A/N: OK, since my last upload, Blood and Steel has surpassed 1000 hits... yet I got only two reviews for Chapter 10. No additions to those two regular reviewers, Arty Thrip and the Underpaid Critic. This... angers me somewhat. If you can be bothered to read this, then you can be bothered to leave feedback.
On a more story-related note, I noticed something about Seducers. Most of you will probably assume that they're the Dark Seducers from the Shivering Isles, but in fact they're actually something quite different, being added by the OOO mod. Basically, they look a lot like Dark Seducers, but they're naked and fling some very annoying spells at you. Only realised my misplaced assumption when I realised that these Seducers aren't actually in vanilla (unmodded) Oblivion.
Underpaid Critic: I recently joined a fanfiction community thing, and posted a link to this there. When it actually starts getting some attention there, hopefully some experienced critics will give it a grilling.
Anyhow... read on. And don't forget to review.
Chapter Eleven: The Fury of a City
The sky might have returned to its natural state, but it was no less forbidding than before. Dark clouds rolled overhead, blanketing the city from horizon to horizon. The rain poured and thunder rumbled, as though the heavens themselves were angry at the rape of Kvatch. The falling water hammered into the bloodstained cobblestones, and in time the streets would be running red with blood, both old and new.
Warned by their collapsing gate, the daedra were ready for the assault, and the Dremora were hastily forming ranks in the main plaza between the gates and the chapel. The mighty steeple had partly collapsed, the top half blocking the main road to the castle, the shattered remnants jutting into the sky like broken teeth. The bodies of guards and daedra from the previous battles were piled around the edge of the plaza, heaps of stinking corpses clogging streets and spilling out of the skeletons of houses.
The daedra didn't get the chance to organise. Gorgoth's magicka pool was still diminished, but his lightning bolts found the most heavily armoured Dremora and struck them down. Aerin and the two remaining Guard archers fired while running forward, cutting down yet more daedra, Trueshot giving the power to punch through even daedric steel. Most of the Guardsmen were roaring wordless battle cries as they rushed to meet the daedra.
Gorgoth reached the enemy first. Marking his target, a daedroth, he kept up his speed and jumped, using his momentum to smash his mace into the daedra's face. Landing in a crouch, the Orc looked up to see the daedroth land several feet away, its skull caved in. Around him, the guardsmen cut into the daedric lines, their unleashed fury being too much for the depleted line, mainly comprised of Dremora, to withstand.
"Punish them!" roared Savlian Matius, his blade slicing open a Dremora's face. He turned and gestured to the ruins of Kvatch. "That's what they did to your city! Make them feel your pain!" His men, spurred on by his words, didn't hold back. Neither the daedra in the square nor their reinforcements rushing from the streets could withstand them.
"Looks like Kvatch is getting its revenge," snarled Ilend to no-one in particular as he disembowelled a scamp, then turned and cut a clannfear's legs off. A Seducer screeched at him and threw a spell. Ilend barely dodged it, and looked up just in time to see an arrow feathering the daedra's chest.
"This rain is playing havoc with my shooting!" shouted Aerin as she took up a position beside him. A group of four Dremora sprinted into the plaza from a side street. Despite the rain and the speed, Aerin planted her feet and shot all four of them down within ten seconds, their armour proving no match for Trueshot's power. "You'd think Gorgoth could control the weather, after that stunt he pulled in Oblivion," she continued, muttering half to herself. "Maybe he just likes getting wet!"
"Aerin, what in Oblivion are you blathering about?" yelled Ilend, cutting a flame atronach, weakened by the rain, in two. "This is a bloody battle, not a chat with your mates in a tavern!" He ducked out of the way of a scamp's fireball, cursing his lost shield.
"It's like Owyn used ta say: not even a battle shuts me up!" laughed Aerin, spinning and releasing an arrow, seemingly almost without aiming. It pierced the scamp's stomach, and the brown-skinned lesser daedra was thrown to the ground by the force of the arrow. The Bosmer whipped another arrow out of her quiver, only to find no targets; the last remaining daedra were being finished off, and bodies littered the plaza. "Heh, not bad," commented Aerin, returning her arrow to its quiver and leaning on Trueshot. "I always assumed all city guards were fat Imperial Legion dropouts." She was looking at the Kvatch Guard efficiently dispatch stragglers.
"We ARE the Imperial Legion," growled Ilend, sheathing his sword with unnecessary force and frowning down at his companion. "Regional forces permanently attached to a city, but we can apply for reassignment if we want." The Imperial raised his head and looked over the battlefield. "And if you want to insult the brave men and women who died for their city, do it out of earshot."
Aerin took a step back, hands raised in an apologetic gesture. "Hey, sorry, I just thought... never mind. You've all proved me wrong, in any case." Looking down, she noticed the rain dripping off the end of the rain-soaked Trueshot. She hissed and went off to find Gorgoth, presumably so that he could stop it raining.
Gorgoth was in no mood to talk. His right arm was outstretched, thin filaments of lightning holding aloft a red-robed agent, who was struggling to answer the Orc's probing questions due to the lightning making its way around his body. Most of the guards were clustered around them, glaring at the struggling figure with looks of pure hatred and malice. Human agents of Mehrunes Dagon would obviously get swift justice in this city. As Aerin reached Gorgoth's side, the Orc growled a curse in his own language and dropped the agent to the ground, motioning for the guards to do whatever they wished to him.
"Hey, big guy, can ya do something about the weather?" Aerin asked him, holding up Trueshot. "It's playing havoc with my bow, and I wouldn't-" Gorgoth cut her off.
"Few outside the Psijic Order can control the weather, and I am not one of them," growled the warrior-shaman. He reached out and took Trueshot, hands deftly working up and down the silver-worked wood, fingering the fine string. As his fingers worked, Gorgoth came the closest to expressing shock that Aerin had ever seen; he raised an eyebrow and stated nodding to himself, handling the bow with greater care. He handed it back to her. "Feel it," he muttered. "It is wet on the surface, but the silver repels the water; underneath it is as dry as it would be in the Alik'r Desert. Rain will do no harm to this bow, nor whatever string is in use."
Aerin's jaw dropped as she examined Trueshot. It was as Gorgoth said: rain dripped off the end of the bow, but underneath she could feel the hard wood repelling the wet stains on her gauntlets by some unknown force. She looked up at Gorgoth's unreadable face. "What is this?" she asked, slightly awed. "I came across it in the Fighting Chance. I paid good money for it, but if Rohssan had known its true value..." her voice trailed off, amazed at her find.
"I cannot pronounce its true name, for it was made by Argonians deep within Black Marsh, but I know the type," replied Gorgoth. "Several of these bows were made during the Armanias uprising in the time of Kataria. The Imperials crushed the uprising and the creators were killed, but the bows remained, scattering throughout Tamriel." Gorgoth rubbed his chin, brow furrowed. "I remember reading about these, but I never thought I would ever lay my eyes on one."
"Does it do anything else?" asked Aerin eagerly, almost hopping on the spot with impatience.
Gorgoth shook his head. "The bows were enchanted to endure the conditions of Black Marsh for centuries, and to penetrate the heavy armour of the Legions," he explained. "There was no need for other enchantment." The warrior-shaman peered again at Trueshot. "It may not be made for a Bosmer, but that is one of the finest bows of its size ever made," he grunted. He placed a massive hand on Aerin's shoulder; it engulfed most of her upper arm. "Use it well, and keep it safe," he told her. "I would hate for an artefact such as this to fall into the hands of an enemy."
Aerin laughed. "Hey, don't worry, big guy," she reassured. "After this... hey, I'll sleep with it." Gorgoth grunted in reply and was called over to heal a wounded guardsman.
Ilend closed Jesan Rilian's eyes as he and Merandil laid the fallen guard near the gate. "Sorry, Jesan, but I'll need this more than you do," apologised Ilend, taking Jesan's shield and binding it to his arm. The guardsmen had taken few casualties; there were four wounded who could be healed by Gorgoth, and Jesan was their only loss; his entrails lay somewhere on the cobblestones, having been ripped out by a clannfear. Merandil was decidedly not looking at the gaping hole in his dead comrade's torso as he turned away.
As Ilend walked over to Savlian, testing his new shield, he overheard a scout report that the plaza was clear, and that there were no daedra in sight down the adjoining streets. Savlian nodded, sighing in relief, and beckoned Gorgoth over.
"We wiped the bastards out," he growled, a vicious light gleaming in his eyes. His city was being avenged at least, and he was revelling in every minute of it. "It's safe to get those people out of the chapel and back down to the refugee camp. That way, they'll be far away from what fighting we have left." Gorgoth said nothing, but nodded in agreement.
"So, what's the plan now?" asked Aerin as she fell in beside Gorgoth as he led the way towards the chapel, which stood defiant in the ruined city, its steeple shattered but still mostly standing. "We grab Martin and leg it? Seems like the best choice if we want ta keep him safe."
"And leave this city to fester?" asked Gorgoth. "We'll help retake it; if all we can offer the refugees is the security of their city again, then we will offer it. The castle will be retaken."
Aerin sighed. "I knew you'd say that," she muttered. "Ever the helper of the people, ain't ya, big guy?" She looked up, expecting confirmation.
"I am a wanted man in many different provinces of High Rock," replied Gorgoth, as though that was nothing out of the ordinary. "My list of crimes is long and often exaggerated, but I don't think the Bretons in the border villages count me as one of their helpers."
Aerin eyed him oddly. "You're a bloody onion, you are," she observed. "Every time I think I'm getting to know ya, another layer strips off." She shook her head and fell back, obviously seeking more desirable company.
Gorgoth reached the door to the chapel, but Savlian pushed past him and knocked firmly on the door. A challenge was issued from inside, and when he replied, there were the sounds of barricades being scraped across the floor of the chapel, presumably intended to keep out the enemy agents, as they were the only servants of Dagon who could walk on the holy ground of the chapel. Eventually, the doors swung open, and most of the guardsmen filed in. The besieged guards were understandably jumpy, and almost attacked Menien before seeing past his bound armour and realising that he wasn't a Dremora.
As Savlian heard the report from the commander of the handful of guards that had defended the chapel, Gorgoth and Aerin wandered amongst those taking refuge in the chapel, looking for Martin. Jauffre hadn't given a description, but Gorgoth had the face of the Emperor imprinted into his memory; his son couldn't look much different. However, there were numerous citizens in the chapel, most wearing a look of fear, but relief was visibly spreading among their ranks as word spread that their ordeal was over. Neither the Orc nor the Bosmer had located their target by the time Savlian ordered the civilians to move out, and called the two searchers back to him.
"When we were forced out of the city, the castle was still holding out," he informed them, his guards preparing for battle. "The Count may still be alive. We're the guardsmen of Kvatch, and we're not about to leave our Count in the lurch." The guardsmen shouted their approval; all of them, despite their exhaustion, looked ready for battle. Some looked downright bloodthirsty. A handful of them were in no uniform, and clutched a variety of weapons, but they all had the look of warriors. Gorgoth took them to be the surviving members of the local Fighter's Guild. Ilend was talking with them as though he knew them well.
"If we leave the chapel through the north door, the castle gates will be directly across the Statue Plaza," explained Savlian. "The collapsed steeple means that most of the streets from the left are blocked; I doubt we'll meet many reinforcements from there. The streets to the right concern me more; the Great Gate opened in that direction, near the Arena."
Gorgoth nodded. "Leave me to deal with the right flank," he grunted. "You take the rest and hack a path to the castle gates. When the right is secure, I'll meet you there."
Savlian opened his mouth, obviously about to ask how a single Orc could take on a small army of daedra, but Ilend interrupted. "You didn't see the magicka he unleashed back in Oblivion, Savlian," he explained. "I'd say he's more than capable of retaking the entire castle by himself. Securing the Statue Plaza would be child's play."
Savlian frowned. "My father once told me to be suspicious of anything too good to be true," he muttered suspiciously. The small talk among the guards trailed off as all eyes turned towards the Orc and the Imperial. Savlian's gaze was hostile. It appeared that a few guards shared Savlian's suspicion at Gorgoth's sudden, fortunate arrival. Orcs had yet to win the trust of many men and mer.
"Then your father was a wise man," replied Gorgoth. "You are blessed. My father was lacking in wisdom, and I have to say it cost him." Aerin looked sideways at the Orc, recalling him saying that he and his father were not on the best of terms. "However, when help is offered freely, it is best to accept, and save your reservations for later." Gorgoth extended a gauntleted hand, and placed his other fist over his heart. "I swear on my honour that I will help you retake Castle Kvatch, and I ask for nothing in return."
Savlian studied Gorgoth for a full minute before taking his hand, his chainmail rattling at contact with Gorgoth's plate armour. "I know little of Orsinium, but at the very least you seem like an honourable warrior," he grunted. He released Gorgoth's hand, and the tension in the chapel vanished. The captain of the Kvatch Guard turned back to his men. "The sooner the castle is retaken, the sooner we can start rebuilding," he announced. "It's time to take back our city, and let Dagon know that there is no place in Kvatch for the likes of him!" Savlian kicked open the north chapel doors and sprinted out at the head of his men.
Antus Pinter stood in the middle of the plaza, the weathered stone undamaged, sword still pointing towards the castle, seemingly in a gesture of defiance at the daedra who had occupied it. Dremora and assorted daedra were holding the plaza, ready for the guardsmen as they charged. The Kvatch Guard, numbers reinforced by those who had defended the chapel, marked their targets and sprinted towards them as fast as they could while wearing heavy chainmail. Two of the Fighter's Guild members were wearing lighter armour and reached the daedra first, throwing themselves into battle with none of the usual reservation of those who fight for money; they were fighting for their city and the avenging of it, not for material wealth.
As most of the guardsmen crashed into the daedra, with Aerin and three guards holding back, picking off targets, Gorgoth moved over to the east side of the square. As Savlian had explained, the streets leading to the plaza were unblocked, and daedric reinforcements were appearing. Most of the daedra in the plaza had already gone to aid their embattled brethren, but Gorgoth firmly planted himself between the approaching reinforcements and the battle behind him. Most of the daedra would have to go through him.
A handful of smarter Dremora moved out to the edges of the plaza, aiming to get around the Orc, but most of the daedra appeared eager to crush the seemingly foolish mortal that stood alone before them. Gorgoth, mace still secured in his belt, raised both his arms. A dark red mist seemed to coalesce around him, growing brighter, giving some of the daedra pause. The mist rose and expanded until it was twice Gorgoth's height, and reached across half the plaza. The warrior-shaman, his arms spread wide, thrust them forward and growled the incantation that would increase the spell's effectiveness.
The mist turned to fire, and split into hundreds of arrow-size filaments, speeding towards the massed daedra in front of Gorgoth, several filaments homing in on each daedra. Understanding their doom too late, they panicked and tried to run, but were all ripped apart by the Orc's magic. Those who didn't die from the sheer force of the impact were left to scream and weakly twitch as fire ravaged their already shattered bodies. Gorgoth slowly lowered his arms back to his sides, emotionlessly surveying the devastation that he'd unleashed. He turned back to the centre of the plaza.
Starved of reinforcements, the daedra were breaking; many Dremora lay dead, their acidic blood soaking the cobblestones and mingling with the rain. Menien had cut a swath through their ranks, with Ilend watching his back; the bound blade meant that the old guardsmen could cut through flesh and armour alike with comparative ease. Ilend's silver longsword barely dented daedric plate armour. The Imperial growled as, once again, the Dremora he was attacking spun and took Ilend's blow on his breastplate.
"Piece of crap," snarled Ilend, directing his words at his own silver longsword; the blade was notched and chipped in several places cue to the hard fighting it had seen over the last few days. Fortunately, it was spared any further punishment for the moment when Aerin's arrow took the Dremora in the throat. Evading his flailing arms and ignoring his desperate gurgles, Ilend moved forward and kicked a nearby scamp in the stomach, doubling it over and leaving its neck open to be decapitated by Merandil, the Altmer's axe proving perfect for the job.
The last bastion of resistance, two stubborn Dremora fighting back to back, was soon dealt with, leaving the Statue plaza clear of any live enemies, except for those unfortunate, wounded daedra still slowly being consumed by the fires of Gorgoth's spell. Gorgoth himself was frowning up at the castle battlements with arms folded; three Dremora archers were wasting their arrows attempting to break his shield spell. Gorgoth kept his gaze apon them, and, abruptly, the Dremora faltered, their fire stopped, and, as one, they climbed over the battlements and leapt to their deaths.
Aerin made a gurgling noise in her throat, her eyes wide. Gorgoth looked over his shoulder. "I believe that is the only time I have ever seen you speechless, Aerin," he stated, his voice wry. The Bosmer glared at him.
"Next time, just... fireball em or something," she muttered. "I know you're a powerful mage, ya don't have anything ta prove. Commanding em to take a trip off a castle wall is just creepy." She shuddered and moved up to where the guards were gathering at the castle gate. Gorgoth followed her and tended to the wounded. Again, the cost was low; two wounded and one dead.
Savlian was pounding on the closed castle gate, more in frustration than anything else. The iron portcullis stood a metre higher than him, and the iron was reinforced in several places. It led down a tunnel to the castle, which was secured by three more identical portcullises, with a guardhouse in the middle. "Damn it, I should have foreseen this," growled the irate guard captain. "They've locked the gates. The only way through is to take the tunnels into the gatehouse." He turned to Gorgoth, only to find the Orc silently motioning everyone out of the way. Realising the warrior-shaman's intentions, Savlian retreated to a safe distance.
Gorgoth's massive fireball lit up the entire plaza as it streaked towards the gate. The ground rocked with the explosion as it impacted on the portcullis, blowing it to smithereens. Some of the rocks cracked with the sheer heat, but the gateway itself was mostly undamaged. Gorgoth moved forward and repeated, disintegrating the second portcullis in similar fashion. By the time he had reached the fifth and final barrier, the Kvatch Guard had lined up behind him, weapons ready, poised to pour into the castle courtyard.
"There's a lot of daedra in there," reported Gorgoth, peering through the portcullis he was about to destroy. "I can thin out their numbers enough to make it an even fight. Prepare yourselves." Hilts were clutched tighter, arrows were half-drawn, and legs were braced for the explosion of speed needed to get to the enemy. Gorgoth released the fireball, the heat washing over the gathered warriors as the portcullis exploded. Some didn't even wait for the last flames to evaporate before charging through. Gorgoth barged through them and into the courtyard.
The sheer number of daedra made some of the guards falter; there had to be dozens of Dremora guarding the castle, along with a small legion of scamps, a handful of atronachs, and some clannfear. Gorgoth raised his hands, and lightning leapt from his fingers, dancing from daedra to daedra, blasting them in different directions and thinning the ranks within seconds. Now it was the daedra's turn to falter, and the Kvatch Guard roared as they charged. Gorgoth drew his mace and moved in.
A Dremora moved to block him, but before Gorgoth could swing, an arrow was suddenly jutting out from a gap in the daedra's breastplate. Gorgoth didn't need to turn to tell that it was Aerin; no-one else present could have made that shot; a small, moving target, while in the rain. A frost atronach lumbered up to Gorgoth and smashed its fists into his chest. The Orc took a step back and swung, a satisfying crunch emanating from the atronach's skull as the blunt weapon crushed it.
Next to try their luck was a Dremora mage. He sent many small icicles homing in on Gorgoth. The Orc didn't even bother blocking, instead just blinking once as the projectiles bounced off his shielding and shattered. Snarling in frustration, the Dremora attempted to shoot some kind of illusion magic, but Gorgoth was quicker and sent destructive magic at the staff. It was too much for the natural protective magics to absorb, and the daedric steel tore itself apart. The Dremora turned to run back to the castle, but Gorgoth, once again, was faster, quickly striding forward and crushing his enemy's spine.
Ilend's last few days hadn't been particularly lucky. Firstly, his city had been almost completely destroyed by daedra, he had seen most of his men shot down with no hope of escape, and now his sword had broken. A Dremora's shield had deflected a thrust at an awkward angle, and the already battle-scarred blade had snapped off a foot from the hilt. The Imperial stood dumbly looking at the hilt as though it had done him a personal injury. "You utter piece of useless crap," he muttered softly, before throwing it into the Dremora's face. The Kynaz howled in agony as the edge of the blade caught him on his jaw, slicing it open. Before he could recover, Ilend delivered a vicious uppercut, and stepped away from the staggering Dremora. "For the love of the Divines, SOMEONE SHOOT HIM!" roared the Imperial.
Aerin and a Guard archer were only too happy to oblige, and as the Dremora fell, Ilend swooped in and grabbed his fallen enemy's sword. It was a lot heavier than his old silver-worked longsword, but the edge was keener, and he liked the look of it. However, in battle, he had no time to admire his new-found acquisition, as a clannfear seemed to want to bite his head off. Ilend sidestepped its lunge and hacked down on its exposed back, almost slicing it in half. Another hack completed the job, and the clannfear's upper body rolled into a daedroth, unbalancing the beast just as it was about to slash Savlian's stomach open. This distraction enabled Merandil to get around its back and chop its tail off. Ilend moved in to help put down the crippled daedra, which was flailing around in agony, its sense of balance shattered.
A Dremora with some sense realised that the archers were causing a lot of casualties, and went straight for Aerin. Her arrows embedded themselves deeply in his shield, and, despite being delayed, he drew ever closer until Gorgoth grabbed him using telekinesis and threw him into a spider daedra with such force that the arachnid's legs collapsed, making her easy prey for Ilend to sink his daedric blade deep into her abdomen. After much screeching and flailing, the spider daedra gave up the ghost.
The remaining daedra were swiftly dealt with, and eventually there was only a lone Dremora blocking the gate to the castle. He stood resolutely, stubbornly holding his ground with spear and shield. The guardsmen couldn't get close, and eventually Gorgoth summoned a glaive and fought him on his own terms. The Dremora, obviously the commander of the remaining troops, fought doggedly, not giving up his ground in front of the castle door.
Over the years, Gorgoth had fought many men and women in single combat, but he doubted that he'd ever attacked a defence as solid as this Dremora's. The daedra blocked everything Gorgoth threw at him with either shield or spear, and what he couldn't block, he dodged, his agility seemingly not hampered in the slightest by the heavy daedric plate. More than once, Savlian tried to intervene, attempting to get through to the castle, but the whirling polearms gave him no room, and he was forced to retreat. Most of the guards simply watched while tending to the wounded.
Gorgoth grunted as his glaive locked against the daedric steel of the Dremora's spear. He pushed with as much strength as he dared use, keeping some back to prevent himself from overbalancing should his enemy move. The Dremora was strong, but Gorgoth was much bigger and stronger. He forced his opponent back, step by step, daedric steel grinding against summoned daedric steel. The Dremora attempted to bash the warrior-shaman's head with his shield, but he was too far away for the blow to be powerful enough to break through his magics. Snarling in frustration, the Kynaz snatched his spear away, clutching it to his chest, and rolled under Gorgoth. The Orc was expected such a manoeuvre, and directed a savage kick at the Dremora's ribs. He caught him mid-roll, sending the armoured daedra flying over the courtyard, his ribs cracked. Before the Kynaz could recover, the guardsmen were on him, stabbing and slashing at him like a bloodthirsty mob. The Orsimer growled in disgust at their dishonourable method of killing and healed the wounded.
"Whoa, big guy, are you angry?" asked Aerin anxiously, peering up at the Orc as he healed a Fighter's Guild Dunmer, who'd had his leg slashed open. Gorgoth's bushy eyebrows were drawn down, and he certainly looked angry, his usual battle snarl still in place. "That's definitely the angriest-looking I've ever seen ya."
Gorgoth turned and looked down at her, sparing a glance for the guardsmen moving in to secure the castle. "Of course I'm angry," he growled. "If I wasn't suppressing it, I'd be giving them all a lesson in honour." The Orc started muttering darkly in his own tongue. Aerin didn't know a word of Orcish, but she guessed that the warrior-shaman was angry that his single combat with the Dremora had been violated. The warrior-shaman's concept of honour confused her sometimes.
Walking into the castle, she attempted to persuade the Orc that there was no time to be lost; the guardsmen didn't know if the Count was dead or not, and there could have been time to save him. Gorgoth grunted that he knew the logical argument, but that his opponent had been worthy of an honourable death. They were interrupted by Savlian walking up to them, slamming his sword into its sheath.
"We'll hold this area," he told them. "You've got to move forward and get the Count back here. He'll have retreated to his bedchamber down the hall." The Imperial pointed towards the end of the hall, and his voice hardened. "Don't come back here without him!"
"You want us to carry back his corpse?" asked Gorgoth, ever the realist. Aerin had to agree; if the castle was overrun, then the Count was almost definitely dead. The Orc didn't wait for an answer, pushing past the Imperial, Aerin hastily following at his left elbow.
The audience hall of Castle Kvatch was in ruins. The once-fine purple carpet was tattered, burnt, and bloody, not to mention decorated with the bodies of two scamps and a Dremora. Fallen stones and timbers littered the hall, and the bodies of guardsmen who had died defending the tower were piled into heaps. Fires blazed in distant corners, but they were under control; the stone floor proved resistant to fire. The bodies of daedra lay everywhere. Some had died taking the castle, and others had recently died losing it.
Gorgoth marched up some curved stairs to a ledge behind the throne. The double doors to a long hallway hung open, with two guardsmen standing guard near it, under orders to go no further. "Get your blades out," muttered Gorgoth to Aerin. "This will be no place for a bow." The Bosmer obediently put Trueshot on her back and drew her twin elven shortswords. "I'll lead. Deal with any I miss."
"Rather you lead than me," she muttered as they entered the hallway. It was clear that it had been a dining hall once, but now the massive, long table was snapped in several places, and stained with blood. Several chandeliers had crashed down from the ceiling, and fires were blazing where torches had been disturbed. Fortunately for anyone who wasn't a flame atronach, the fires were containing themselves to various cabinets strewn about the room, contained by the stone floor. Plates, jugs, and eating implements were scattered everywhere, as were the unarmoured, unrecognisable corpses of several people, obviously civilians. The smoke from the fires was escaping through several holes in the roof.
Also of note were the three flame atronachs. Two of them stepped into a fire, drawing flames from it and sending them at the two mer, while the other ran forward for close-up work. Gorgoth blocked the streams of fire magically while smashing the approaching flame atronach into the wall, his mace audibly snapping its fragile ribs. It screeched and collapsed against the wall, its fire dying. Aerin, ignoring Gorgoth's previous instruction, knelt, took out Trueshot, and shot down both flame atronachs, firing from under Gorgoth's left arm. As the arrows whizzed past him, he looked back and gave her an appreciative nod.
"Expect to be flanked," he told her. "There are several passageways leading away from this hall. Stay alert; I wouldn't want daedra gutting you just because you couldn't draw your swords in time." Aerin nodded and once more drew her shortswords. She could tell that Gorgoth wouldn't need any help going forward; the Orc was virtually a one-mer army. He proved this by calmly caving a Dremora's head in and walking through the fires instead of around them. He told her to do the same, and she complied, quite liking the warm, almost tickling nature of the flames through the fire resistance spell he'd cast on her.
"How do you know where the Count's quarters are?" asked Aerin. "Ya didn't ask Savlian, if I recall correctly."
"I'm thinking logically," replied Gorgoth, looking down at a fallen guard, his back to the passageway behind him. "This guard defended this hall with his life. He could have stepped back, but he didn't. The same is true with the other one further up." He pointed to what was left of an Imperial, only recognisable as a guard due to the helmet on his head, the rest of his body being a bloody ruin. "They'd probably have been the Count's personal guards. It's this way."
"Not bad," praised Aerin, impressed with her companion's investigative skills. "So how far away do ya reckon he is?"
Gorgoth peered at the walls as though he could see through them. "There are four daedra up ahead. Judging from their positioning, I'd say they were in a room of some kind. There's no daedra after that. Could be the Count's room." Seeing Aerin's puzzled gaze, he continued. "I can see their life forces as a physical manifestation, due to my detect life spell," he explain. "Their energies appear as a coalescing pink shroud, surrounded by their bodies. There's three Dremora and a daedroth up ahead, from what I can tell."
Stepping around the corner, they were confronted by the first two Dremora. One physically threw himself at Gorgoth, managing to pull off a flying kick in full daedric plate. Gorgoth simply grabbed his legs and slammed him into his comrade. The other Dremora snarled and attempted to struggle to his feet, but Gorgoth smashed him back down, the Dremora's head making a sound like a rotten watermelon being crushed. Before his comrade could fully recover, Gorgoth had frozen him solid, and was already moving on. Aerin couldn't resist giving the frozen Dremora, now resembling an ugly ice statue, a playful push.
The sound of shattering ice had obviously alerted the Dremora guarding the entrance to a room at the end of the corridor, for he had his sword drawn. Apon seeing Gorgoth, he made a more cautious approach than his predecessor, advancing with shield ready, yelling for the daedroth to come and help. The reptilian daedra appeared in the doorway then staggered back, having slammed his snout into the doorframe, which had been designed to be used by Imperials, not crocodile-headed daedra that were eight feet tall.
Oblivious to his ally's predicament, the Dremora launched a double attack, shield lashing out for Gorgoth's head while his sword attempted to pierce his stomach. Gorgoth shrugged off the shield and parried the thrust, putting the Dremora off balance and making it easy for Gorgoth to crush his spine. As the Kynaz fell, the daedroth finally made it through the door and slashed at the Orc, who ducked. Not giving up, the daedroth swiftly brought his arms crashing down on the Orc's back, not penetrating his shield but staggering him. As the daedroth roared in frustration, Gorgoth simply recovered, ignored the vile stench emanating from its mouth, and threw ball lightning at it. Gorgoth turned from the shattered, smoking corpse just in time to see Aerin wiping her blades on a clannfear's rough hide.
"Like ya said, big guy... flankers," she smirked, straightening and sheathing her swords.
Gorgoth merely grunted and walked into the room, ducking to get under the doorframe. The smells of smoke and death filled his nostrils, hardly for the first time in his life. Charred cabinets and burnt books were strewn across the antechamber. Gorgoth waded through them to enter the bedroom. The half-eaten body of Count Ormellius Goldwine lay on the floor. Knowing that this would be the result of their search, and never once hoping that the count would still be alive, Gorgoth took it in his stride, simply turning the body over and working the signet ring over the count's knuckle. Aerin, watching him, sighed.
"Even I knew he was dead," she muttered. "I'm guessing Savlian will take it pretty hard."
"He was a fool to assume otherwise," replied Gorgoth, handing her the signet ring. "The Dremora don't take prisoners, unless to keep them fresh for their pets back in Oblivion." He motioned at the ring that lay in Aerin's palm; too big for her fingers, and too small for his. "Put that in your pocket. I can't easily access mine under my armour."
"I wonder what'll happen to Kvatch now?" wondered Aerin as she slipped the ring into her pocket and followed Gorgoth out of the room, back into the corridor. There were dents and cracks in the doorframe where the daedroth had tried to ram its snout through it. "The city looks pretty dead, from what I saw."
"They'll be occupied for a few days, hunting down the remaining daedra," replied Gorgoth. "If they hide themselves well enough, it could be difficult to dig them out, but eventually the city will be safe again. Then the rebuilding will begin. They'll choose a new Count. In a decade or so, I doubt you'll be able to tell there was a battle here, unless they erect statues or leave other mementoes." The Orc grunted. "That's assuming we get Martin to light the Dragonfires; if we fail, all of Tamriel will look like this."
Aerin grunted. "Sounds like the sooner we get Martin back to the Priory, the better." She grimaced. "I really hope he doesn't go all high-and-mighty and priestish on us. I'd hate ta have ta drag him away from someone he's healing."
"If he wants to protect people, then the best thing he can do is come with us," said Gorgoth, walking through the fires blazing in the dining hall. "I'm pretty sure I can convince him of that."
"Would 'convincing' involve tying him up, putting him in a sack, and throwing him over your saddle to take to Weynon Priory?" asked the Wood Elf, nimbly dodging a cabinet as it collapsed, spewing cutlery as it crashed to the floor.
"Only as a last resort," grunted Gorgoth in reply. Aerin knew the Orc well enough by now to know that he wasn't joking. "And I couldn't use rope, as we don't have any. Or a sack, for that matter. Or a horse that can take both the weight of an Orc in plate armour and an Imperial in a sack." The warrior-shaman sighed. "If he's reasonable, then I'll be able to persuade him."
The guards had doused most of the fires by the time Gorgoth and Aerin made it back to the great hall. Rain was collecting in pools under holes in the roof. Savlian was standing near the throne, talking with Ilend, Menien, and a third guard who Gorgoth assumed to be the only other surviving Watch Sergeant. As the two mer approached them, Savlian looked up angrily and stomped towards them.
"Where is the Count?" he asked, his eyes and voice as hard as the stones beneath his boots. "Why is he not with you?"
Gorgoth folded his arms and stared stonily down at the Imperial. "I think you know, and always have known, that the Count is dead," he rumbled. Aerin took out the Goldwine Signet ring and handed it to the Imperial. A small drop of blood was splattered over the stone.
Savlian deflated, his shoulders slumping, the fire leaving his eyes. "I always hoped he might be alive," he mumbled. "I always hoped... a fool's hope, I guess." The guardsman sighed and lowered his voice even further. "Now what... we've lost so much..."
Gorgoth put a hand on Savlian's shoulder and drew him aside. The Imperial was starting to look morbid. "You've lost much, that is true," he muttered, keeping his voice to a low rumble. He suspected that not even Aerin with her sensitive hearing could make out any words. "But now your priority is taking care of those who remain. The others look up to you as the last authority figure remaining. Fail them, and you fail yourself and your city."
Savlian looked up at Gorgoth with incredulity. "I'm a soldier," he stammered. "I lead men into battle, not into rebuilding a city. I'm not cut out for leadership of the people."
"You inspired your men to victory today in the battle for Kvatch," growled Gorgoth. "With the right words and the right delivery, men can be inspired to do great things. They just need the leader." The Orc leaned closer to Savlian. "Who else do they have, Savlian? This task of leadership has fallen to you. Grasp your destiny with both hands." Straightening, the Orc attempted to look encouraging. "When the rest of Cyrodiil hears what's happened here, they'll send aid," he reassured. "You will not be alone. Now do your job." With a final squeeze of the Imperial's shoulder, Gorgoth had spun around and was walking out of the great hall. Aerin broke off her conversation with the Fighter's Guild members and hurried to join him.
"So, what now?" asked Aerin, pausing at the open doorway to throw on her travelling cloak. Her bow might repel water, but she didn't, and the Bosmer hated nothing more than sleeping in sodden leathers. "We look for Martin and get the fuck out of here?" She pulled her hood up to cover most of her head. The thick cloth of the cloak would do a good enough job of keeping the rain out.
"That's the plan," replied Gorgoth, walking out of the castle into the pounding rain.
"Recruitment's dropped in recent years. Can't think up a reason why," spat the Guildsman. The Nord's name was Jongar. He'd been born in Anvil, and had never even been to Skyrim. Ilend had often enjoyed the Nord's company in the local tavern, where his capacity for alcohol was well-known. Now, his iron armour was dented in several places, and blood was drying in his long blonde hair. "Still, with a few of us to put in a good word for you, you might be able to find work in Skingrad. Lots of good goblin hunting there."
"I don't want to hunt bloody goblins," growled Ilend. "Those warty green-skinned pests can chuck themselves in a lake for all I care. What I want is revenge." The Imperial's fist was unconsciously clenching and unclenching around the hilt of the daedric blade he'd taken from the fallen Dremora.
"The Guild isn't in the habit of hunting daedra," retorted Fons Llendo, a Dunmer Guildsman. Known as the least friendly man in all Kvatch, Fons had always kept himself to himself, but he had a reputation of completing contracts with excellent efficiency. His leather armour was torn in places, but his wounds had been healed by Gorgoth, and he was his usual haughty self once more. "And, personally, I couldn't find a more certain death wish than desiring revenge on Mehrunes Dagon. Such a venture would be pure idiocy."
"You tell me that the citizens of Kvatch don't deserve vengeance, Llendo," snarled Ilend, leaning in closer to the Dark Elf. The Dunmer shifted uneasily; for all his bravado, he knew the simple fact: in a fair fight, Ilend would kill him easily.
"Easy, Ilend," said Jongar in what the Nord probably thought was a soothing tone of voice. Instead, he just sounded strangulated; soothing wasn't the blunt Nord's strong point. However, the weathered hand on Ilend's shoulder would be enough to restrain the irate Imperial. "We don't need fighting within ourselves now, not with hundreds to bury, and places to rebuild."
"Rebuilding?" snorted Fons incredulously, sidling out of Ilend's reach. "What business do the Fighter's Guild have with building contracts? Leave undesirable work to the undesirables, I say." The Dunmer sniffed arrogantly. "For all I care, this city can rot; there are other places that can use my skills."
It was only Jongar's restraining hand that kept Ilend from lunging at the Dark Elf, who hurriedly stepped backwards. "Easy, Vonius," growled the Nord, pulling the guardsman back and placing a hand on his war axe. "If you want revenge, those two who helped us take Kvatch back might know something. They looked pretty determined."
Ilend nodded; Gorgoth and Aerin had been foremost in his thoughts. If Martin was going to play a part in defeating Dagon, then it would naturally help him get his revenge. "Where are they?" he asked, shrugging off Jongar.
"They just left the castle," pointed out a nearby guard. Ilend didn't stop to verify this information; he wasn't about to be left behind. But first, there was one thing he had to do. He walked up to Savlian Matius, who was slumped in the throne, seeming drained.
"Savlian, it has truly been a great honour to serve under you," started Ilend. Savlian looked up with a dull look in his eyes. He had to know what was coming. "Without your inspirational leadership, we would have run around like headless chickens. You should be proud of yourself. I know that you'll do your best to help Kvatch now, just as you always did." Savlian grunted in response. Ilend continued, starting to remove his sword belt. "And it pains me that I won't be here to see you rebuild Kvatch," he muttered, removing his wolfshead-embroidered surcoat, leaving him in his standard-issue heavy chainmail armour. Refastening his sword belt, Ilend draped his bloodied surcoat over the arm of the throne.
"It is with regret that I resign from the Kvatch Guard, but I cannot sit here and rebuild while others exact their vengeance for what happened here today," explained the Imperial. He drew himself up, clicked his heels, and delivered a perfect salute, fist on heart. "Honour to serve," he muttered, before relaxing and turning away.
"Wait." That single word from his ex-guard captain was enough to halt Ilend in his tracks. He turned back to the throne, from which Savlian was slowly rising, his eyes looking a bit less dull. "I respect your decision, Ilend." Savlian's voice was weary, but had an undercurrent of pride. "Each and every single one of you has gone above and beyond the call of duty, especially you and Menien, and the others I sent into that Gate. You have earnt the right to do what you wish." Savlian reached out and clasped Ilend's shoulder. "I wish you luck," he said, a smile creeping onto his face. "Now go and avenge our city."
Ilend felt a smile of his own spreading over his face as he momentarily grasped Savlian's shoulder. "It's been a pleasure," he muttered. He released his old friend's shoulder and turned away, not looking back, refastening his sword belt around his waist. As he stepped out into the rain, Ilend Vonius was no longer a Watch Sergeant in the Kvatch Town Guard. He was a man determined to avenge his ravaged city, whatever the cost.
The Imperial caught sight of his targets up ahead, crossing the Statue Plaza. They were impossible to miss, even in the rain; the hulking outline of the massive Orc made the cloaked Bosmer beside him look even smaller, so small that she might even be mistaken for a child at a distance. Ilend smirked and ran after them, chainmail clinking, ignoring the rain blurring his vision. He caught up with them just as they reached the doors to the chapel.
"So, you were looking for Martin?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Ilend knew that, if he was the one charged with bringing Martin to safety, he would be suspicious of anyone just turning up and offering to help.
"What's it to ya?" asked the Wood Elf, regarding him critically from within her hood.
"Have either of you ever seen Martin?" asked Ilend. Both of them shook their heads. "Well, I know him quite well. Not only can I help you find him, I can help you persuade him. That, and I want revenge for... for this." He angrily gestured to the shattered ruins of Kvatch surrounding them.
"Vengeance is a good driving force, as long as it is not strong enough to overpower sense," rumbled Gorgoth, who was unusually philosophical for his race. "Time is of great importance at any given moment; even more so in our present situation." The Orc turned and opened the doors to the chapel. "Come, Ilend. Martin will be down in the refugee camp."
Aerin smirked as they followed the Orc through the chapel and across the entrance plaza. "It's good to be able to talk ta someone who isn't an emotionally suppressed Orc," she grinned, flashing her perfect teeth at Ilend.
The Imperial grunted in response. Despite most of her body being hidden under her cloak, she was still good to look at, which he hadn't been able to fully appreciate earlier. "It's good to be able to talk to someone normally after these last few days," he replied. "It'll be good to get out of here, get away from the memories. Good thing I don't have anything tying me here."
"No parents, friends, lovers?" queried Aerin. "You can just up and leave? Nice freedom."
"My parents are buried in Skingrad, where I was born," sighed Ilend. "Most of my friends are dead. And my ex-lover is probably dead as well. She lived near the Arena."
Aerin grimaced. "I'm sorry," she muttered, reaching up to awkwardly pat his shoulder.
"Don't be, she was a bitch," growled Ilend. "Great legs, though. And most of my friends were in the Guard. They died well, doing their duty. I'll miss them, but I had few. I'm proud of all of them. May their souls find peace wherever they go." The Imperial bowed his head to each pile of corpses lining the plaza. They had to step around the bodies of daedra slain earlier in the retaking of Kvatch. The stench of death and of burnt buildings lay thickly everywhere in Kvatch. "Mostly, I'm just trying to forget them. Honour the dead and move on. I don't have time to mourn when there's revenge to be had." Ilend shook his head in frustration. He knew he'd never be able to forget these few days of hell. They would likely visit him for many years in his nightmares. But in his waking moments, when he had something to focus his energies on, he could at least push the memories back to some dark corner of his head.
Gorgoth had stopped at the mountain's edge outside Kvatch. With one foot resting on a rock, the Orc was looking down at the refugee camp, which had grown and was now sprawling to the edges of the forest. "Kvatch still lives," was all the warrior-shaman said, gesturing down at the homeless refugees milling around below.
"You can destroy the city, but you can never destroy Kvatch while its people still live," growled Ilend in agreement.
At that moment, the rain eased, and gradually reduced in volume until it stopped completely. A small ray of sunlight peeked through the oppressing black clouds, shining down on part of the refugee camp. "A more superstitious person than me would see some kind of omen in that," observed Aerin, shrugging off her sodden cloak. Looking around, she noted that both Gorgoth's horse and Firebrand were missing from where they had been tied to a barricade. "Hey, who stole our horses?" she asked, looking around as though half expecting to find her steed hiding behind a nearby rock.
"When the civilians from the chapel came down the mountain, they took the horses with them," explained Ilend. "They'll be down in the camp somewhere. Not too many horses survived; it'll be easy enough to find them." The clouds passed over the sun, and the camp was once again shrouded in shadow. Aerin grunted and led the way down to the camp, muttering something about horse thieves and common courtesy.
"If I know Martin, he'll most likely be out helping people who need it, refusing to rest until he's sure that he can't help anyone else," reported Ilend. "That man redefines dedication to the needy at times like this."
"Well, it's a big camp," observed Gorgoth as they entered the body of the camp. "Are we likely to find Martin before dusk? I'd prefer to set off as soon as possible, and preferably while it's still light."
"You can tell that there's a difference?" asked Aerin, squinting up at the dark black clouds. There were occasional gaps where sunlight shone through, but otherwise the sky was as dark as midnight from horizon to horizon.
Ilend collared a nearby Redguard and asked where the wounded were being treated. After being given directions, he motioned for Gorgoth and Aerin to follow him. "He'll almost definitely be helping with the wounded," he explained. "He's one of the best healers in the city, and probably one of the most powerful mages overall, not that I'd know much about that."
"You'd know more than most," grunted Gorgoth as they made their way through the maze of tents, bedrolls, and salvage. "Most people have no magical aptitude at all. You, at least, have some crude methods of using your tiny pool. With training to make your spells more efficient, you could put a lot of magic to good use."
Ilend nodded. "I found that my detect life spell came in handy on several occasions, even though I could only maintain it for a few seconds."
"It would," agreed Gorgoth. "Detecting life is one of the most useful spells around, especially if you develop it enough. I can see how it would be invaluable for a guard." He studied Ilend as they walked through the camp. "If you improve your spell efficiency so that they don't drain your magicka as much, you could maintain it for longer. It's too bad that nothing can be done about your puny magicka reserves."
"It could be worse," grunted Aerin, frustration evident in her voice. "You could have been born without any magical aptitude whatsoever. Damn, I feel weak sometimes."
Gorgoth looked down at her. "You should take comfort in the fact that you're the only one for miles around that has the ability to kill me within seconds," he grunted. "You know that Trueshot can penetrate both my strongest shield spell and my armour. Its penetration would be limited only be the length of the arrow, but it would still be long enough to pierce my heart."
Aerin brightened slightly. "Heh, at least I can succeed where whole armies can fail," she laughed, nudging Gorgoth in the ribs. "How long until we reach Martin?" she asked Ilend, who was turning his head in both directions, incessantly looking for the priest. "This camp seems pretty big. I got lost in the Waterfront a few times, and I'd rather not repeat the experience." A refugee camp might not be as bad as the Waterfront, but Aerin preferred to always know where she was. A reliable escape route was always a good thing.
"There he is," replied Ilend, locating the priest and pointing at him. Martin was bending over a citizen of Kvatch, healing the Breton's broken arm. He had a look of exhaustion ingrained in his rugged features. Doubtless, he hadn't got much sleep, if any, over the last few days. Gorgoth, who was the only one of the three to have seen the Emperor up close before his death, recognised him instantly as the old man's son; he'd inherited a lot of his father's features. His deep blue eyes, well-formed face, and thick shoulder-length hair were all reminiscent of Uriel. At the moment, Martin didn't look like royalty; his simple robe was tattered and stained with blood.
"It's good to see you alive, Ilend," commented Martin as the three approached him. His voice was very rich, doubtless another thing inherited from his father. The Imperial's grimace highlighted the few wrinkles that he'd obtained through ageing. Gorgoth had expected the son of an eighty-seven year old Emperor to be older, but he was confronted with the sight of a man in his prime, not more than seven or eight years older than Gorgoth himself. "I guess it's good to see anyone alive after a battle like that," continued Martin, lowering his voice. Shaking his head, the unknowing heir to the throne of Tamriel turned to Gorgoth. "I heard about how you closed the Gate, and how you drove the daedra back. That is no simple feat."
Gorgoth grunted. "To attribute the closing of the gate and the winning of the battle to me alone would dishonour those who fought by my side," he rumbled. "I could not have retaken the city singlehandedly."
"Of course it would be wrong to gloss over the heroics of others," agreed Martin. "But you were the spearhead; you were the one who inspired the Guard to victory."
"I didn't inspire, Martin," retorted Gorgoth. "I have inspired men to victory before, but not here. Savlian Matius did the inspiring. I simply blasted open the defences."
"Hey, don't you be ignoring the little people," growled Aerin, shaking an accusatory finger at Martin. Ilend sniggered at her comment; she was dwarfed by all three men. Aerin ignored him. "Everyone did their job, and so what if some jobs were bigger than others? The victory belongs to the people of Kvatch, not some great lumbering warrior-shaman out of Orsinium."
Martin sighed and rubbed his eyes. "It's been a long few days," he mumbled. "What do you want with me? You obviously don't need a healer. Do you want a priest? I'm not sure how much I can help, if you want a priest." He looked up at them, wearing a haunted expression. "I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, for help and deliverance. No help came. People died in their hundreds. What kind of Divine would let that happen?"
Gorgoth snorted. "Why rely on the Divines to help you out?" he asked. "People should help themselves. Relying on the Gods to help is a sign of weakness, of not being able to stand on your own two feet."
Ilend glared at Gorgoth, attempting to communicate that he wasn't helping the situation, and patted Martin on the shoulder. "You did what you could, Martin," he reassured the downcast priest. "You rounded up everyone you could find and took them to safety. You did what you could."
"Shouldn't we hurry up with what we're here to do?" Aerin asked Gorgoth. She was right; the clock was ticking. Any moment wasted was another moment where the barriers between Nirn and Oblivion weakened.
Gorgoth nodded. "Martin, your father was Emperor Uriel Septim," he said. "You're his only surviving child, the last of the Dragon Blood. He sent me to find you before he died."
Martin's head had snapped round, and he wore a stupefied expression. "No, you've got it wrong," he insisted. "My father was a farmer. I'm not..." his voice trailed off.
"Why do you think this particular city was attacked?" pressed Gorgoth. "Mehrunes Dagon is invading Tamriel. When no Dragon Blood wears the Amulet of Kings, Nirn is open to invasion. This was an assassination attempt, nothing more."
Ilend was nodding in agreement. "He's right, Martin. Those two robed agents outside the chapel were scouting you out. I heard them mention Uriel's bastard."
Martin closed his eyes, and appeared to be thinking, leaning on a nearby tree stump. "An entire city destroyed to get at me..." he whispered. His eyes opened, and he stared up at Gorgoth. "Because I'm the Emperor's son?"
Gorgoth nodded, his face unreadable and expressionless as usual.
Martin turned and leaned on a tent post, his shoulders slumping and he took in the enormity of this revelation. Gorgoth guessed that it wasn't easy to suddenly learn that you were the secret bastard son of an assassinated Emperor, and so had inherited a vast empire. Martin had probably assumed that his quiet, simple life as a priest would continue into the distant future, and would have no idea of how to run an empire. Aerin took the opportunity provided by the lapse in conversation to reach up and whisper in Gorgoth's ear: "His voice is incredible." The Orc looked at her with a slightly raised eyebrow, and she burst into giggles, a sound which seemed to revive Martin.
"I can't stay here," he said, a hint of determination entering his voice. "The enemy will just send more of his forces after me. I'm a danger to all here." The Imperial sighed. "But where do I go?" he asked.
"Come with us to Weynon Priory," instructed Gorgoth. "You'll be safe enough there. The Amulet of Kings is waiting there for you to light the Dragonfires and prevent this from happening again." The Orc waved his arm around him, gesturing at the refugee camp.
Martin thought for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I'll come with you to Weynon Priory," he agreed. "It doesn't look like there's much else I can do."
It didn't take long to find the only horses in the camp; Gorgoth's exhausted paint horse, Aerin's Firebrand, a handful of chestnuts, and a couple of black stallions that seemed very angry at something. Gorgoth ignored his own paint horse and started untying one of the chestnuts.
"Is that your horse?" asked Ilend suspiciously, eyes narrowing in disapproval despite no longer being a guard, and therefore not obliged to uphold the law. Gorgoth shook his head. "You'd steal from people when their entire city has been destroyed?"
"Our need is greater than theirs," refuted Gorgoth, handing the reins of a chestnut to Martin and nodding for Ilend to take a similar horse. The Imperial didn't budge. "They won't need horses for rebuilding a settlement. We will need horses to get the heir to the throne to Weynon Priory quickly. Unless you want to walk?"
Ilend growled in frustration and started roughly untying the nearest horse to him. Gorgoth walked slowly over to one of the black stallions. They were similar to the horses he had ridden back home, only smaller and bred more for speed than strength and stamina. At least it'd be able to take his weight. However, the horse, obviously on edge, didn't give any indication of wanting to go quietly until Gorgoth grabbed its head and glared into its eyes. His gaze carried so much threat and malice that the horse instantly grew very still, barely moving as the Orc untied it and mounted.
"Seems you know your way around horses, big guy," observed Aerin, who had long since mounted the impatient Firebrand.
"In battle, you have to trust your mount and it's training," growled Gorgoth, heeling his horse forwards down the road leading to the Gold Road. "Let's ride. The sooner we get to Weynon Priory, the better." The others fell in behind him as he spurred his stolen horse to a gallop.
A/N: Since you've read this latest chapter, I assume you've read the whole damn story so far. If that's the case, then the least you can do is leave a review telling me how to improve. Even some encouragement would be helpful. It's only a few minutes of your life, now click that button and review.