I've never seen someone resist interrogation like that. Even after we knocked out half of his teeth, he didn't talk." The Watch Sergeant growled and withdrew his hands from the basin of bloody water.
Berich passed him a towel. "Think he might have been magically suppressed or something?" he asked.
"It's possible," replied Ilend, rubbing his hands dry and pulling his gauntlets back on. "My shift started five minutes ago. Catch you later, Berich." His fellow Imperial nodded a farewell as lend walked out of the barracks, fastening his helmet.
Ilend ignored his normal patrol route and headed straight to the chapel. The Count and Savlian had evidently argued long and hard over whether the prisoner's semi-admissions were to be believed or not, and apparently they were still arguing. Ilend was surprised he couldn't hear the shouting from the streets. As for Ilend himself, he simply didn't know what to think; right now, he was simply focused on extracting as much information from Martin about the crimson-clad agents as possible.
The chapel was the same as usual, with citizens paying their respects to the Nina as usual. Ilend looked for Martin and found him healing an Imperial who'd evidently fallen and broken his arm. Ilend leaned against the stone wall and waited. He didn't have to wait for long.
"So I was right; there was something wrong about those watchers," observed the priest as he joined Ilend.
"So it would seem, Martin," replied Ilend as he pushed himself away from the wall. "We haven't learnt much so far. Is there anything else you know about them?"
Martin shook his head. "I wish I could help more, but I already told you all I know." The priest sighed as another citizen walked in. "Good luck in doing what needs done, Ilend," he said, walking over to the newcomer. Ilend walked out of the chapel, keeping his eyes peeled for red robes.
His patrol was a quiet one; no real disturbance. However, Ilend's gut was churning for some reason. He couldn't place the reason for his discomfort, but the Altmer's claim that Kvatch would burn resounded in his head. Ilend attempted to dismiss it, but he simply couldn't relax while there was a possible threat to the city, and all the Watch Captain and Count could do about it was argue. Ilend had no problems in keeping alert despite his fatigue.
The sun was peeking out from behind the rainclouds as Gorgoth and Aerin arrived at Weynon Priory. Gorgoth impatiently waited while Aerin stabled Firebrand and hurried into the house.
An aged Breton with a tonsured head looked up as they walked in, Aerin shaking the rain out of her cloak and tossing her hood back. "Welcome to Weynon Priory," he said, standing up, his voice dry. "How can I help you two?" Another monk sitting at the table glanced up, then went back to scribbling a note.
"We need to speak to Jauffre," replied Gorgoth, looking around. Weynon House was typical for the accommodation of monks; simple and basic. Not where the Orc had expected to find the Grandmaster of the Emperor's bodyguard, but life was full of surprises.
"He's upstairs. Go ahead." The Prior nodded towards a set of stairs at the back of the house. Gorgoth and Aerin went up, the stairs groaning and creaking under Gorgoth's weight, while making almost no sound when the significantly stealthier Aerin walked up. Jauffre was sitting a desk, reading. His tonsured hair was iron-grey and wrinkles ravaged his face, but Gorgoth could tell from his posture that the Breton was a veteran warrior who could easily see off younger opponents, a clear giveaway to his secret occupation.
"Can I help you?" asked Jauffre, looking up at their approach. He sounded mildly annoyed at their interruption; Gorgoth guessed that seeing the man you were sworn to protect assassinated would cause a lot of pressure.
Gorgoth decided not to waste words and get straight to the point. "The Emperor sent me. He-" Jauffre cut him off.
"The Emperor? He is dead. Why are you really here?" The Breton's eyes had narrowed.
"I was there when he died," replied Gorgoth, unruffled by Jauffre's suspicion; he'd expected it. "As I was saying, with his dying breath, he told me to go and bring you the Amulet of Kings."
The Breton jumped to his feet with agility that belied his age. Aerin was shocked enough to momentarily grope for her sword. "The Amulet of Kings! Where is it? Where-" The Breton eagerly grabbed the Amulet when Gorgoth produced it. He checked it over, a slow smile spreading over his face. "By the Nine. This IS the Amulet of Kings!"
"Very observant," remarked Aerin wryly. Gorgoth shot her a warning look and turned back to Jauffre, who had sat down, the Amulet lain with great care on his desk.
"What were the Emperor's last words? What else did he say to you?" quizzed the monk, leaning forward.
"He said there was another heir, one that you knew about." Jauffre nodded. "He also told me to 'close shut the jaws of Oblivion', and to stop the Prince of Destruction. I'm not entirely sure what he meant by that."
"I am one of the few who know about Uriel's illegitimate child," replied Jauffre, leaning back in his chair. "I was a younger bodyguard in the Blades when he charged me with finding a place for a young baby boy. From time to time, he asked after his progress." Jauffre sighed and rubbed his eyes; looking closer, Gorgoth could see that the Breton had clearly been affected by the last few days; his face was sagging, and he appeared older than he actually was.
"So who is this last heir of Uriel?" asked Gorgoth.
"His name is Martin. He is a priest in the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch. Efforts must be made to secure him at all costs; we have to assume that the enemy knows of him."
"The enemy... those assassins can be dealt with easily enough," mused Gorgoth. "But I fail to see what Oblivion or Mehrunes Dagon has to do with this. Nirn is protected from Oblivion by some sort of magical barrier, correct?" The Orc could detect Aerin looking at him curiously; it was likely that she had no clue what he was talking about.
"We suspect that the assassins who killed the entire Royal Family are connected to Mehrunes Dagon somehow," explained Jauffre. "Yes, there are magical barriers in place meaning that Oblivion cannot invade. The Dragonfires in the Temple of the One in the Imperial city have something to do with the maintaining of the strength of this barrier. Now, with no-one of the Septim bloodline wearing the Amulet, these fires are dark for the first time in millennia."
"So the barriers are weakening?" asked Gorgoth. Jauffre nodded. "So maybe the Prince of Destruction could invade..."
"Which is why it's imperative that we find Martin before the enemy does," growled Jauffre, rising again. "No time can be wasted. I can't do much, but I can send you two to find Martin and bring him back here safely."
"Hey, why us?" asked Aerin, apparently put out at being ordered across Cyrodiil without much incentive.
"Because you're here, you know what's happening, and I can use you," muttered Jauffre, walking to the window and looking out with arms folded. "You should leave for Kvatch immediately. Some others in the priory may give you assistance. Good luck."
Understanding a dismissal when he saw one, Gorgoth immediately turned and stomped downstairs, Aerin falling in beside him. The aged Prior immediately got up; he'd clearly been listening. "I know how important speed is right now," he sighed. "If you have need of it, take my horse; I rarely leave the Priory much. I hope she can carry you."
"She'll have to," grunted Gorgoth in reply, throwing open the doors and hurrying over to the stables, clearly not eager to waste any more time than he had to.
The Dunmer lay servant showed Gorgoth to a placid paint horse that looked both slow and old, but it would have to do. She gave him a look of reproach as he hoisted himself up into the saddle. The paint horse, mainly used by a lightweight Breton, was completely inadequate for Gorgoth's purposes – his feet dangled a foot below the stirrups – but it was better than running. Aerin snorted with laughter as she saw the huge Orc delicately guiding the small horse out of the stable. Firebrand attempted to nip her new companion until Aerin reined her in.
Gorgoth was consulting his map. "Looks like we've got a long journey ahead of us," he grunted sourly. "Three days, I'd say. Back almost to the Imperial City, then on the Gold Road through Skingrad."
"Three days?" asked Aerin incredulously, pulling up her hood again. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but a biting north wind had sprung up. "What about going cross country? That's much shorter."
"At the pace I set, we'd break the horses' legs after ten miles," replied Gorgoth, packing up the map and squinting at where he thought the sun was behind the clouds. It was nearing dusk. "You ever ridden for long distances when speed is vital?" he asked.
Aerin shook her head. "I'm a hunter, big guy," she muttered. "I've only ever been short distances on Firebrand."
"No rest for the first night," announced Gorgoth. Aerin groaned. "We have no time; those assassins could be stabbing Martin in the back right now. We ride hard; half an hour at a hard gallop, then half an hour running, holding the reins." He took up his own reins and prepared to set off. Aerin stared long and hard at his back before she realised he was serious.
It was past midnight when Ilend made it back to the barracks. Savlian Matius had been called up to the castle for a discussion about what to do, bringing Ilend with him. The Count had been in favour of an increased presence on the streets, while Savlian preferred calling in the Imperial Legion to help investigate. As usual, the two stubborn Imperials couldn't find a compromise and nothing was achieved. Ilend sighed and removed his sword belt and helmet, preparing for a long sleep. Divines knew he needed it. He was tugging off his boots when Merandil, the only Altmer in the Kvatch Guard, rushed in, a look of terror on his face.
"Where's the Captain?" he demanded, looking everywhere at once. "Where is he? Something just appeared outside the city gates!"
"Merandil, calm down," soothed Ilend. "Savlian's up at the Castle still. What is it?"
The Altmer guardsman turned his wild-eyed gaze to his superior. "It's a... gate," he muttered. "No ordinary gate," he continued. "It's- come see for yourself!" With that, he was darting out of the door again.
Ilend forced down the feeling of unease and reached for his sword belt. "Jesan, go get the captain," he ordered. The named Imperial nodded and ran off, chainmail clinking. "It might be nothing," Ilend told the rest of the guards in the barracks, most of whom had been rudely awoken. "But after hearing that prisoner, I'm not about to laugh off strange happenings." He grabbed his helmet and forced it onto his head as he ran out of the barracks.
Merandil was hopping from one foot to the other in impatience outside, and took off as soon as Ilend appeared. The Watch Sergeant muttered something about hyperactive Altmer and ran after him.
It was evident that Merandil wasn't overreacting when he and Ilend climbed the city wall and looked out at the gate. It was slightly taller than the town gate itself, columns of obsidian surrounding a sheet of fire, occasionally belching out great billows of flame that almost reached the walls, much to the horror of the archers stationed there. The ground around it was completely scorched, any vegetation long burned up by the fires. Ilend found himself gaping at the swirling maelstrom in front of him. The words of the robed Altmer came to mind: 'You'll get your chance to see Kvatch burn'.
Ilend felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Merandil pointing a trembling finger up at the sky. The Imperial looked up, and took a step back. Instead of seeing the stars and the moons, there was simply a dark, pulsating, red-veined fiery blackness for as far as the eye could see. It lit up Kvatch and the surrounding countryside, reflecting off the rocks of the mountain. Looking down into the city, Ilend could see wide-eyed citizens pouring out onto the streets, gazing open-mouthed at the spectacle.
There was a clinking of chainmail, and Savlian arrived, panting, looking at the gate in amazement. "When did this appear?" he asked Merandil.
"About ten minutes ago," whispered Merandil, still looking up at the sky. "I got to the barracks as quick as I could. It's... immense."
"Jesan!" barked Savlian. The Imperial watchman appeared at the captain's shoulder. "Send word to the Count. Ready the guard, and send for the court wizard. I don't like this..." Jesan saluted and ran back down the wall. "What do you think, Ilend? What's happening?"
Ilend simply shook his head. "I have no idea. But I know for sure that I don't like it." The Imperial closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer for deliverance to the Divines. A yell snapped his head round. Merandil was pointing into the city. Following his gaze, Ilend could make out another gate, inside the maze of streets in the eastern part of Kvatch. Savlian cursed.
"Captain! Daedra!" yelled one of the archers on the town gate. Every watchman on the wall rushed to the edge and looked down. As reported, daedra were swarming out of the gate, their intention perfectly clear; they were attacking. The gate, or portal, or whatever it was, had opened some way off the road into the city, but the various creatures were closing fast.
"Open fire, you bloody idiots!" yelled Savlian, and the archers responded. The guard captain beckoned to Ilend and stared descending the stairs leading back to the city. Screams from the east indicated that Daedra were pouring out of that gate as well.
"What do we do, captain?" asked a nearby guard when Savlian had reached the ground. The guard looked nervous, some with swords drawn, others fingering bows.
Savlian's face was set in a grim mask as his sword rattled out of its scabbard. "You all swore to protect this city and its citizens," he growled, looking around. "Time to fulfil those oaths."
As usual, reviews will be appreciated. I'll try to get another chapter up before I head off to Cornwall for a week next Saturday, but I can make no promises.