A/N: I apologise for the slow update. I had a horrific bout of writer's block when writing this, and that combined with college work slows updates a lot. However, it seems that my ranting last chapter got people's attention, so thanks to all of you who reviewed (especially my regulars, Arty Thrip and the Underpaid Critic).
Lost Proph3t: That doesn't seem like a terrible review to me... at least it offers encouragement. While I stated that there would be no romance involving Gorgoth, I didn't say that there would simply be no romance whatsoever... however, I'm well aware of my romance-writing deficiencies, so we'll just have to see where this goes.
Godlybunny: Gorgoth is very powerful, yes, and he lacks obvious weaknesses, yes, but there's a reason for that: he actively seeks out and destroys every single weakness he can find within himself, so you'd expect him to be pretty inpenetrable. His price (if you can call it that) is an almost total lack of personailty (and possibly other things introduced later).
I think I've covered everything. Keep it up with the reviews, people.
Chapter Twelve: Hope Rekindled
The clouds thinned as the group made their way east, and eventually the sun shone briefly through the haze before sinking below the horizon. Gorgoth pushed on relentlessly, ignoring both Aerin's complaints and the obvious exhaustion of Ilend and Martin. The two Imperials had managed a few hours sleep in the past few days, and were physically unprepared for Gorgoth's pace. Eventually, after many hours of hard riding under Masser and Secunda, the Orc recognised that they could take no more and ordered a halt.
Gorgoth located a suitable campsite in a small hollow just off the Gold Road and, apon dismounting, told Aerin to go and shoot something for them to eat. When the Bosmer protested, claiming that she was too tired, Gorgoth merely pointed to the two Imperials, who had found the nearest patch of grass that could serve as a bed and fallen asleep. Ilend hadn't even removed his bloodstained chainmail. Aerin got the point and went off to shoot dinner. Gorgoth busied himself with settling the horses and removing what little food there was in the saddlebags. He'd been pleasantly surprised to see that all the horses were good ones, and would serve them well if speed was needed.
After draping blankets over the two sleeping Imperials, Gorgoth quietly removed his armour, then sat down with his back to a wide tree and cast a detect life spell. It would last for as long as he maintained it, and if any living thing came within bowshot of the camp, he would know. The Orc could even detect the badger sleeping in its sett under a thicket not far off. Gnawing on a tough apple, Gorgoth took his wallet out of his trouser pocket and drew out a ring. It was a large gold signet ring, made to fit the finger of a large Orc. The dark red stone was carved with an armoured fist clenching a mace. After looking at the ring intently for a while, Gorgoth shoved it back into his wallet, wishing that the Imperials could have taken that blasted ring instead of his mace. However, Gorgoth had never regretted anything in his life, deeming it a waste of time.
When Aerin arrived back with a deer slung over her shoulders, Gorgoth warned her not to wake the others and instructed her to skin it and prepare the meat for cooking the next morning.
"What am I, your slave?" she hissed at him, dumping the deer onto the ground at his feet. A bloody puncture showed where her arrow had taken it, right in the neck. "I ain't seen you do much since we got here."
Gorgoth regarded her stonily. "You're a hunter, I'm not," he replied. "I am not omnipotent. If I attempted to skin that, it would end up as an unrecognisable mess, which I'm pretty sure you would not want to eat."
Aerin scoffed, but the Orc's logic was undeniable. She took out a thick hunting knife and started to skin her kill with the expert dexterity of a natural hunter. Gorgoth removed his accumulated fatigue using magicka. Normally, his immense constitution let him skip entire nights of sleep, but he felt it best to be at his sharpest; he would be keeping watch the entire night. "Rather you than me," grunted Aerin when he informed her of his intentions. He'd expected such a response.
The Bosmer finished skinning the deer, and, with Gorgoth's help, hung it from a tree using a short length of rope that Gorgoth had found in his stallion's saddlebags. With that done, Aerin promptly grabbed a blanket from her saddlebags and lay down at the foot of a tree. She was asleep within minutes, leaving Gorgoth alone, with nothing but the regular breathing of his companions, the cries of nocturnal animals, and his own thoughts for company.
Gorgoth had endured the long boredom of guard duty many times before, and the monotony was nothing new. He could endure it. However, the Orc had developed a good means of combating the tedium without neglecting his duties, and now was the time to put it to good use. He raised his hand and summoned a Dremora.
A swirling orange portal coalesced in the air near the tree Gorgoth was sitting against, and before it faded a Dremora stepped out. Like every fighting Kynaz, he wore daedric plate armour. A katana was strapped to his back. Looking around for danger, and locating none, he stomped over to Gorgoth, a weary expression on his face. "Why have you summoned me, Gorgoth?" he asked, his voice harsh and grating. "When am I actually going to be summoned for a purpose other than the relief of the boredom of a mortal?"
"Be at peace, Xilinkar," soothed Gorgoth, motioning for his summoned Dremora to take a seat against another nearby tree. "I know that you welcome the escape from the mundane goings-on of your realm for a good talk. What was happening when I called you?"
Xilinkar sighed, a sound reminiscent of a cutting wind sweeping through a dead valley, and sat with his back against the tree, facing Gorgoth. He removed his sheathed katana from his back and replied. "I was observing two Churls training." The Dremora's snarl clearly expressed what he thought of their efforts.
"See? I saved you from one boredom and brought you to another. I have a few questions."
"Don't you always?" growled Xilinkar, sweeping his gaze over Gorgoth's sleeping companions with an expression of loathing and contempt. "Why do you insist on gallivanting around with these weak mortals?"
"These 'weak mortals' just helped retake Kvatch from your Lord Dagon," commented Gorgoth, watching his daedric companion carefully for his reaction.
Xilinkar eyed Gorgoth suspiciously. The Orc was too honourable to ask the Dremora to betray the plans of his lord, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to glean some information from idle conversation. "I was not involved in that," he grunted. "I blame the mortals who were working for us. Pathetic worms."
"Underestimation is the downfall of all daedra, Xilinkar," sighed Gorgoth. "You are so steeped in your own arrogance that you fail to see the pitfall waiting for you."
"You said you had some questions?" snarled Xilinkar, obviously taking a dislike to Gorgoth's comments. "I haven't come here to sit around and hear you insult the Kyn."
"No, you came because you were called. Where is Kathutet? I tried to summon him a few days ago, but it didn't work. He's much better for conversation."
At the mention of the name of his Kynsman, Xilinkar smirked. "Oh, I don't think you'll be summoning him for a while," he sniggered. "He's serving as a welcome mat. I'm not saying any more than that, but I doubt he's in a good mood right now." His comrade's predicament seemed to cause Xilinkar much glee, and his harsh laughter echoed around the hollow.
"Keep your voice down," muttered Gorgoth, making a hushing motion with his huge hands. Fortunately, his companions were too deeply asleep for the sound to have woken them. "Do you want me to get Medraka here?" he asked threateningly, raising his right hand as though to summon the Xivilai.
"No!" muttered Xilinkar emphatically. "The last thing I want is to listen to you two talking about meaningless crap until Dagon invades all Tamriel." Aerin shifted in her sleep, drawing the eyes of both Orc and Dremora, but she merely muttered something inaudible and turned over. "Now that is a fine-looking one, even by mortal standards," muttered Xilinkar, leaning forward, his dark red tongue licking his even darker lips.
"Control yourself, Xilinkar," warned Gorgoth. "I would hate to have to kill one of my summoned Dremora. You've given good service over the years."
The Dremora grunted and leaned back against the tree. "Fine. I'll wait for what the spoils of war bring me." He tapped his fingers against his thigh, the gauntlets making an annoying clanging noise on his plate armour. "Is there any point in me remaining here?"
Gorgoth sighed and shook his head, dispelling the magics that tied the Dremora to Nirn. An orange light enveloped the Dremora, then faded, taking Xilinkar back to Oblivion. There was no sign that the Kynaz had ever been present in the camp; the deep imprints his boots had made in the grass could have been made by Gorgoth or Ilend. The Orc settled down for the long night, keeping watch over his sleeping companions, occasionally shifting positions to prevent cramp.
The tip of the sun was peeking over the horizon and beams of sunlight were reaching through gaps in the trees and draping themselves over the camp when Gorgoth shook Aerin awake. He instructed her to keep quiet; he sensed that the two Imperials needed more rest than the two mer did. Utilising a very refined version of Gorgoth's soundproofing spell, they managed to cook the entire deer without waking Ilend or Martin.
A combination of the rich smell of venison permeating the air and the increasingly intrusive sun's rays woke the two Imperials. Ilend proceeded to remove his battered chainmail armour, revealing an undershirt and trousers stained with dried blood and sweat. Aerin turned her nose up at the smell of the unwashed, battle-stained Imperial and shifted closer to the fire.
Martin, after a lengthy awakening, was bombarding Gorgoth with questions about Weynon Priory, his father, and just about everything else relevant to their present situation. The Orc answered the heir's questions the best he could, while tearing into the venison like a starving animal. If Martin was put off by the deer blood trickling down Gorgoth's chin, he didn't show it. Ilend staggered back from the nearby stream, hair dripping, and quietly attacked the deer while muttering something about needing a shave.
With characteristic relentlessness, five minutes later Gorgoth had everyone getting ready to move out. "We sleep in Skingrad tonight," he rumbled, patting his horse. The stallion seemed to have calmed down after yesterday's hard ride. It was hard to tell whether it was fatigue or the memory of Gorgoth's intimidation. "Sleeping in a tavern is a lot more secure than sleeping out here. Much easier to guard."
"You would say that, big guy," muttered Aerin, rolling her eyes as she adjusted Firebrand's saddle. She leaned closer to Ilend, who was feeding an apple to his own horse while running a hand through his long, unkempt hair in a pathetic attempt to comb it into some semblance of neatness. "In a dictionary, look up 'pragmatic', and it'll direct ya to Gorgoth gro-Kharz," she told the Imperial, who snorted with laughter.
"At least we can trust him not to let his guard down," replied Ilend, who had donned his chainmail. "Means less work for us." A broad smile lit up the Imperial's face. "I'm looking forward to having a good ale in the West Weald Inn. Best food and drink in the West Weald, and the tavern fire's always welcoming." The ex-guard leaned back against his horse and let out a relaxed sigh, seeming at ease for the first time in days. "It'll be good to get back to something approaching normal."
Aerin grinned. "I used to work as a dancer in one of the less rough taverns in the Waterfront," she informed him, leaning beside him against his horse's flanks. "I lasted six weeks. The bartender said I was too provocative. I guess I did almost cause a riot once." The Bosmer smirked at the memory. "My father was furious when he found out." Aerin giggled. "Wonder what he said when he learnt from his business partners that his daughter had joined the Arena?"
Ilend laughed, then appeared to realise something. "What day is it?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he struggled to remember something as simple as the date; his sense of time had been destroyed by Oblivion.
Aerin thought for a moment. "I think it's a Middas, the ninth of Hearthfire," she muttered, scratching her head. "Why?"
The Imperial sighed. "Yesterday was my birthday," he grunted. "Killing Dremora who scourged your city isn't exactly the way you'd expect to be celebrating your twenty-fifth birthday."
Aerin reached up and patted his shoulder. "At least you actually lived to see twenty-five," she told him in what she hoped was a comforting manner. "Better ta be alive than dead, eh?" She would have continued if a certain black stallion hadn't stopped mere inches from her face.
"Mount up," growled Gorgoth, glaring down at Aerin from his saddle, grass crunching under his horse's hooves. "We've wasted too much time sleeping already. I plan to be in Skingrad by dusk."
"At the very least, it'll be good to sleep in an actual bed," sighed Martin, also mounted. He was evidently still exhausted, slumped in his saddle like a sack of potatoes with dark circles under his eyes. His hair was bedraggled and lank, much like Ilend's, and rough stubble covered his lower face. He appeared to lack the ability to wash his fatigue away magically. Or maybe he just couldn't remember how due to exhaustion.
Gorgoth led the party back onto the Gold Road and set off at his usual demanding pace. They passed several wagon trains and Imperial Legion detachments on the way, evidently going to the aid of Kvatch. "I told him help would come," muttered Gorgoth to himself, recalling the pep talk he gave to Savlian Matius. Several people on the wagons appeared to want to talk to the group coming from Kvatch, but Gorgoth allowed no stopping. As they passed the bountiful farmlands and rolling hills of the West Weald, the breadbasket of Cyrodiil, the sun rose and fell from horizon to horizon.
As the sun sank behind the horizon behind them, Skingrad came into view. The main gates still stood open despite the encroaching night, allowing the only access to the walled city. The Twin Crescents flapped gently in the soft breeze from their vantage point on the massive Castle Skingrad, located on a hill separate from the main city and only accessible by bridge. Apparently, Count Janus Hassildor wasn't appreciative of personal visitors.
They stabled the horses at the Grateful Pass Stables, Gorgoth noting with satisfaction that the Orc stablemaster seemed to have no inclination to eat horses. She had recommended the Two Sister's Lodge, owned by her sister, but at Ilend's insistence they instead headed to the West Weald Inn. The streets of Skingrad were still busy, with the population heading home from work or heading out to the pubs to get blind drunk. Gorgoth was once again impressed with the quality of the stonework shown in the buildings and walls; these Cyrodillics certainly knew how to build a city. However, there was little time to explore Skingrad; the Inn was very near to the west gate.
Ilend swung both doors wide open and they entered the tavern. They were instantly immersed in the friendly atmosphere that permeates every good inn. Evidently, the West Weald Inn mostly served travellers staying overnight, as the patrons were too diverse to simply be Skingraders drinking after a hard day's work. About half the tables were filled, with patrons varying from two mail-clad Orcs to an angry-looking, finely-dressed Dunmer. The setting sun threw long, fading pokers of fire over the room. Ilend, with an air of familiarity, led the way over to the bar, where the innkeeper, a middle-aged Imperial, was leaning, watching the new arrivals and seemingly weighing up the gold in their wallets before they had even reached her.
"Long time, no see, Erina," greeted Ilend, leaning on the bar and smiling at the innkeeper. A slight upturn of her lips in response might be taken for a smile.
"Good to see you and your wallet again, Ilend," she replied. "I hope you plan to drink as much as you did last time?" Without waiting for her answer, she swept her analytical gaze over the ex-guardsman's companions, weighing them individually. "Will you be wanting rooms?" she asked, her voice dry and businesslike. The fine cut and cloth of her clothes indicated that her inn had seen long periods of success.
"How big is your biggest room?" asked Gorgoth, attempting to lean on the bar but finding that it was too low for him to comfortably rest his arm on. He settled for standing up straight with arms folded. His head brushed the ceiling beams.
"Two single beds with a separate sitting room, both fairly big," replied Erina briskly. "That one's twenty for the night. The other rooms are-" Gorgoth cut her off.
"We'll take that one," he rumbled, digging out his wallet. "All of us." Observing the shocked expressions of not only Erina but all three of his companions, he continued. "It's a lot easier to defend a single room." The Orc counted out twenty septims and slid them over to Erina. Shaking her head and muttering in disbelief, the innkeeper gathered the coins with practised speed and put them somewhere under the counter.
"When you're ready to go up to your room, it's up the stairs, second one on the right," she told them, jerking her head towards a staircase near the back of the inn. "For now, take a seat, and try not to break anything." That last comment was clearly directed at Gorgoth, the seven foot tall, heavily armoured, powerfully-built Orc clearly being the most likely to break a chair simply by sitting on it. Gorgoth ignored her and led the way to a fairly large table near the back of the inn. It was the furthest table from the door. The massive warrior-shaman lowered himself slowly into the chair that faced the door. With various creaks and groans, the chair held, and Gorgoth relaxed, as much as he ever did.
"Hey, big guy, in the interests of chair health, why don't ya leave your armour in our room?" asked Aerin, taking a seat nearest to the staircase, which was nearby.
"Two good reasons, Aerin," rumbled Gorgoth as Ilend and Martin took their seats. Ilend's chair creaked, but the Imperial and his chainmail weighed a lot less than Gorgoth and his plate armour. "I want to be ready for anything that might happen, even if it probably won't come to pass. It's always best to be on your guard." The Orc leaned back in his chair, ignoring its squeal of protest. "Also, it could be stolen. I'd rather not have to rely on magical armour."
"Thought you might say that," muttered Aerin, looking around the inn with an inquisitive look on her face. "This place got any decent food? I could use something to eat that I don't have ta shoot myself."
"Need you ask?" asked Ilend, gesturing towards the mounds of food sitting on some other tables. "I'll get us something. Gorgoth, your wallet, please. Mine's back in Kvatch." The Orc grunted and removed something from his enchanted wallet before handing it over to Ilend.
"I'll have an unlimited supply of beer with it," he informed Ilend, who nodded, almost as though he'd been expecting something of the sort. The Imperial walked over to the bar.
"So, when's our estimated time of arrival at Weynon Priory?" asked Martin, who was leaning forward, elbows on the table, the posture of a man hungry for both food and information. He clearly wanted to get to safety as quickly as possible, or he might simply want to have more than four hours of sleep per night.
"With these fast horses, two days at the most," replied Gorgoth. "It'll be hard on the horses, but with my restorative magics, they can handle it." The Orc regarded Martin critically. "What about you, priest? Can you handle a few hours of sleep a night?"
"No. I'm a priest, not a soldier," grumbled Martin. "But at least I do happen to know how to remove my exhaustion using magicka. That way, I guess I could handle it, but as you know, magic is no replacement for actual sleep." Gorgoth nodded in agreement.
"Why didn't you do that when you woke up?" Aerin's question had a point.
"Because I was too tired. If I'd attempted to cast it then, I might have ended up freezing myself or something." Martin sighed and leaned back. "Magic can be very fickle at very inopportune moments."
"You're right," agreed Gorgoth as Ilend returned, chucking Gorgoth his lightened wallet and sitting down. The Orc didn't particularly care if the ex-guardsman had been too free with his money; he had plenty back in Orsinium, and no real need for it now that he had everything he required. "I seem to remember a few incidents like that when the shamans were training me. They can be overcome with a strong will that resist any adversity."
"We don't all have your mental superiority, big guy," muttered Aerin, looking suspiciously at the dark brown liquid that passed for ale in Skingrad. "Ilend, didn't they have any water or something?"
"This is an inn," snorted Ilend, burying his face in his own pint. After a long few swigs, he lowered his now half-empty glass. "In the West Weald Inn, you have a drink, not some rotting sewage water." He wiped the ale from his chin with the back of his gauntlet, then removed both gauntlets and laid them on the table, all the while shaking his head in disbelief. "Imagine going to a pub of any kind and not having a proper drink," he muttered to himself.
"Hey, we ain't all soldiers, ya know," retorted Aerin. "Not all of us want ta be swimming with booze every time we dive into a pub." Looking for support, she turned to Martin, only to find that the priest had already drained his pint.
"Needed that," grunted Martin, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. "I'm a priest, Aerin, not a teetotal," he told the Bosmer apon noting her shocked expression.
Aerin shrugged and took a swig of her own ale. She grimaced at the taste, but she was thirsty and it seemed that Ilend wasn't about to get her another drink. Beside her, Gorgoth was already looking for his third pint.
It was fortunate that their meals arrived before Gorgoth drank the place dry. For the next hour or so, most conversation ceased as they relentlessly attacked the beef stew that apparently came from cows slaughtered just yesterday. It at least managed to blunt the edge of hunger that came from eating little over days of exertion. The sun set and patrons slowly dispersed, either to their rooms upstairs or out to Skingrad for whatever reason. The four companions and their plates, piled high, were left alone by the rest of the patrons, who were probably deterred by Gorgoth's grim outward appearance and the dried blood that still stained Ilend's chainmail.
Gorgoth noticed Martin's drooping eyelids and correctly deduced that the priest needed sleep. The Orc couldn't blame the Imperial; he was no soldier, accustomed to short nights and days of fighting. "Come on, Martin," he growled, standing. "You'll need sleep over the coming days. Let's head up to the room. I'll assess the defences." Aerin rolled her eyes at the Orc's last comment as he and Martin headed up the staircase, leaving her alone with Ilend, who was scratching irritably at the blood on his armour, apparently noticing it for the first time.
One of the few remaining patrons walked over to their table. She was a fairly tall Nord woman, with short hair and a bluff exterior like most Nords. The most distinguishing feature was the sword at her hip; she moved liked she knew how to use it. "Excuse me," she started, leaning on the table, facing Ilend. "Have you come from Kvatch?" Not waiting for an answer, she continued. "What exactly happened there? I have family there, you see, and..." she let her voice trail off.
If Ilend and Aerin hadn't imbibed significant quantities of alcohol, their more alert brains might have picked up the danger, or the excited undercurrent of the woman's voice. As it was, neither of them were drunk, but their senses were slowed. "A bloody travesty," sighed Ilend, looking up at her with regretful eyes. "Daedra invaded. Burnt the whole city, near enough." He grimaced at the shocked expression on the Nord's face. "Not to worry, though," he soothed. "Plenty of folks made it out. I'm sure your family is safe."
"I hope so," murmured the Nord, lowering herself slowly into a seat. "I'm Else God-hater. Don't dwell on that right now, please. Was that Martin I saw with you?"
Aerin nodded. "Yeah, that was Martin. A Priest of Akatosh. Not that'd you' want a priest with a name like that, though." Something occurred to Aerin, something dangerous. As her alcohol-dimmed mind fumbled for the coherent thought, she dimly saw the Nord nod, seemingly in satisfaction, and reach beneath the table. "What...?" That was as far as Aerin got. Else snatched out a concealed steel dagger and plunged it into the Bosmer's gut.
As Aerin's eyes widened, and she fell off her chair sideways, hitting the floor with a muted thud, Ilend roared with rage and threw the table at the murderous Nord, who'd stepped back to draw her sword. She ducked under the table, dodged the flying plates and empty glasses, and emerged covered in sparks as armour suddenly appeared on her, covering her from head to toe. Ilend had seen it before, being used by the human agents who supported Dagon. As the other patrons cowered and ran for cover, Ilend drew his own sword, just in time to parry Else's strike.
The Nord spun quickly and launched another attack, her sword streaking towards Ilend's throat like a viper. The Imperial's shield had been leaning against the table legs, and to reach for it now would be suicide. His borrowed Daedric blade turned aside Else's steel broadsword mere inches from his neck. Ilend pushed forward and attempted to cleave the agent's head in two. However, Else was known in Skingrad as a skilled swordswoman, and she was living up to her reputation, slashing his blade aside. Heavy footsteps were crashing down the staircase, which momentarily distracted the Nord, her eyes flickering towards the staircase. When she turned back to Ilend, she was too late to block his thrust; she could only twist, so the daedric blade merely pierced her spleen instead of her heart. Staggering back, the Nord raised her hand to cast a healing spell, only to be impaled from behind by Gorgoth's bound sword.
Ilend paid no attention to the sparks covering Else's falling body. Instead, he threw his sword away and knelt beside Aerin, who was doubled over, groaning and clutching the hilt of the dagger protruding from her stomach. A thin trickle of blood was dribbling from her mouth, clashing with the pale skin of her cheek. Gorgoth threw Else's body off his sword, letting the spell dissipate, and hurried over, with an anxious Martin following closely.
"That dagger's got to be removed before she can be healed," muttered Gorgoth, fumbling for the hilt of the dagger. His thick, sausage-like fingers couldn't get a good grip. Gorgoth growled in frustration and looked at Ilend. "You rip it out," he instructed. "It's too small; I can't get a good grip." As Ilend obediently gripped the hilt, Gorgoth shifted his gaze to Aerin, whose eyes were only half-open. "Aerin, this is going to hurt," he muttered. She mumbled something unintelligible in response. Gorgoth nodded to Ilend.
The Imperial steeled himself, then brutally ripped the dagger out of Aerin's stomach. Immediately, blood and bile flowed out of the jagged cut. Aerin's eyes shot open, and a strained gasp escaped from her lips. Within seconds, the blue healing aura of Gorgoth's spell enveloped her, and the wound closed, leaving only a jagged rip in her leather armour as a lasting memento, apart from the drying blood. The Wood Elf's head fell back to the floor, panting as though she'd just run a marathon.
"Fucking... bitch," she gasped, gratefully accepting Ilend's hand and getting hauled to her feet. Unsteady on her legs due to the trauma of the wound, she still managed to stagger over to Else's body and spit on her. The patrons of the Inn who hadn't fled screaming into the streets watched her cautiously. Turning around, she stumbled and would have fallen if Ilend hadn't caught her.
"Careful, Aerin," rumbled Gorgoth. "A wound like that leaves a lasting impression, even if promptly healed. You'll need a lot of rest until you feel better." The Orc looked past Aerin down at Else. "I wouldn't have expected them to react this quickly," he muttered, half to himself. He was still rubbing his chin and musing over their circumstances when the door crashed open and several Skingrad guardsmen filed in with swords drawn, led by a tanned, grizzled, bare-headed Imperial, whose eyes swept over the inn and swiftly alighted on the dead Nord.
At a word, his men spread out and surrounded the most likely culprits. Gorgoth stood calmly, arms folded, eyes never leaving the face of the bald Imperial, who was clearly the Guard Captain by his badge of rank. The captain, perceiving no immediate danger, sheathed his sword and walked up to Gorgoth. "Are you responsible for that?" he asked, indicating the dead body of Else, his voice hard.
"No, I believe that she was responsible for her own death," replied Gorgoth. He motioned for Ilend to recount what actually happened, as the Orc actually had no way of knowing what had transpired; he had been up in the room with Martin. The guardsman's eyes flickered over to Ilend.
"Any of these witnesses here will tell you that it was an unprovoked assault on my Bosmer friend here," Ilend told him, waving his free arm at the patrons lining the walls, as far away from the guards as they could get. His other arm was still supporting Aerin, whose own arms were wrapped around his waist in a near-death grip. "We were talking at the table, and for no apparent reason, she pulled out a dagger." The guard captain's eyes narrowed; he was clearly having trouble believing a word of it. Ilend continued. "You know about Kvatch, about how men and mer fought for the enemy alongside the Dremora?" Ilend gestured at Else's body. "She was one of them."
The captain nodded to two of his men, who sheathed their blades and started making their way around the inn, taking statements. Moving closer to Ilend, he frowned. "I've seen you somewhere before," he muttered.
Ilend smiled as though recalling a fond memory. "That we have, Dion," he laughed. "In the Kvatch-Skingrad town guard war games last year, I was the one that scaled your wall and hauled down the Skingrad flag."
Dion looked completely perplexed for a second, before he, too, started chuckling. "Always knew I should have placed a watchman on that side. You climbed like a Bosmer," he grunted, slapping Ilend on the shoulder. His hand found the blood on Ilend's chainmail, and he scratched at it, his mirth fading. "Was it really that bad at Kvatch?" he asked.
"Very," replied Ilend, his own face darkening. "Not many made it out alive. The city is in ruins. But we can rebuild. Kvatch is not yet finished."
Dion grunted and stepped back. "Well, at the very least, you dealt with another of those bastards," he growled, glaring down at the corpse of the Nord. "I wouldn't be so quick to believe you if Artellian hadn't got another of these agents locked in the castle dungeon. We'll get him to talk soon enough."
"I wouldn't count on it," sighed Ilend. "The one we captured in Kvatch didn't talk, despite our best efforts at 'persuasion'. Good luck, anyway."
Dion nodded. "Take care," he muttered, raising his hand in a half-salute before walking out of the inn, taking half his men with him. The remainder secured the witness statements and hauled Else's body out of the West Weald Inn. Erina, who for the entire incident had remained behind the bar wearing a thunderous expression, muttered something about always having to clean up after the guards.
"Well, at least that's one less enemy agent to look out for tonight," observed Gorgoth, breaking the silence. The tension was slowly leaking out of the atmosphere, and the patrons were returning to their tables or heading up to their rooms, giving Gorgoth a wide berth. "No need for a watch tonight; I'll set some magical barriers on the doors, and a few other traps. They won't get through."
"Well, at least we can finally get a safe night's sleep," muttered Ilend. He looked down at Aerin to find that she'd fallen half asleep, leaning her head on his chest. "I guess you weren't lying about bad wounds being exhausting," he said to Gorgoth, prodding Aerin gently to wake her up.
"And why would I lie about anything?" asked Gorgoth rhetorically, not waiting for an answer as he led the way up the stairs. Martin followed him, leaving Ilend to deal with the groggy Aerin. After wiping away the trickle of blood that had fled her mouth with his bare hand, Ilend retrieved his shield and gauntlets from where they had been thrown when he'd overturned the table. Aerin had been so weakened by the wound, as Gorgoth predicted, that Ilend had to half-carry her up the stairs.
The second door on the right led to a fairly spacious room, with a few chairs and a table taking up most of the space. After they'd entered, Gorgoth closed the door behind them and raised his hand, the greenish glow of some form of illusion magic enveloping the door. Ilend dumped his shield and gauntlets on the table beside Gorgoth's steel gauntlets, no easy task when he still had one arm wrapped securely around Aerin. The Wood Elf kept insisting that she could walk unaided, but kept stumbling whenever she pulled away from him.
"Aerin, you've been stabbed in the gut and had half your entrails sliced through," sighed Ilend as he barely caught her for the third time. "I doubt even Gorgoth would be in a good shape after that, even if he was healed." Aerin pouted but allowed him to guide her through to the bedroom, manoeuvring his sword hilt out of her ribs. "It's better than being dead, which you certainly would have been otherwise," commented the Imperial.
The bedroom was smaller than the sitting room, with two single beds taking up most of the space. Martin was already lying on one, snoring slightly, and fully dressed apart from his boots. The open windows allowed the light of the moons into the room, making it easy to identify the basic furnishings; two bedside tables and a tiny wardrobe. Ilend dumped Aerin unceremoniously on the unoccupied bed. She grunted and reached down to remove her boots as Ilend walked over to the window and took a look out. Moonlight shone on the cobbles, making it easy to see into the street. It was empty, apart from a lone Skingrad guard, holding a torch and looking bored. Ilend could sympathise with him; the night watch was the most boring job in the town guard.
Ilend retreated back into the room. Aerin had by now removed all her armour, if her tight-fitting boiled leather could really be called armour, and piled it at the bottom of her bed. Ilend, knowing her flirtatious personality, wasn't surprised to see her normal garments; a pair of tight-fitting black trousers and a shirt that exposed half her midriff. As he walked out of the room, he found himself idly wondering why she'd never flirted with him so far, a fact he deeply regretted.
Gorgoth drove such thoughts out of his head. The warrior-shaman was still standing by the door, laying some incomprehensible spell on it. He finished and stepped back, turning to Ilend. "That trap will paralyze anyone who comes through that door for a full two minutes. Harmless if they're innocent, debilitating if not. And they'd have to get through my magical barrier first."
Ilend nodded in appreciation of the shaman's magical power and proceeded to remove his chainmail. Gorgoth joined him, and soon the sitting room echoed with the sounds of pieces of steel and chainmail being strewn about the floor. When Ilend brought up his fear that Martin and Aerin would hear them, Gorgoth grunted that he'd coated the walls of the sitting room with a temporary modified Silence spell. Ilend had never heard of anything of the sort, but he was no mage, so he simply nodded as though he knew what the Orc was talking about.
"Wish they had good baths here," muttered Ilend, frowning at the dried blood and stagnant sweat that defiled every stitch of his undershirt.
"Why wash it off?" rumbled Gorgoth, having removed all his own armour and was down to his trousers and vest, both of which were soaked with sweat. "You're only going to sweat more and get the same result. Leave it and use your time more wisely, I say." The Orc lowered himself into a chair and dispelled his Silence spell, attempting to make himself comfortable.
Ilend snorted and laid his daedric longsword down on the table alongside Gorgoth's belt, which held his silver-worked long mace. "And there lies a difference in our culture, gro-Kharz," he muttered, keeping his voice low. "I'm guessing that Orcs find it acceptable to smell like they've just come from a battle, all the time. We Imperials at least attempt to make ourselves socially presentable most of the time."
"As a matter of fact, Ilend, our race isn't as crude as that. We simply know what's most important," retorted Gorgoth, his eyes half closed. The Orc seemed completely at ease, leaning back in the soft, padded chair despite dwarfing it, his legs splayed out in front of him, arms at rest on the arms of the chair. His breathing was slow and steady.
"If you say so," sighed Ilend, throwing himself down on a chair, sitting in a similar fashion to the Orc opposite him. "Good Night."
"Sleep deeply. Do not be troubled by dreams. May you live to see the morning."
Ilend raised an eyebrow, but the Orc had already closed his eyes. Not wanting to disturb him, Ilend simply closed his own eyes and tried to sleep. He supposed that it was Gorgoth's way of saying 'good night'. Not the most comforting statement, but Ilend felt safe. He was in the protective presence of a warrior-shaman who could destroy a small army. However, it still took him a long time to get to sleep, in contrast to Gorgoth. The Orc's slow, even, steady breathing remained unchanged, a steady rhythm coming from across the room.
When Ilend woke, he found himself in a distinctly uncomfortable position, with his head halfway down the back of the chair and a large part of his lower body hanging over the floor. Gorgoth, who had prodded him awake, grunted a greeting and moved over to the sole window of the room, throwing it open and letting in the warm morning air. The sun was fully over the horizon.
"You appeared restless in your sleep," observed Gorgoth, stretching, his massive frame almost filling half the room. "Did your dreams trouble you? It is to be expected after what you lived and fought through."
Ilend shook his head, rising slowly to his feet, working the crick in his neck. "I never remember my dreams," he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "After Kvatch, it's probably for the best."
Gorgoth nodded in understanding. "Go and wake the others," he commanded. "I have to undo the traps and barriers I placed."
Ilend swung open the door to the bedroom and strode through, yawning. The beams of sunlight streaming in through the window had failed to wake either Aerin or Martin. The latter was rolling around and mumbling incoherently; his clothing was disarrayed and his bed was half-dismantled. Ilend recognised the signs of a nightmare and placed a hand on the priest's shoulder.
Martin's eyes shot open, and he grabbed Ilend's hand in a crushing grip, a wild look etched on his face. "They're burning the city!" he gasped in a strained whisper. "We've got to get to the chapel, it's our only hope-" He was cut off as Ilend grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
"Calm yourself, Martin," he soothed. "We're in the West Weald Inn in Skingrad. Something like Kvatch will never happen again. It's over." The swordsman gently prised his wrist from Martin's grasp. The wild look faded from the priest's eyes, and he sighed and fell back onto his bed, looking up at the ceiling, drained. "Come on, we've got to get to Weynon Priory," urged Ilend. "The sooner you light the Dragonfires, the sooner we can be assured that Kvatch will never be repeated."
That seemed to fully wake Martin up, and soon he was up and getting his boots on. Ilend turned his attentions to Aerin, who hadn't woken despite the commotion barely a foot away from her. Half her blanket was on the floor, exposing her upper body, and Ilend appreciated the view for a moment before gently shaking her. She mumbled something about needing a few more minutes before rolling over, leaving Ilend staring at her back.
"Try slapping her," advised Gorgoth from where he was standing in the doorway, his arm above him leaning on the tall doorframe. He held his gaze for a moment longer to make Ilend sure that he wasn't joking, then turned back into the sitting room. The following clanging sounds indicated that he was donning his armour. Ilend smirked and turned back to the Bosmer. Instead of slapping her, he merely grabbed her under the arms and physically hauled her out of bed. By the time he placed her on her feet, she was awake enough, judging by the glare she shot him when she staggered into him.
"Ya could have just shaken me a bit harder, ya know," she muttered, folding her arms beneath her breasts and looking up at him critically, with one eyebrow arched.
"Hey, you should be thankful," retorted Ilend, spreading his arms wide, his expression one of innocence. "Gorgoth told me to slap you. If you'd have preferred that..." She rolled her eyes and brushed past him, picking up some of her armour from where it lay at the foot of her bed. Reminded that he needed to equip his own chainmail, Ilend hurried back into the sitting room.
Gorgoth was stamping his feet, settling them into his boots and undoubtedly dislodging some plaster from the roof below. The Orc had somehow also managed to quickly don his greaves and breastplate, and was fastening his pauldrons with some difficulty. Ilend didn't move to help; the warrior-shaman clearly knew how to put on plate armour single-handedly, an ability that Ilend couldn't begin to fathom. Chainmail was so much simpler. And lighter. Gorgoth might have been fast, but when he fastened his belt over his breastplate, Ilend had long since thrown on his mail and was eating an apple he'd found in a fruit bowl.
"So, what's the plan for today?" asked Martin, walking through from the bedroom. Aerin's grunts were audibly drifting through as she squeezed into her boiled leathers. The priest had undoubtedly felt uncomfortable sharing the room with someone so free with her good looks, but at least he seemed to have recovered from his rough night.
"We take the quickest possible road route to Chorrol," explained Gorgoth, making sure his mace was secure in its loop on his belt. "I don't see any quicker method of getting there. We'll have to push the horses harder than I'd like, but it's got to be done. I intend to reach Weynon Priory in two days." Gorgoth looked Martin up and down. "I hope you enjoyed your sleep, priest. I doubt you'll be getting much more of it." If Martin was disappointed by this exhausting news, he gave no sign of it.
In seemingly no time at all, Gorgoth's insatiable urge to keep moving had hustled them down to the stables. The payment to Erina had been settled the previous night, and it was probably wise not to outstay their welcome; the sole farewell the proprietor had given them was a glare as they walked out of her door, no doubt for giving her a bloody mess to clean up the night before, in addition to breaking a large number of plates and glasses. Apon reaching the stables, Gorgoth threw a handful of coins to the ostler, swung open the large gate, and led the way out.
After trotting quickly through the section of the Gold Road within Skingrad's walls, Gorgoth surprisingly didn't increase the pace, stating that the horses would need warming up first. None complained; it actually gave them a chance for what rest and talk they could snatch on horseback. Martin was mostly silent, probably brooding over his future, and when Ilend rode up to join Gorgoth a few metres ahead, Aerin assumed that he was going to discuss their pace, or Weynon Priory, or something similar. She was wrong.
"By the Divines, you could drown in her eyes." Ilend was muttering furtively, bent over so that his head was close to Gorgoth and they could talk in low voices. "They're like deep pools of blue sapphires, you know. I've never seen eyes like em before."
"I am aware that her eyes are blue," rumbled Gorgoth, also keeping his voice low so that it merely sounded like an avalanche in the distance. "You do not have to describe them to me."
Undaunted by the Orc's uncaring attitude, Ilend shifted his focus. "I thought my ex-lover had the best legs I've ever seen, but... damn, Aerin's got good ones," he muttered excitedly. "And those leathers of hers really show em off, don't you think?" Gorgoth merely spared a second's glance for the Imperial before once again turning his attention back to the road ahead.
As Ilend was about to start raving on about another feature of Aerin's beauty, Gorgoth cut him off. "I think Bosmer have good hearing," he observed, stroking his horse's mane.
"What was that? Good hearing?" asked Aerin, riding up with Martin to ride either side of the two heavily-armoured warriors. Ilend looked distinctly uncomfortable until he realised that Aerin showed no signs of hearing his earlier comments. There was no time to make sure of this, as at that moment Gorgoth declared that the horses were warm enough for exertion and sped up to a full gallop.
They remained at full gallop until long after the sun had gone down, in the Gorgoth custom. After making camp at the side of the Black Road, they were up again at dawn, Gorgoth pushing the horses to their limits in an effort to make it to Weynon Priory before dusk. By the time the sun was climbing down from its noonday zenith, they had almost trampled two highwaymen, succeeded in trampling another, and had passed a half dozen shocked Imperial Legion patrols, with Gorgoth allowing no letup in pace. An attempt by Martin to negotiate a reduction in pace to spare the horses was met with a curt: "The sooner you don the Amulet, the sooner Nirn can be safe. That, I'm sure you will agree, is worth a few horses."
The unceasing speed of the journey paid off; the sun, a blood-red flaming ball, was suspended just above the horizon when the group arrived at Weynon Priory. As Gorgoth reined in just short of the lengthening shadows cast by the priory, screams reached his ears. He was immediately on guard, and warned the rest of the company to get ready for battle. The screams grew louder, and the Dunmer shepherd ran into view, waving his arms and yelling something incomprehensible. Behind him ran two figures clad in the armour of the agents of the enemy.
Gorgoth didn't hesitate. He sprang off his horse, drawing his mace and landing with feet planted. The Dunmer swerved and headed straight for him, drawing his two attackers with him. As the terrified shepherd dashed past the Orc, Gorgoth stepped forward and smashed his mace into the leading agent. The impact crushed his cuirass, shattered his ribs, and sent him flying backwards in a sea of sparks. His comrade attempted to slow down, but Gorgoth moved in and kicked his legs from under him. Before the armoured agent could regain his footing, Ilend was on him, skewering him with his blade.
The Dunmer shepherd had stayed in the area. "You have to help!" he half-shouted, clutching at Ilend's chainmail. "They're killing everyone they can find! I saw them kill Prior Maborel-" Ilend cut him off by shoving him out of the way.
"The sooner you let us do our jobs, the sooner we can stop the killing," he growled, moving forward towards the priory with his bloodied daedric blade at the ready. Gorgoth advanced beside him, with Aerin just behind them with an arrow nocked. Martin brought up the rear, clutching a steel dagger, his left hand ready to throw elemental death at any threat. The shepherd ran off down the road to Chorrol, probably to fetch the guards.
Four agents were present in the priory courtyard. Three of them were attacking a lone monk, while another was looking towards the chapel. The body of the Prior lay on the ground, blood pooling around his tonsured head. Wasting no time, Martin leapt forward and unleashed a powerful lightning bolt, frying two of the monk's attackers. Aerin took the other one down with an arrow in the chest. The surviving agent spotted them and ran for the safety of the woods, abandoning his weapon. He was fast, but Gorgoth's fireball was faster, blasting a hole in his chest and flinging the sparking body into a tree.
The surviving monk looked slightly bemused at his salvation, but quickly came to his sense and rushed to meet them, blood dripping from his katana from where he'd wounded one of his attackers. "Thank Talos you came!" he gasped, panting and leaning on his blade. "They drew weapons without warning. Prior Maborel didn't stand a chance." Pausing for breath, he looked towards the chapel, an alarmed look on his face. "I saw two or three of them run into the chapel, where Brother Jauffre was praying. We've got to hurry!" With that, he was off running again, towards the small chapel. Not waiting to question how a monk was in possession of a rare blade and the skill to use it, the group hurried after him.
The chapel was a small building, with a few rows of stone pews facing a simple altar. Candles decorated the walls, seemingly pointless as the stained-glass windows let in a lot of light, even with the sun almost below the horizon. The result was that the stone floor was covered with the long shadows of men fighting. Jauffre, despite his apparent age, was wielding a dai-katana with agility and skill. One assassin already lay crumpled and bleeding on a pew; his two comrades didn't look like they were about to break down the Grandmaster's defences any time soon.
Gorgoth hung back near the doors, making sure no one escaped, while Ilend and the monk rushed forward to attack. The chapel was too cramped for someone as big as Gorgoth to fight to his full effectiveness; it was likely he'd just get in the way if he attempted to wade in. Aerin was also holding back, looking for an opening with arrow nocked, but unable to get a good shot. Martin was looking slightly disgusted at the desecration of a holy place.
The would-be assassins were focused on killing Jauffre, and the first they learnt of the new arrivals were swords cutting deep into their backs. As they fell, sparks enveloping their bodies, Jauffre sagged, panting, clutching a spreading stain on the left shoulder of his robe. "You came just in time," he muttered as thanks. "It is fortunate that I went against my usual custom and brought my weapon with me to prayer; these dark times call for such measures, and I'm glad I trusted my instincts."
Gorgoth stepped forward and healed the cut on the old Blade's shoulder. The Breton grunted in appreciation and worked his left arm. "Thank you. But I fear that the Enemy have got what they came for; this was no strike against a few old monks."
The Orc knew exactly what he was talking about. "You think they found the Amulet?"
"It was in a secret compartment in Weynon House. We should check on it, but I fear the worst." The Breton's grim face empathised the danger that they faced as he swept past them and out to the courtyard. He only spared a quick, sorrowful glance for the corpse of Prior Maborel as he hurried past it, leaving the job of closing the old monk's eyes to the younger monk.
The old stairs creaked and groaned as they bore the weight of the party, which included two in heavy armour. Jauffre hissed in anguish as he burst into his room; a bookshelf that had covered a previously hidden compartment had been overturned. He hurried into the compartment and groaned. The chest that had held the Amulet of Kings stood open and empty. Visibly sagging, the monk staggered back into his room.
"It is as I feared... the enemy has taken the Amulet," he moaned. "Now what hope do we have?" He groaned and buried his wrinkled head in his hands, apparently the brunt of the two biggest failures of his career hitting him hard.
"Not all is lost, Jauffre," grunted Gorgoth. "The enemy may have destroyed Kvatch, but he lost the battle. Dagon did not achieve his goal. Martin survived."
Jauffre's head jerked up, and he stared at Gorgoth, then at Martin, seeing him properly for the first time. The uncanny resemblance between Martin and the late Emperor meant that Jauffre didn't have to be told who Martin was. He simply smiled in relief, straightening his back, a bit of his old iron creeping back into his posture. "Then all hope is not yet lost," he muttered, the very words seeming to hearten him. He walked forward and clapped Martin on the shoulder. "It's good to finally meet you, Martin. You'll be safe in Cloud Ruler Temple until we can work out exactly what to do." Martin nervously nodded, apparently not knowing what else to do.
"Cloud Ruler Temple? Isn't that the fortress north of Bruma?" asked Ilend, rubbing his chin. He'd shaved back in Skingrad, but the stubble had swiftly regrown in the two days of fast travel.
Jauffre nodded. "It is the stronghold of the Blades, and one of the safest locations in all Tamriel," he replied. "Martin will be safe there, if anywhere can be called safe. It will be valued as a sanctuary in the days to come."
"I fail to see what we are waiting for," observed Gorgoth.
"You're right," said Jauffre, springing into action and leading the way down the stairs. The younger monk was sitting at the table, frantically scribbling a letter, his katana, still wet with blood, leaning on the back of his chair. "If you do not have horses, we'll take what the Priory can spare. Speed will not particularly aid us, but I wouldn't want to hang around."
Within minutes, Jauffre had mounted the fastest horse the Priory had to offer, and they were ready to move out. The bodies were left where they had fallen; it was now the Chorrol Town Guard's mess to deal with. After the confusion of the past weeks, temporary sanctuary was now in sight in the form of the ancient stronghold of the Blades.
A/N: Now that you've read it... you know what to do. Review.