A/N: I'd have had this up yesterday night, but FF failed to let me edit my fic... can't they do anything right? First the merging of the fandoms, then this delaying nonsense. Idiots... Anyhow, chapter twenty-four was good for reviews (11), which goes to show how inconsistent some reviewers can be... 11, then 6, then 11? I'd prefer people to review ALL the time... still, thanks to those of you who reviewed.
Cola: The Adoring Fan often makes me laugh... he's annoying, but a laugh nonetheless.
ZWig: Indeed, he has come far from the Arena hopeful that Gorgoth gave a handful of tips to.
Quentin: Ah, yes, that was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment addition, but I like it as well. Just make sure your brother reviews as well...
Underpaid Critic: I wouldn't call it 'begging', it's more 'demanding'. I write this, people read it... it takes less time for them to write a review than it took me to write the whole thing, so it should be logical. Besides, if they don't offer me advice on how to improve or tell me what they like/don't like, then they have no grounds to complain if I write something they don't like. As for Sheogorath, in the first section of this chapter, it's mentioned in passing that the SI quest IS happening... but it'll always be in the background, I've got no plans to include it directly. Word about that sort of money DOES get around... unless word is unable to get out. And Burzukh and his new ally don't want that kind of publicity, so they simply don't let anyone know. Simples. And if it seems like a bit much... the funder is rich. Very rich.
Random Reader: If you think Gorgoth was ruthless there... well, you wouldn't want to think about what he's done in the past. Hmm, true, I can imagine Saliith taking issue with the Count over that, but I doubt Caro would exactly publicise what he does.
Nachosforever: Chapter 18 review: No... that's just Gorgoth's blunt expression of his thoughts. His time in the Brotherhood barely affected him. Chapter 24 review: Raw charming evil? Gorgoth? Raw, yes, evil, yes, but charming? I doubt he could ever be called 'charming'... as for Saliith, fear not; if he dies, it won't be without meaning.
Duskification: All reviews encourage me. Well, almost all, but yours certainly does.
Burz-gro-Khash: Yes, you might be effectively quoting other reviewers... but your opinion is still unique, and I still like to hear you say what you think. As for the swearing, I actually think it makes it more realistic; yes, they're more modern than the time period that TES appears to be set in, but that doesn't mean that they wouldn't be used, given that they speak exactly the same language as us.
Hmm, long author's note. The large number of reviews had something to do with it. Keep up that reviewing, people. I want em. Badly. Don't forget.
Chapter Twenty-five: Raising the Stakes
"Doesn't seem to be much going on of interest to us," grunted Ilend. The Imperial was leaning back in his chair at the large table in the Skingrad Fighter's Guildhall, reading the evening copy of the Black Horse Courier. Occasionally, his chair creaked; he'd donned his armour that morning shortly after rising, and hadn't seen the point in removing it, apart from the gauntlets that now rested in front of him on the dark wood of the table. They'd been kept in the Guildhall all day by heavy, pounding rain that had only just eased. "Seems that some vampires got chased out of Bloodcrust Cavern by some vampire hunters," he remarked, turning a page.
Aerin snorted. The Bosmer had her feet and most of her legs resting on the table, tilting her chair back on two legs as she sharpened one of her shortswords. "Vampire hunters actually succeeding for once?" she asked, her voice dismissive. "Mostly they're all pomp and extravagance, with nothing ta back up their big mouths. Reminds me of a few posers we used ta have in the Arena."
Ilend shot her a quick glance, running his eyes over her legs, before returning to the newspaper. "Well, there's always some diamonds in the rough, Aerin," he told her. Another column caught his eye, and his interest increased. "Apparently, a strange portal just appeared in the Niben Bay near Bravil."
Aerin tensed. "An Oblivion Gate?" she asked warily.
"Possibly. It sounds a bit like one. But not the ones we're used to. At least, there's no invasion, and the sky doesn't change." Ilend shook his head. "Probably nothing to do with us." He turned another page.
Ah-Malz walked in, the Argonian Warder shuffling several papers in his scaled hands. When Ilend and Aerin had appeared at the Guildhall yesterday night, he'd given Ilend a sly wink and a nod of approval before greeting them. Fortunately, Aerin hadn't noticed it. "I've got a contract," he announced, throwing a piece of paper down on the table.
Fons Llendo, having just appeared in another doorway, lunged for it, scrambling over chairs, kicking them aside, but he was too slow. Ilend launched himself across the table and slammed his hand down on the contract, seconds before Fons' ash-grey hand descended upon it. The Dark Elf growled something unintelligible and backed away as Ilend slid off the table and picked up the contract, ignoring Aerin's laughing at the unique method of claiming contracts in the Skingrad Guildhall.
Upon reading the thin piece of parchment, Ilend's face fell, and he grimaced. Ah-Malz laughed. "Be careful what you wish for," he rasped, walking out of the room. Fons raised an eyebrow and moved to read the contract over Ilend's shoulder.
"What is it?" asked Aerin, putting down her whetstone and sheathing her sword.
"Bloody night watch," growled Ilend, clenching his free fist as Fons left the room, smirking. "Tamika's been having problems with bandits raiding her vineyards at night and stealing grapes." The incredulity in the Imperial's voice was evident. "Who ever heard of wine bandits?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Are ya sure it's not the Surilie Brothers trying ta get a competitive edge?" asked Aerin, swinging her legs off the table and easing herself to her feet, stretching seductively.
Ilend resisted the temptation to admire the view, instead glaring down at the contract. "No, their competition has always been a friendly rivalry," he grunted, crumpling the piece of parchment in his fist and throwing it to the table. "We'll get three hundred drakes when we catch, and presumably kill, these bandits." The Guildsman groaned. "I thought I'd left this sodding night duty behind when I left the Guard," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Aerin swayed over to the window – Ilend couldn't stop his eyes following her movements – and looked out, a smile tugging at her mouth. "Looks like the clouds have finally pissed off," she remarked, withdrawing her head. "The sun must have gone down quite a while ago. Does the contract specify when we start?"
Ilend glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece – there were more clocks in Skingrad than there had been in Kvatch – and grunted. "Tamika said she normally heard the most disturbances around midnight," he said. "It's past eight now, so I guess – wait, did you say 'we'?" Aerin nodded. "Trust me, you would not like guard duty at night, Aerin," warned Ilend, his eyebrows drawing down as he bent to pick up his shield, strapping it across his back. "It's bloody boring and you have to fight to stay awake."
The Bosmer walked up to Ilend and gave him a smile that sent his blood temperature skyrocketing. "This isn't guard duty like you know it, Ilend," she told him. "If we get bored, we find something to do to occupy ourselves." She grinned and moved past him before he could ask what 'something' entailed. Shaking his head, the Journeyman sighed and checked over his equipment. Seven healing potions were slotted through his belt, along with his longsword, dagger, and enchanted wallet. Good enough for an extended goblin hunt, let alone keeping watch for a few bandits.
Ah-Malz walked back in. He seemed to have a sly smirk on his face, but it was hard to tell with Argonians. "Nice catch you got there, Ilend," he remarked, walking over to the window, crossing his arms, and looking out.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," replied Ilend, his expression and tone neutral, as he tightened his belt, his chainmail clinking slightly.
Ah-Malz snorted. "If you say so," he rasped. "Either way, good luck out there tonight, in more ways than one." The Warder turned and gave Ilend a wink. "At least it'll be dry tonight. Have a good one." Hand raised in a half-salute, the Argonian made his exit, returning to his office. Ilend walked out into the hall, where Aerin was securing several healing potions in her belt. She'd taken to wearing quite a few of them after the Tournament of the Ten Bloods.
"Right, might as well get this over and done with," sighed Ilend, swinging open the double doors and leaving the Guildhall. The night air was warmer than usual, a soft breeze tickling the Imperial's cheeks as he made his way towards the West Gate, Aerin following. He was pleased to note that she'd left her cloak behind, presumably in order to allow easier access to Trueshot, slung across her back. The streets of Skingrad were rapidly emptying, as the citizenry made their way home or to their local pubs. Soon, the night shift would be taking over from the afternoon shift. Ilend didn't envy them. Either of them. Skingrad was notorious among guards for its low crime rates and therefore lack of excitement.
Slipping out through the gates, Ilend and Aerin made their way across the road to the entrance to Tamika's vineyard, a sprawling field of grapevines protected by a short wooden fence running all the way around. Ilend swung open the gate and led the way to the small house just inside the entrance, which had light shining from all the windows. The Imperial stepped up and knocked sharply on the door, his chainmail-clad fist rattling the door on its hinges. Muffled sounds emanated from inside and footsteps approached the door until it was swung open by a middle-aged Redguard, whom Ilend assumed was Tamika.
"You're Fighter's Guild?" she asked. Ilend nodded. "Good. Follow me." Tamika brushed past them and started off down the path to the vineyard. She led them along a path to a small rise which overlooked most of the vineyard. "You've got a good view of the entire perimeter from here," explained the Redguard. "Bernadette said she counted three sets of footprints, so you hopefully won't have much trouble."
"This is a good vantage point," observed Ilend as he reached the top of the rise. Standing eight feet above the otherwise flat vineyard, he could indeed make out the perimeter fence in its entirety. "We'll take it from here, Tamika," he reassured her. The Redguard thanked him and departed, leaving the two alone on the tiny hill.
"Nice position," remarked Aerin, flopping down on the short grass, splaying her legs out in front of her, laying Trueshot down at her side. "Means we don't have ta patrol the fence or something agonising like that."
Ilend snorted. "Thank your lucky stars that' it's not raining, Aerin."
"All right, I will." In response to the Imperial's questioning gaze, the Bosmer pointed up at a star formation overhead. "That's the Lover," she told him, pointing out the different stars. Ilend sat down beside her and squinted up at the sky. "Always have been my lucky stars, considering I was born under them. A week until my birthday."
Ilend gave her a sidelong, shocked glance. "Your birthday? You could have told me."
Aerin shrugged. "Never have put much stock in birthdays, ta be honest," she admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Ilend was growing increasingly thankful that she'd left her cloak in the Guild; under the pale moonlight of Masser and Secunda, her beauty was ever more pronounced. He angrily shook himself and turned his gaze towards the fence. It was never good to be distracted on guard duty. "Not really much of a big thing in Valenwood," continued Aerin, unaware of her comrade's predicament. "And me dad was Valenwood born-and-bred."
"Well, you're in Cyrodiil now. I'll see what I can get you on short notice."
Snorting, Aerin turned to raise an eyebrow at the Journeyman. "Hey, don't kill ya wallet, guardsman," she told him. "I've got Trueshot; I've got me blades; that's all the equipment I'll ever need."
Ilend smirked. "I'm pretty sure I can think of something," he said, running an eye over her before returning to watching for disturbances. Inhaling deeply, the Imperial grunted and worked his neck. "You can never get too much of good country air," he muttered, half to himself. "That said, Aerin, I still think you'll be regretting your decision to join me in a few hours time. Boredom isn't nice."
"Well, sometimes it is good ta just lie out under the stars and relax," murmured Aerin, lying flat on her back, arms behind her head. "Preferably in summer, but this'll do." Ilend grunted and kept up a vigilant watch on the perimeter. Silence fell, interrupted only by the muted sounds of nature as the night deepened.
Two hours passed without incident. Ilend occasionally got up and walked around to stretch his legs, before returning to sit upon the rise. Aerin had fallen into a doze, only to snap awake and frantically swat at herself when a caterpillar started crawling over her stomach, much to the amusement of Ilend. The lights in the vineyard house slowly went out as it emptied, leaving only the stars and moons as illumination. Fortunately the skies remained clear, and Ilend could still make out the perimeter fence quite easily. Unfortunately for him, it was as he'd predicted; undeniably boring, despite the sporadic conversation between the two.
"Are you bored yet, Aerin?" he asked, glancing over at his Bosmeri companion for the first time in ten minutes. She replied with a short grunt, which Ilend took as affirmative. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He paused. "I need a piss. Watch the vineyard for a few minutes." Aerin's head jerked up. "That would involve actually sitting up and watching the fence," remarked Ilend wryly as he walked off to find cover behind the closest grapevines, their leaves gently trembling in the slight breeze.
Aerin raised herself to her knees and started humming tunelessly, mostly to occupy herself but partly to block out the sound of Ilend's chainmail and clothing being loosened. Picking up Trueshot, she ran routine tests on the bowstring, all the while keeping half an eye on parts of the fence. Her eyes pierced the darkness better than Ilend's, but there was still no activity that she could detect. Ilend returned after a few minutes, tightening his sword belt.
"I won't bother asking if anything happened," he grunted, easing himself to the ground. "If you-" a muffled sound from across the vineyard cut him off, and both snapped their heads towards the noise. Shadowy figures were entering the vineyard, climbing over the fence. They were too indistinct to make out individual races, but it was obvious that they were not meant to be there. Face darkening, Ilend loosened his sword in its scabbard, and motioned for Aerin to stay low.
"Move in and try to get a good, clear shot at them," he whispered. "I'll circle round and take them from the other side. Hurry, but stay quiet." Following his own instructions, the Imperial made off at a crouching run, managing to draw his sword without making enough noise to alert the wine thieves. Aerin headed straight for them, ducking through the lines of vines, Trueshot at the ready, arrow nocked.
It only took her a minute to get a good line of sight with the thieves. By that time, they were rapidly shovelling bunches of grapes into large buckets, ignorant of their surroundings. The sight was so humorous that Aerin couldn't resist smirking as she slowly drew an arrow, gently drawing back the bowstring. Wine thieves? There mere idea was ridiculous. Just as she'd lined up a shot, aiming at the head of the thief nearest to her, a blonde-haired Nord in battered iron armour, Ilend burst into sight, sword and shield at the ready, charging towards the shocked bandits. Aerin loosed.
The Nord straightened just as the arrow hit, meaning that it struck the base of his spine instead of the back of his head. Aerin grimaced as he fell forward; she hated missing, though the effect was the same: the Nord was still out of the fight. This fact was unnoticed by his companions, the two Imperials were closing in to deal with Ilend, the moonlight reflecting off their plate armour and steel swords. Aerin grunted and slung Trueshot onto her back, drawing one of her shortswords as she slowly crept forward. They didn't know she was here, and she'd use that to her advantage, now that she couldn't shoot for fear of hitting Ilend.
As expected, however, Ilend was dealing with the threat easily. Both bandits were on the defensive, falling back, stepping around the buckets as the Guildsman attacked with longsword and shield. Swinging at one Imperial, whose lank brown hair was constantly falling across his face, Ilend parried the attack of the other using his shield and barged into him, sending him sprawling backwards over a bucket, which tipped over, spilling ripe bunches of grapes over the ground. The other Imperial moved in and attempted to stab Ilend, but the ex-guardsman was too quick, blocking with his shield and thrusting his blade into the lank-haired man's gut, the daedric steel punching through the low-quality iron with ease. As his opponent's eyes grew wide with pain and shock, Ilend wrenched his blade free and turned to the other bandit.
He was staring up at the night sky with sightless eyes, blood pooling around his slit throat. Aerin was sitting back on her haunches, calmly cleaning her blade on a rag torn from her fallen foe's shirt. Behind her, the Nord was feebly trying to drag himself along the ground, but it was clear that he didn't have long left on this plane of existence.
"Well, that was easy," remarked Aerin, calmly sheathing her blade. "All that waiting for something that was over in less than five minutes?" She shook her head and sighed.
"Welcome to the night watch," grunted Ilend, walking over to the Nord and slitting his throat with his dagger. "Still, at least we can head back to the Guildhall now. Tamika sent her payment to Ah-Malz in advance." The Imperial smirked. "Nice of her. And idiotic. But I'm not complaining."
Aerin straightened and smiled. "Not a bad night's work, then," she observed. "That's a hundred and fifty each for a few hours sitting around. I'll bet that's better value than when you are a guard."
Ilend frowned sideways at her as they started off towards the city. "Aerin, you sometimes earn more than that in ten minutes in the Arena," he said. "I'd have thought this wouldn't count as 'good value' for a bloody gladiator."
"The good company more than made up for that," she told him. He looked down at her, eyebrows raised, and she laughed and nudged him in the ribs, ignoring the chainmail scraping her leather. "Trust me, guardsman, ya don't get much companionship while you're prancing about in a sandpit."
Ilend snorted. "Well, I guess it wasn't as bad as it could have been," he muttered. "You were a lot more interesting to talk to than Merandil, I'll give you that." He snorted again as they approached the West Gate. "I'm not all that tired. You want to grab a beer? I know a good pub near the blacksmith's."
Aerin wrinkled her nose. "You know I don't like beer," she muttered distastefully.
Rolling his eyes, Ilend persisted. "They do serve other stuff, I guess. You could try whiskey, if you want to be knocked off your feet." He smirked at the expression on her face. "Come on, it's not like we actually have to get up at a reasonable hour tomorrow."
"Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to regret this?"
"Because you probably will."
The morning sun was shining brightly down on the snow-laden Cloud Ruler Temple, but dark clouds were rolling in from the north. More forbidding was the dark red glow just visible between two of the Jerall Mountains, the sky boiling, rent by red cracks.
"That's over in Skyrim," observed Captain Steffan, folding his arms as he and Martin stood on the battlements, looking north towards where the Oblivion Gate would be. "The Nords can handle that easily enough. If they can't, I know there's a sizeable garrison of legionnaires near Riften. They'll close it soon enough."
"I wish I shared your optimism, Captain," sighed Martin. "Another Kvatch could all too easily happen if one of those goes unattended."
"In the middle of a frozen wasteland?" Steffan snorted. "Hardly the place to direct a full-scale invasion force, Sire. No, if they invade, they'll open up a Gate right outside a town. Fortunately, we've been fortunate in Cyrodiil so far." 'Fortunate' was a good word to use: the only other Oblivion Gate opening outside a city had been reported near Chorrol. Gorgoth had been in the area and had closed it without aid. From what Martin knew of the Orc, any aid by the Chorrol Guard would probably have slowed him down. Upon hearing his name being called by a Blade, Steffan gave a quick salute and left Martin alone with his thoughts.
He wasn't truly alone, of course; as ever, his bodyguard – whom at the moment was Glenroy – shadowed him, distancing himself just enough to ensure privacy for the Emperor-in-waiting but close enough to foil even the most reckless of assassins. While Martin still found it disconcerting sometimes, he was rapidly growing accustomed to it, and he was deeply grateful for the feeling of security his loyal bodyguards gave him. Leaning on the battlements, robes occasionally caught by a ferocious gust of wind, the Imperial turned his head away from the red horizon. Right now, Cyrodiil was more than enough to tackle without adding the maelstrom of confusion that gripped the provinces.
His solitude was soon broken by Selene stepping up to lean on the outer wall beside him, hood of her grey cloak thrown back, her loose golden hair blown about by the wind. She was by now used to the second glances she attracted from almost every man in Cloud Ruler Temple. Martin couldn't say he blamed them. He also knew for a fact that she didn't cry herself to sleep at night any more, an encouraging sign.
"I've translated enough to be able to tell that the second reagent will be similar to the first, but at the same time the complete opposite," she informed him. "At times, Dagon seems to be little more than a brute, and sometimes..." she sighed. "It's rambling and incomprehensible."
"Dagon can claim to be many things, but a good author is not one of them, it seems," muttered Martin. He smirked. "Might as well wish he'd used standard Cyrodiilic while we're at it." Leaning forward on the battlements, peering down at the snow-covered landscape stretching out ahead of him, Martin smiled, somewhat wistfully. "If only wishes came true, eh? Kvatch would still be standing. Tamriel would be at peace."
"And you'd still be a priest, leading a simple life," pointed out Selene. "Would you prefer that?"
Martin released a long, slow, sigh. "Well, I could do without these burdens on my shoulders," he grunted. "But who am I to question my destiny?" He shook his head. "Wishing will not change anything. I should listen to Gorgoth more." There had been some talk in the barracks over the Orc's dubious ethics, but Martin disregarded such rumours and instead saw the warrior-shaman as a reliable rock in this turbulent time. At the very least, he gave good advice, and he took his oath seriously. That meant he could be relied on extensively.
"You're right. Living in the past won't change it." Selene grunted. "It took me a while to figure that one out, but it seems so obvious now." The half-elf turned and leaned her back against the wall, ignoring the wind as it tore at her hair even more violently."Do you think we'll get it done in time?" she asked, her voice low. Glenroy had moved over to a nearby brazier to give them some more privacy, but it was clear that she was being careful not to be overheard. "The translation, I mean. The barriers weaken every day."
"They'll hold," replied Martin, hoping that his voice was strong with conviction. "The Dragonfires have burnt for centuries; I doubt their magic will be easy to break down, even for Dagon." He wasn't mentioning the alternative; it was horrific even to contemplate. There mere thought of all Nirn being given the same treatment as Kvatch was enough to give him nightmares. "We won't-"
At that moment, Jauffre came hurrying up, lined face flustered, cloak flapping wildly. He seemed annoyed and angry, punching his left palm with his right fist, armour clanking loudly. "I just got word from Bruma," he growled, walking up to stand beside Martin, glaring at the Jeralls. "An Oblivion Gate has opened outside Bravil. The Guard have contained it for now, but they're the most incompetent in Cyrodiil. They won't hold for long."
"Then we have to send aid," responded Martin immediately, gazing intensely at the Grandmaster. "They need help. Why haven't you sent it already?"
Jauffre appeared to bite back a sharp retort. "We can't spare any Blades," he grunted, forcing his words out through gritted teeth. "There is no legion within marching distance, and the local guards of the cities will not move as long as the threat persists that a Gate might threaten them." The Breton angrily kicked at the thick slab of stone that formed the outer wall. "Bravil isn't going to get much help, unless some foolhardy adventurers try to close the Gate. The Count is a useless drunk and his son is a good-for-nothing skooma addict." Jauffre looked the angriest Martin had ever seen him; the incompetence of Bravil and its apparent doom appeared to disturb him. Maybe he had family there.
Martin was about to argue further when he stopped and clenched his fists, closing his eyes. Memories of Kvatch invaded his mind, unbidden. He snapped his eyes open. He would not let that happen again, not if it was within his power. "Glenroy!" he barked.
His loyal bodyguard was at his side in a second, fist thumping heart in a salute. "Sire?" he asked, posture rigid.
"Go to the stables and ready your horse and a remount for a hard ride. Also, prepare Selene's horse, and a remount for her as well. You will be travelling non-stop until you reach Bravil." Glenroy hesitated for a split-second, eyes flickering from Martin to Jauffre to Selene, then back to Martin. "Now!" barked Martin. Glenroy turned sharply on his heel and ran off in the direction of the stables.
Jauffre attempted to speak, but Martin was already ushering Selene away from the wall, forcing the Breton to fall in beside him. "Sorry to force this upon you," the heir was saying. "But the fact remains that you're the most powerful battlemage that we have at our disposal right now, and you have experience with Oblivion Gates." Selene was staring wide-eyed at the Imperial as he led her through the Great Hall to the Royal Wing, Jauffre following closely, stepping quickly. "You'll need potions as well as your armour," continued Martin. "It's never a good thing to rely on magic alone. You'll probably be able to reach Bravil in under two days. Hopefully, that won't be too late."
As then entered the quarters that Selene had claimed as her own, she spun and faced Martin. "I'm not sure if I'm up for this, Martin," she stammered, looking uncertain as she removed her cloak. "Last time, we..." she took a deep breath and continued hastily. "We went in with eleven, and only I made it out." The harsh reminder of that fateful day had obviously shaken her, and Martin was starting to hate his sudden decision, but an Emperor had to make choices that he didn't like. An Emperor had to be hard.
She still didn't deserve to be treated as a disposable asset. Steeling himself, Martin placed his hands on her slim shoulders and looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he sighed. The apology was genuine. "But I wouldn't even think about sending you into a Gate if I didn't have the utmost confidence in you. You're a powerful battlemage, Selene, and you've got a good, solid man at your back. Glenroy is one of the finest swordsmen in the Blades." He squeezed her shoulders harder. "And I cannot deal with another Kvatch," he whispered.
Selene seemed to be about to protest further, but then she slowly exhaled and nodded, a gleam of understanding in her eyes, backing out of Martin's grasp and casting around for her armour. "Gnaeus would have helped," continued Martin, looking down at his hands in bemusement. For some odd reason, they seemed to be shaking slightly. Clasping them together tightly behind his back, he slowly walked backwards towards the door. They were alone; Jauffre must have slipped out unnoticed. "If only he was here and not gone off somewhere, pretending he's a young man again." Apparently, the old Imperial had asked directions to the nearest known den of bandits and had gone off alone with four days' provisions.
"We'll be fine without him, we..." Selene paused in picking up her cuirass and sighed. "I just hope we get there soon enough." Turning to Martin, her gaze was iron. "I don't want another Whiterock," she grated.
Martin nodded. "Good," he grunted. "Get ready as quickly as possible. I'll meet you in the courtyard." She nodded somewhat impatiently. Martin took the hint and made his exit, closing the door behind him.
Someone must have informed Baurus of Glenroy's departure, because he was leaning on the wall in the hallway outside, conversing with Jauffre. Both turned to regard Martin as he stepped away from Selene's quarters. A slow smile spread over Jauffre's face. "I think, Sire, that you are learning how to be decisive," he said, folding his arms. "Much like your father sometimes was. I will admit that I never thought of sending Selene... a good plan."
"I wasn't about to let Dagon ravage another city," replied Martin, brushing past both of them, forcing them to fall in behind him as he walked briskly back down to the courtyard. Glenroy, with the aid of several Blades, was hastily throwing saddlebags onto four horses. He finished, straightened, and saluted as Martin walked up. Looking him in the eye, Martin noticed features about his bodyguard that he'd never distinguished before; his height equal to Martins, his rugged, stocky build, his deep brown eyes that held the weight of twelve years experience as a Blade. Glenroy Varsis had been in the Blades since his eighteenth birthday, and it had been his unswerving and utter devotion to his duty, as well as his impressive skill with his katana, that had seen him serve in the personal bodyguard of Uriel Septim for two years before the Emperor's death.
"Guard her as diligently as you would me," ordered Martin, his voice too low for anyone but Glenroy to hear.
"As you wish it, Emperor," replied Glenroy stiffly, pitching his voice just as low. A Blade appeared from the Great Hall carrying an armful of potions, and with a respectful nod to Martin, Glenroy turned to take them and slot them through loops in his sword belt. Martin stepped back to allow another Blade to attach one final saddlebag to Selene's white horse, which she'd named Dawn. Squinting up at the sun, the heir ascertained that there was about three hours until noon. If they rode hard, with no delays, they might reach Bravil as early as tomorrow morning. If the Guard could hold out... he'd heard that Bravil had a court wizard of much renown and power, but Fathis Aren seemed to spend a lot of his time in his tower south of the city. If he got involved, the Guard might even succeed in closing the Gate, but Martin wasn't about to stake the fate of an entire city of one court wizard's involvement.
Within minutes, Selene appeared in the courtyard, fully armoured, using her glaive as a walking staff. Glenroy started leading the horses down the steps to exit the fortress, and Martin, Jauffre, and Selene fell in behind him. As they passed through the gates – which had been opened minutes earlier – Glenroy and Selene swung into their respective saddles, tying the reins of their remount to their saddles. Before they could move off, Martin took hold of Dawn's bridle.
Looking up at Selene, he sighed. "You might be Bravil's only hope," he muttered. "Ride hard." He paused. "Don't die." A corner of her mouth pulled up in an attempt at a smile, and she reached down and clasped his hand for a few seconds, before releasing him and digging her heels in. Dawn darted forward, snow spraying from his hooves, followed seconds later by Glenroy's Cheydinhal black. Martin and Jauffre stood and silently watched them until they were dwindling specks against the landscape.
Gorgoth reined Vorguz in gently, looking up at the sky. The sun was descending towards the horizon, partially obscured behind clouds. He calculated that he'd be stopping for the night within two hours. After leaving the Brina Cross Inn four days ago, the Orc had set a slow pace, giving Vorguz much-needed rest, riding him slowly, gently. While impatient to deliver Volendrung to Martin, Gorgoth knew the value of a good horse. The Gold Road was nearing its end, and he would soon have reached the shores of Lake Rumare. Patting the stallion's neck, Gorgoth dug his heels in once more, bringing Vorguz up to a trot.
After a few minutes, the Orc could see a thin line of smoke rising from a location just off to the left of the road. From what he could tell, it was a campfire. Obviously, a traveller had found a good place to camp for the night and had set up. He rode past the source of the smoke without a second glance. Before he had gone a hundred paces, however, a loud, powerful voice broke the near-silence of the West Weald.
"Gorgoth! Gorgoth gro-Kharz! Halt!" The words were shouted in Orcish. Gorgoth turned Vorguz to regard the Orc standing in the road behind him. He wore thick, heavy chainmail that hung from his neck down to his ankles, his feet protected by sturdy leather boots. Attached to a strap pulled tight over his chest was a broad round steel shield, the metal unpainted. A long, heavy steel mace was thrust through a loop on his sword belt, as were several potions. A steel helmet covered his head, with an aventail hanging over his shoulders. The green face under that helmet was one that Gorgoth recognised: the burly, broad-shouldered warrior standing before him was Lurog gro-Brugh; one of Gorgoth's most trusted comrades. A year younger than Gorgoth, he'd served under him as an officer of cavalry, and had later worked together with him several times as a mercenary.
"It is good to see you, Lurog," replied Gorgoth, walking Vorguz back to where Lurog was standing, arms folded. The words were genuine; Lurog was one of the few that Gorgoth would call a friend. Dismounting, the warrior-shaman walked the last few paces and clasped Lurog's hand in greeting, the chainmail and steel plate clanking as they made contact.
"Likewise, Gorgoth," grunted Lurog, a small smile flickering over his blunt features. "I was travelling through Hammerfell when I received word from Orsinium that you were dead. It is good that I never believe rumours. Come and share my fire." The Orc motioned for Gorgoth to follow him to his campsite, located in a hollow. A fine Orsinium-bred black horse, larger and more powerfully built than Vorguz, was tied to a tree with a feedbag tied over its nose. Gorgoth was sure to secure Vorguz to a tree on the opposite end of the hollow.
"I would ask you why you have stayed in Cyrodiil, but I have pressing news," said Lurog, sitting down before the fire, where some venison was being roasted on a spit. Gorgoth took a seat on the other side of the fire, his interest unfeigned. When Lurog said he had pressing news, then that news was, without fail, of vital importance.
The Orcish warrior slowly exhaled before continuing. "You know that Burzukh is in Cyrodiil, of course," he growled. Burzukh had been a friend of Lurog's, but he had shared Gorgoth's view that Burzukh had acted dishonourably. "He never goes anywhere without making waves, these days. But we should be worried, Gorgoth, very worried." Lurog leaned in closer, the flickering fire reflected in his amber eyes. "He is being funded. Heavily."
Gorgoth raised an eyebrow. "How much?" he asked.
Lurog spread his hands. "All I know is what I learnt from a drunk merchant's guard in Rihad," he rumbled. "It is reliable, however. Two wagons just to carry the chests. They were weighed down with gold. Burzukh has nearly unlimited spending power. He could raise an army."
"Has he?" asked Gorgoth.
Shaking his head, Lurog picked up a stick and poked the fire, causing the burning wood to crackle. "No. He hired one. He did a good job in covering it up, but my source is reliable; Shagar was one of the Orcs he brought with him from Orsinium, one of nearly a hundred." Shagar gro-Durug was a cousin of Lurog's. "Sixty thousand in advance, thirty more if your head was brought to Burzukh, sixty if you were brought to him alive."
"Who is he paying?"
Lurog sighed and stood, walking restlessly around the hollow. Gorgoth also stood, but stayed still, with arms folded. "His army is multiracial, but well-armed and well-trained," he said. "There are at least five hundred of them ,though I doubt he will be using many of them to attack you directly; he is not that stupid." Steeling himself, Lurog turned to look Gorgoth in the eye. "I was there, Gorgoth, one of the few survivors in our caravan," he whispered. Gorgoth grunted, and recognition flared in his eyes. Lurog nodded. "Yes. I was there when he gave you that scar."
Gorgoth stepped closer to Lurog, the frozen fires in his eyes burning brighter with intensity. "Lurog, tell me everything."
"Selene, stop. We need to rest for a while." Glenroy's voice was weary as he reined in Arrow, sweat running down the Cheydinhal black's flanks. The remounts looked little better, having been ridden twice already. Masser and Secunda were bright overhead, and their light reflected off the surface of Lake Rumare, just visible to the north through the trees. They had just reached the start of the Green road, the signpost to Bravil creaking under the weight of the moss staining the age-darkened wood.
"Weren't you listening to Martin?" sighed Selene, running her hands through her hair as Dawn's head drooped, his flanks heaving. "We might be Bravil's only hope."
"Not if our horses die on the way there," replied Glenroy, grunting as he dismounted. "Besides, fighting a war at the end of a tough ride without rest isn't pleasant. We'll rest ourselves and the horses for an hour, then continue." He gathered the reins of Arrow and his remount and walked off over to the side of the road to find a good place for a camp. Selene grudgingly acquiesced and slid off Dawn's saddle, following Glenroy.
"This is a good place," observed the Blade, gesturing at a tiny clearing in the trees. He proceeded to tie the reins of the horses to a nearby tree branch, making sure the grass was soft and plentiful. Selene, doing the same with Dawn and her remount, frowned in puzzlement as the Imperial removed a thick candle from one of his saddlebags.
"What's that for?" she asked, securing the reins and easing herself down, her back leaning against a tree, stretching legs that ached after long hours in the saddle.
"An alarm," replied Glenroy, removing his helmet, revealing close-cropped brown hair covering an angular head. He imitated Selene in sitting with his back to a tree, a few feet away from her. "I'll stick a weighted pin in the candle, and, after an hour, it'll have melted enough to release it, so it'll fall into my hand, waking me up." He removed his gauntlets and placed the candle on the grass beside him, clearing away some dead leaves and making sure the ground was flat.
"And a tiny weight like that dropping into your palm wakes you up?" asked Selene, slightly incredulous.
In response, Glenroy leaned over and show her the pin. The blunt end, which would stick out of the candle, had a large spike pointing downwards, easily enough to penetrate the Imperial's skin. "I think that could wake me up," said Glenroy, a wry grin stretching over his face. "I've used it before. Fortunately, there's barely any wind tonight, nor is there likely to be." He drew a match from a box he'd taken from his saddlebags. "Get some rest," he told her. "We'll both need it in Oblivion."
Selene nodded and closed her eyes, shifting in a futile attempt to get comfortable while sitting against a rough tree wearing full armour. She heard Glenroy strike the match, then the peace of the night returned, interrupted only by the slight grinding of Glenroy's plate armour as he shifted slightly. Accumulated fatigue made itself known, and soon Selene was asleep, head dropping down onto her shoulder.
A sharp, stabbing pain brought Glenroy's head up, and he was instantly alert, years of training and experience meaning he was ready to deal with any danger instantly after waking. Of course, there was no danger; the hour had passed and the pin had been released from the wax, cutting into Glenroy's palm. A thin trickle of blood dribbled from the tiny wound as he removed the pin. He ignored the wound; he'd had worse when cutting himself shaving, and there would be undoubtedly a lot of pain waiting for him in Oblivion. The grey light of the dawn was banishing the dark night as the Imperial stood.
Working his neck to ease the stiffness from his muscles, the Blade's eyes fell upon Selene, and, despite himself and the situation, he wasted a few seconds, just looking. He hadn't exactly been blessed with the most attractive of female company back in Cloud Ruler Temple, but Selene more than made up for that, especially as her armour really did leave little to the imagination despite actually being quite protective; he'd sparred with her a few times back at the Temple, and had been surprised at how effectively she'd used the plate armour on her limbs to block and deflect blows, while her chainmail cuirass and skirt seemed sturdy despite their limited coverage.
Abruptly, Glenroy shook himself angrily. Martin had told him to protect her, not to ogle her. Shaking his head, he walked over and shook her shoulder gently. She grunted slightly, eyes flickering, head rolling over to hit his bare forearm. "Come on," urged Glenroy, shaking her slightly harder. "We've rested enough; Bravil needs us more than we need sleep." Satisfied that she was now fully awake, the Imperial moved over to check on the horses, pulling on his gauntlets and donning his helmet.
"How long do you think it'll take us to get there?" asked the half-elf, stretching, grimacing as her neck muscles cried out in protest.
"I don't know, and I don't really care, as long as we get there in time," muttered Glenroy. "We'll leave in a few minutes. Take the time to relieve your bladder; I doubt you'll get another chance any time soon." The Imperial disappeared into the bushes to take his own advice. Selene raised an eyebrow, then understood his wisdom and walked off in the opposite direction.
Minutes later, they were on the road again, hooves pounding the flagstones as they galloped down the Green road, entering the Nibenay Valley. Legion patrols and early merchant trains were left behind in the dust, as was a single highwayman who barely had time to throw himself out of the way to avoid being trampled by four speeding horses. The raced the rising sun, whose rays were clashing with an ominous red glow on the horizon. Glenroy, slowing momentarily and standing in his stirrups, judged by the size and nature of the glow that Bravil was not yet on fire. Yet.
Eventually, as they passed a wayshrine to Zenithar, who must have been angered by the Daedric corruption of Cyrodiilic nature, the two reined in as the sky changed from the grey of the predawn to the angry red-and-black of the skies of the Deadlands. The canopy of the forest around the road still hid Bravil from view. "Are you ready?" asked Glenroy, his face grim as he checked that he was fully stocked with potions. Selene checked her own equipment and nodded, a determined look on her face. Glenroy grunted and booted Arrow forward.
Trotting out of the forest, they came across a battlefield. Dead and dying daedra littered the area in front of Bravil, choked by the bottleneck formed by the wooden bridge that stretched across the Larsius River that separated Bravil from the Upper Nibenay Valley. Arrows and magic from the city's high walls was tearing into an assortment of daedra as they attempted a charge across the bridge. The pile of daedric corpses littered across the wooden structure suggested that this was one of many failures. Evidently, the Bravil Guard had conducted a fighting retreat, several bodies of soldiers trailing back towards the gates. Fires had engulfed the Bay Roan stables, leaving only charred timbers and a handful of dead horses.
The Gate to Oblivion stood near the bank of the Niben, belching fire and smoke into the air, sporadically spewing forth a handful of daedra to patrol the area and keep Bravil's defenders on their toes. A single Oblivion Gate. "Why haven't they opened a Great Gate?" asked Selene, half talking to herself as she edged Dawn back into the forest. Glenroy had already dismounted and had tied both his horses to a tree where they would be out of sight of the daedra.
"Don't question good fortune," retorted the Blade, his katana rasping out of its scabbard. "Hopefully, we can take advantage of their disorganisation and get through the gate without attracting much attention. Let's just hope another attack wave doesn't leave right now." The Imperial walked to the edge of the forest, glaring up at the Gate. Selene stepped up to join him, glaive in hand, her readiness apparent.
Glenroy took a step forward, then turned to face her. His brown eyes locked onto her green eyes; both were filled with grim determination. "Let's do this," whispered Glenroy, barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the daedra dying and shouts from Bravil. Selene nodded, and together they charged from the forest.
A daedroth, busily feasting on the body of a dead guard, looked up and spotted them, letting forth a hissing roar as it drew itself up, pawing at the ground. Before it could charge, Selene sent lightning coursing through it, the air crackling. The shattered daedra fell to the ground as the two intruders sprinted past. A scamp chattered angrily and darted towards Glenroy, only for the Imperial to smoothly sidestep and run his blade across its stomach in one smooth motion, ignoring the scamp's agonised gurgle as it was disembowelled.
The gap was closing; they were now only fifty paces from the Gate. A Clannfear spotted them and reared, tossing its head, alerting a nearby Dremora. The Kynaz turned and regarded the two advancing marauders somewhat stonily as the Clannfear was sent to the ground, smoking and broken by ball lightning. His hand raised to send elemental magic at the duo, the Dremora was too late; more lightning slammed into his body, the effect magnified by his armour. Upon his rebirth some time later, he would reflect on how painful death was at the hands of a skilled battlemage.
Glenroy was the first through. Having never entered Oblivion before, the immense heat searing his lungs and the constriction of the air around him took even the conditioned, experienced Blade by surprise, and he wasted precious seconds on the other side panting and regaining his bearings. Selene staggered through a second later. For the half-elf, one plane of Oblivion looked like any other; seas of boiling lava, cracked, parched earth, looming, ominous obsidian towers, and most of all, the stench of sulphur and blood. For Glenroy, it was all new. Facing the Deadlands with characteristic determination, the Imperial crushed his fears and turned to Selene.
"You've been in one of these before," he said. "I'll defer to your experience. Where to?"
Selene had been studying the skyline, and pointed to the largest tower, located in the centre of a network of several smaller towers, which in turn seemed to be connected to a series of gates blocking access to the central plateau upon which the central tower stood. "The Sigil Stone is anchored at the top of that largest tower," she told him. Glenroy glared up at it as though the tower had done him a personal insult. "That's where we're aiming to go. The rest is... different, I don't know this place. It's different. Not like before." She exhaled shakily, grip tightening on her glaive.
"Well, standing around isn't going to close it," muttered Glenroy, looking around, observing their immediate area. As he was looking at a large rock formation almost directly ahead of them, his eyes widened as a large company of at least forty Dremora came jogging around it, headed for the Gate. "Selene. Invisibility. NOW."
Fortunately, she had seen them as well, and reacted quickly. Glenroy felt an odd sensation as Illusion magic swept over him, then he felt her arm tugging at his, pulling him back out of the way as the Dremora marched up to the Gate and went through. He felt a snarl creep over his face, and his grip tightened on the hilt of his katana, as he thought of the destruction they'd be causing in Cyrodiil, but he forced himself to remain calm. Eventually, the last Dremora departed from the Deadlands. Selene dispelled the invisibility, Glenroy instinctively flinching as she suddenly appeared in his field of vision mere inches from him.
"Let's hope we don't run into another one of those," growled Glenroy, marching forward past the gate and looking around. They were flanked by rocks on three sides, with only two pathways open to them; one led directly to a smaller tower, while the other twisted, the end out of sight. "What way, do you think?" he asked.
"We should attack the smaller tower," Selene told him, leaning on her glaive. "There might be a way to open the gates from there, or we might even be able to access the central tower directly." She paused, sharp green half-elven eyes darting over the rough terrain before them. "There'll be isolated daedra hanging around," she continued. "Nothing organised, and there won't be until we're detected."
Glenroy nodded. "You've got the magic," he said. "You lead, I'll watch our backs." Selene nodded and started off down the path, Glenroy following five paces behind, periodically rotating fully to keep aware of their surroundings. No daedra appeared from behind rocks to ambush them; clearly, they weren't expecting an invasion as small as this, one without forewarning. The only sound as they moved forward was the crunch of their boots on the hard-packed earth and the savage, hot wind howling overhead. Occasionally, dust swirled up and obscured their vision, but was rapidly dispersed by Selene's use of magic.
As the path ended and they entered the open plain at the foot of the smaller tower, a feeling of vulnerability washed over both of them; daedra could be watching from any one of many towers dotting this plane of Oblivion. It wasn't long before the duo met their first resistance on the ground. A Clannfear turned its massive head towards them, made an odd clicking sound, and charged. Selene sidestepped and knocked its legs from under it with the pole of her glaive, then swung the weapon around and buried the blade deep in the Clannfear's back. It twitched as she wrenched the bloodied blade free, then lay still.
"Not that I'm complaining, but how did you obtain so much skill while living on a tiny island for your entire life?" asked Glenroy as they pressed on towards the tower.
"My father insisted that we be able to defend ourselves if necessary, and we liked the idea so much that we decided to devote ourselves fully to achieve mastery of combat," explained Selene. She smiled grimly. "Besides, after I had read every book on the island, there was not much else to do except train and spar."
"Well, you've done well for someone with so little experience," muttered Glenroy, peering at rock until he was sure that no daedra was hiding behind it.
"I had a... difficult start," mumbled Selene, turning her head away, looking into the distance.
Glenroy shifted, feeling somewhat uncomfortable despite the situation. "Sorry," he grunted. "I know it wasn't-" Selene cut him off.
"No, its fine, I've... come to terms with it." She shakily drew breath. "I'm avenging them. That makes it... slightly easier... to deal with." Swallowing, she shook her head and grimaced. "Let's not lose focus," she growled, picking up her pace.
Their rapid progress towards the tower was soon interrupted by a Storm Atronach, a pile of rocks rising from the ground and fusing together as they approached. Selene absorbed the lightning bolts it sent at them and blew it apart with a fireball, the individual, scorched rocks exploding out in every direction. Glenroy ducked as one glanced off his helmet. "Bastards," he snarled. "They try to kill you in here even after they're dead." He set his shoulders and marched onwards.
The closer they got to the tower, the stiffer the resistance became. By the time they'd reached the door, three scamps, two Spider Daedra, a Flame Atronach and a Dremora had been left broken and bleeding in their wake. A looming obsidian wall nearby meant that their only options were to enter the tower; the pathway continuing past it led only to a closed gate. They paused, Glenroy leaning on the wall to the left of the door, Selene to the right. They looked at each other across the gap, sweat and grime already streaking their faces.
"It's going to be dark in there," warned Selene. "They'll try to attack us quickly, to rely on their night vision. I'll create light to negate that, but be on your toes." Glenroy nodded, raising his shield and tightening his grip on his katana, the blade already stained from hilt to point in the blood of daedra. Brushing her hair out of her face – Glenroy wondered why she didn't tie it back – Selene turned to face the door, gripping her glaive firmly. "Ready?" she asked. He nodded.
A dim pink glow shimmered around the half-elf's fingertips as she used telekinesis to force the doors open, then she darted through, creating a blazing ball of brilliant light, hovering a foot above her head. Glenroy charged in after her. Two scamps were chattering shrilly as their eyes were invaded by the light; a daedroth was stumbling around, disorientated, while two Dremora had their eyes squeezed tightly shut, backed into a corner, shields up in a defensive posture until they could see again.
Selene wasted no time in leaping towards the daedroth, glaive spinning as the steel blade sliced through its hamstrings. The massive reptile let out a hissing roar and fell to its knees, making it easy for her to open up its throat. Glenroy had dealt with the two scamps with pathetic ease and was now battling one of the recovered Dremora. The Kynaz snarled a harsh curse and swung his mace at Glenroy's head. Ducking, the Imperial bashed his opponent's head aside with his shield and struck with his katana, slicing downwards into the Dremora's neck, blade cutting deep down into his ribcage. Wrenching his blade free with some effort, Glenroy turned to the other Dremora, only to find his head slowly rolling towards him, the body collapsed in a heap a few feet away.
"There should be a lever around here somewhere," muttered Selene, head swivelling as she tried to locate it while absentmindedly wiping her glaive's blade clean with a rag. Glenroy did the same for his katana; some forms of daedra had acidic blood running through their veins.
"Is that it?" asked Glenroy, pointing to a rusted iron lever attached to a naked gear. Selene nodded, and Glenroy sheathed his katana, stepped over to it, planted his feet, and wrenched it down. A grating, grinding sound filled the air, and the ground seemed to reverberate beneath their feet. Selene let her light wink out, revealing the deep red glow of Oblivion visible from a hole in the ceiling far above them as a lift descended, rattling down onto a platform intended for the purpose, slotting perfectly onto the wicked spikes in the centre of the room.
"Don't worry, you're perfectly safe as long as you stay away from the holes," Selene told Glenroy as she climbed onto the lift, smirking slightly at his perturbed expression. He grunted and got on, carefully giving the spikes a wide birth as he drew his katana. The lift jolted as the pressure of the two mortals activated it once again, and it began juddering upwards. Selene seemed sure-footed, but Glenroy didn't hesitate in making his way to the central, unmoving spike and grabbing it for support, before turning and looking up at the rapidly-approaching lower ledge. The skies of Oblivion boiled overhead.
"Two daedra on the lower ledge, more above," observed Selene calmly, hands starting to glow as she prepared offensive magicka. "Be ready to move quickly. Mind your step." Glenroy nodded, eyes finding the holes in the platform and noting their location. The lift slowly ground to a halt.
Two Flame Atronachs immediately sprang forward, throwing fireballs. Selene blocked two with her magical shield, and Glenroy blocked another with his steel shield, wincing as he felt the metal of the shield and his gauntlet start to glow with heat. Selene unleashed bolts of frost at the two Atronachs, sending them flying, frozen, into the walls of the tower, shattering them. Shaking his scorched shield to dissipate the steam rising from it, Glenroy darted off the lift as a Dremora came jumping down the ramp. The Imperial barged him into the wall, staggering him, the Kynaz barely recovering in time to parry Glenroy's thrust. Forcing the edge of his shield up into the Dremora's chin, the Blade knocked his foe's blade aside and opened his throat, kicking him onto the lift to bleed out.
"How many left?" he asked Selene, who was squinting up at the upper levels.
"Two," she said slowly. "One's big enough to be a daedroth or a larger Atronach, while the other looks like a scamp. It's hard to tell." Glenroy grunted and led the way up the ramp at jogging pace, armour clanking. Selene followed closely behind, making slightly less noise. Emerging from the ramp at the top of the tower, her predictions proved accurate; a scamp and a daedroth were all that awaited them. Glenroy roared a challenge and charged at the daedroth, waiting until the last second before ducking under its clumsy swing and using his momentum to drive his katana deep into its chest. It hissed in agony and attempted to flail at him, but he'd already backed away, drawing the shortsword he carried as a backup weapon. Darting in behind the crippled beast, he jumped and drove the blade into the base of the reptile's skull, killing it instantly.
Wrenching his katana free from the daedroth's ribcage with some effort, the Imperial looked up to see Selene, having killed the scamp, peering out of a doorway. Joining her, Glenroy's face hardened. A slender bridge joined the small tower to the main tower, a thin walkway hundreds of feet above the rocks of the Deadlands. Glenroy could tell that the wind was still strong. "Ladies first," he grunted, a corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk as Selene directed a withering glance at him and stepped out.
A purple glow throbbed at her fingertips for a moment, then faded. The half-elf then walked off the bridge, then, standing on nothing, turned and smiled at the grimacing Imperial. "Your turn," she grinned, and Glenroy felt an odd sensation of weightlessness come over him. Swallowing hard, he stepped onto the bridge, and raised an eyebrow when the wind seemed to buffet him, but had no affect on his balance. His eyes widened even further when he took a tentative step off the walkway and felt no discernable difference beneath his boots, despite one standing on rock and the other on thin air. Selene laughed at the look on his face.
"Please tell me that you are maintaining that spell?" growled Glenroy, determinedly not looking down as he moved back onto the bridge and started walking across, considerably faster than he would have if he hadn't been under the influence of a levitation spell.
"Of course," replied Selene, raising her voice slightly due to the intruding howl of the hot wind, walking alongside him, nothing holding her up except for her skill with Alteration. "Imagine my surprise when I found out that levitation had been banned in Cyrodiil." She sighed and shook her head. "What a waste."
"Yeah, well, right now I'm grateful that you know illegal magic," grunted Glenroy. "When we get back to Cloud Ruler Temple, I'll advise Martin to repeal it when he's crowned. Don't know why it was banned in the first place." He looked sideways at the half-elf. "Clearly, some of you mages didn't pay attention anyway."
"And how were we meant to know about it on a tiny island in the middle of the sea?" snorted Selene. "It's probably not even technically a part of Cyrodiil."
Glenroy raised his hands in admittance of defeat, then hurriedly lowered them again. He wasn't about to start gesturing hundreds of feet off the ground. "Would you have ever left if... you know...? Dagon hadn't intruded?" he asked tentatively, glancing across at her. "If you don't mind me asking, that is," he added hastily.
Selene sighed and rubbed her chin, leaving it even grimier than it had been before. The dust and dirt of Oblivion was starting to accumulate on her body and armour, and Glenroy suspected that the same was true of him. "It's fine," she reassured him. "I guess... I didn't know then what I know now. I would... I-I don't know," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I guess I might have got restless after a few more years, maybe... I'm not sure." Her eyes hardened. "But what happened, happened. No use wishing after our past lives."
"True," nodded Glenroy. "Sometimes I think I could have... protected him better, but... wishing is wasteful." They lapsed into silence as they made their way across the bridge, the massive tower looming larger and larger ahead of them.
Eventually, the bridge ended, and Glenroy forced the door leading to the tower open, darting through with katana at the ready, only to find the wide, spiralling corridor deserted. Selene joined him and they set off in the only direction available to them: up. The sense of weightlessness abruptly vanished; there was no need for levitation now that they had solid obsidian under their boots. After a few minutes, they came across a deserted room, with a blood fountain in the middle of a few odd-looking benches. Glenroy grunted, ignored it, and took a swig from his canteen before offering it to Selene.
"How much further, do you reckon?" he asked, peering at the only door in the room, which seemed to lead deeper into the tower.
"Impossible to tell," replied Selene, handing back his canteen and massaging her throat. "Could just be two doors away from the Sigil Stone, or we might not reach it for hours. I think every tower is different."
"Might as well get on with it." Taking his own advice, Glenroy stepped open to the doors and wrenched them apart, walking through with katana and shield at the ready. They emerged onto a ridge around the central spire, with the searing column of pure magicka anchoring the Sigil Stone in place far above them. Opposite them on the obsidian ridge was the start of a ramp leading up, guarded by a Clannfear, who snorted and crouched, ready and waiting. Selene spared it the weight by shattering it with ball lightning, before the two mortals started to make their way up the ramp.
News of their advance had apparently spread, and soon daedra were charging down the steep slope ready to do battle. A daedroth recklessly leaped at Glenroy, who ducked to a crouch and forced the lizard to fall over his shield, then pushing up and sending it over the edge, howling as it plummeted through the abyss below. Selene sliced a scamp in half then froze a spider daedra solid, turning to duck under a swing from a mace-wielding Dremora, leaving the Kynaz wide open for Glenroy to ram his katana through his armpit. Throwing the body aside, the Imperial winced as an arrow slammed into his breastplate. The arrowhead bent and failed to penetrate the steel, but, judging from the pain and force of the impact, it had at least bruised a rib. Seconds later, the Dremora archer spasmed and jerked, collapsing as Selene fried it with lightning.
"How much magicka have you got left?" asked Glenroy, gulping down half a healing potion. The pain in his chest faded.
"Enough." Selene, moving forward, looked back at the devastation they'd left behind them. "I hope."
A Dremora mage appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and sent massive fireballs at the two invaders. Selene's shield barely formed in time. The sheer heat of the fireballs exploding cracked the obsidian ramp. Growling curses, the Kynaz summoned two Clannfear and advanced, summoning a claymore. Glenroy charged to meet him, katana striking for his unarmoured torso, attack barely blocked by the Dremora's claymore. Selene slashed one Clannfear's chest open and pierced the other's throat with a summoned icicle, then moved up past Glenroy and the Dremora, locked in mortal combat, to stand ready for the attack of a Xivilai.
The massive grey-skinned daedra's battleaxe made the entire ramp vibrate as Selene only just threw herself to the side in time to avoid the Xivilai's overhead swing. Scrambling to her feet – harder than usual given the gradient of the ridge – she struck at the Xivilai's torso before he was fully recovered, but he spun, leaving his axe embedded in the ground, and grabbed her glaive pole, wrenching it from her hands with ease and throwing it over the side of the ledge. He licked his lips in anticipation as he slowly advanced on the disarmed half-elf, backing her into the wall. Drawing back his hand to strike, something slammed into his back, throwing him to the ground. The tip of the blade of Selene's glaive poked out of the front of his chest.
"Very original," praised Glenroy, nodding in appreciation, the Dremora mage lying headless some way down the ramp. "Never thought I'd see such fast, skilful use of telekinesis. Then again, I tend not to work with mages often." Selene smiled hesitantly as she ripped her glaive free of the Xivilai with some effort. She'd much rather have killed the daedra conventionally than be forced to rely on magical skill and luck. Then again, a conventional fight with a Xivilai was never easy.
Continuing on up the ridge, several scamps were effortlessly disposed of, and the fleshy floor of the Sigillum Sanguis was finally visible overhead. Both Selene and Glenroy were tiring; the constant fighting and movement would take their toll on even the most hardened and trained of warriors. The constant, if thin, stream of daedra pouring from the upper levels meant that there was no time to rest; when they weren't fighting, they were moving forward, pressing onwards in the hope of closing the Gate before they were overwhelmed. There was only so much two mortals could do.
Eventually, leaving a trail of corpses in their wake, Selene and Glenroy arrived at the doors that led to the Sigillum Sanguis. Pausing for a moment, Glenroy leaned against the wall with his shield arm, katana drooping as he caught his breath. Selene leaned heavily on her glaive and brushed her hair from her eyes for the umpteenth time. Her spell of detect life revealed several life signatures between them and the Sigil Stone. Sighing, she swigged down a potion that restored some of her magical energies and beckoned Glenroy closer.
"There's quite a few of them through there," she told him, gesturing at the door. Glenroy's features hardened, but his back remained stiff. The Blades were not known for their willingness to give in. "I'm not at my best working with Alteration – levitation and physical shielding is most of what I was taught – but I can offer some resistances using Restoration." She reached out and placed a hand against the Imperial's breastplate, her hand starting to glow with a bright blue light as her magicka infused him.
"Feels odd," muttered Glenroy, hefting his katana. "Almost like I've got a second skin. And I'm not as tired any more." He attempted to smile. "Thanks."
Selene sighed as she cast the same spell over herself, instantly feeling more invigorated. "I'd rather not have alleviated our fatigue," she explained. "The version I've cast only masks it; it'll come back to debilitate us later. By then, we'll hopefully be out of here." Draining her last potion, she threw the empty bottle to the ground and gripped her glaive firmly. "Are you ready?"
Glenroy nodded and forced the doors apart, leading the way with shield raised. The hallway leading to the Sanguis was deserted; clearly, the daedra were waiting to ambush them the moment they stepped inside. No doubt they'd have their best troops there, well-rested and battle-hardened. Neither of the mortals was relishing the fight ahead. "Can you boost your speed?" asked Glenroy. Selene nodded. "I can hold them off while you run for it," he began, but the half-elf was shaking her head.
"Won't work," she muttered. "They've got spell slingers and archers, most likely. Light as this armour is, I can't dodge well enough if I'm running at full speed. We'll have to kill at least some of them, and fight our way to the stone."
Glenroy nodded and paused just outside the gateway. He could glimpse the column of magicka, shining brightly. "If I don't make it out..."
"You'll make it out, Glenroy," growled Selene, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to look at her. "I've had enough of death; we're both going to live through this, Dagon be damned." Her eyes were full of intensity as she released him and stepped towards the gateway. "Come on; let's see what he's got in store for us." With that, she leapt through the gateway, launching herself into a forward roll just into time to miss the massive warhammer, wielded by a Dremora, that came crashing down behind her. Overbalanced by his swing, the Kynaz was defenceless as Glenroy darted in and chopped down at his neck, decapitating him.
Selene sprang to her feet and was immediately assaulted by two Dremora swordsmen, who drove her backwards, past Glenroy, who was attempting to dodge the fireballs of two scamps while blocking the spear of another Dremora. One of the scamps' errant fireballs impacted upon the Kynaz's back, distracting him while Glenroy barged past him and sliced one of the scamps in two before picking the other one up and throwing it onto the approaching Dremora's spear. Eyes growing wider, the Kynaz frantically attempted to push the scamp's body off his weapon, but Glenroy swiftly stepped in and cleaved his head in two.
Looking for Selene, he spotted her struggling to hold off the two Dremora swordsmen, and moved to assist, planting his feet and plunging his blade deep into the back one of the Dremora, penetrating the daedric steel plate. Selene parried the attack of the other and kicked one of his legs away, knocking him off balance and allowing her to stab him through the throat. A brief pause in the combat allowed the two mortals to get their bearings and locate the thin stairs that led to the upper levels. Selene darted off to charge up the nearest one, while Glenroy ran across the room, weaving around corpses, to climb the second set.
Further opposition manifested itself in two spider daedra, one attacking each of the mortals. Glenroy blocked her clawed hands and slashed at her torso, cutting deeply into her arms as she blocked. Ignoring her screech of pain and rage, he moved in, bashing his shield into her face, and stabbing deep into her torso. Selene simply blasted the other arachnid away with a fireball. Both of them, aware of daedric reinforcements that would surely be inbound from below, raced towards the final level, the residence of the Sigil Stone.
Upon ascending the blood-coloured, fleshy ramp, the pair was confronted by a single Xivilai, wielding a double-bladed axe, a snarl splitting his face, yellow eyes blazing with hatred. Glenroy wasted no time in attacking, slashing at the daedra's torso. The Xivilai parried the blow with ease and spun, striking at Selene's legs as she tried to run past him to reach the Sigil stone, tripping her and sending her sprawling. As he swung his axe down towards the prostrate half-elf, the Xivilai was knocked off-balance by Glenroy barging into him shield first, roaring a battle cry. The Xivilai barely maintained his footing as he shoved Glenroy away with enough force to stagger him.
Selene had used the opportunity to scramble to her feet and sprint for the Sigil stone, arm outstretched. Roaring curses, the Xivilai raced after her in desperation, foolishly leaving his flank open for Glenroy to force his blade through his ribcage, slicing his heart in two. As the daedra collapsed, the Imperial withdrew his katana and ran after Selene, conscious of shouting from below; evidently, reinforcements had arrived. Selene skidded to a halt and reached for the Sigil Stone, the anchor seeming even blacker against the bright, painful light of the beam of pure magicka holding it in place. As Glenroy stopped beside her, the half-elf reached out and tore the Stone from its anchor.
The anchoring magicka shot up into the angry skies of Oblivion; freed from its duties, it was going mad, expanding, rushing up the tower faster than a galloping horse, wreaking havoc as daedra frantically and futilely attempted to find somewhere to wait out the coming holocaust. It reached the Sigillum Sanguis, and the last memory of Oblivion for the two mortals was one of searing, overwhelming light.
As his senses returned to him, it was light of a different kind that Glenroy noticed first: sunlight. Opening his eyes, he realised that he was flat on his back at the foot of the Bravil Gate, watching the dark skies of Oblivion recede, letting the morning sun warm the Niben Bay. The gentle splash of waves was at the edge of his hearing as he sat up, looking around. Bodies of daedra lay everywhere, but Glenroy ignored them and searched for Bravil. The bridge was near collapse due to the weight of bodies, the city gates had been battered, and part of the wall had crumbled, but Bravil stood. It had survived.
The Imperial heard Selene drag herself to her feet next to him, and he stood slowly, ignoring the fatigue that was slowly clawing its way back up to the surface within him. Turning to look behind him, all he saw was the pile of rocks and fissures that marked where the Oblivion Gate had once stood. Trees were distantly visible through the gap where there had once only been a gateway of fire. A savage, triumphant smile appearing on his face, Glenroy laughed with sheer joy and threw his arms around Selene, hard enough to hear her ribs creaking. She returned the hug, laughing more out of relief than anything else. Glenroy turned, and, one arm still around Selene's shoulders, roared wordlessly in defiance of Dagon, shaking his fist at the Gate.
Suddenly aware that the guards on top of the walls of Bravil could see him, Glenroy grunted and pulled away from Selene, embarrassed at the slip in his normally impeccable discipline. Footsteps crunched on the soil, and they both turned to see a Dunmer, of average height and clad in full steel plate armour, walking towards them, a wry grin on his middle-aged face, black hair unbound and falling to his shoulders.
"So, I get called all the way from my tower to deal with an Oblivion Gate, then show up to find it closed?" he said in greeting, removing his hand from the hilt of his ancient, Dwemer-made longsword. "I was looking forward to something to relieve me of my boredom," he continued, sighing. "Fathis Aren, battlemage and Bravil's court wizard, at your service. Or not." A contingent of guards had left Bravil and was heading over the battlefield towards them.
"Well, if it means anything, Aren, I'd much rather you had dealt with this," replied Glenroy, still smiling, gesturing at the closed Gate behind him. "Defying Dagon after riding through a day and a night wasn't exactly on my wish list." He paused. "Besides, if you really want to end your boredom, I'm pretty sure your skills will be needed in the coming days."
"I'll wait and hope, then," sighed the Dunmer, giving a nod to Glenroy and a half-bow to Selene before turning away to greet the approaching guards.
Selene sighed and grounded the end of her glaive, leaning heavily on it. "Would you go through that again?" she asked Glenroy. He didn't need to ask what she meant.
The Imperial, having removed his helmet and hung it from his belt, looked at her thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "In the line of duty, I'd do it a thousand times if need be," he told her. "And if I didn't strictly have to?" he paused, looking out across the Niben bay, the sun dazzling on the surface of the water, the sounds of birds singing filling his ears. "Selene, I'd willingly give my life for the good of Tamriel."
Selene was nodding. "After seeing what they can do..." She stopped and gestured at the corpse of a Dremora. "So would I."
Glenroy smiled, a savage gleam appearing in his eyes. "With people like you and Gorgoth on our side, Selene, we cannot possibly lose."
A/N: At over 13,000 words, this is by far my longest chapter yet. Still, as I always say, a chapter ends when it ends... In any case, I should probably inform you that my ICT coursework is slowly overwhelming me at the moment, so that will most likely affect update times, but, as many of you have said, you don't mind them being a bit late as long as the quality is good. Rest assured that I'll never let my quality be compromised by a desire for speed. For now, I'll sign off with a final reminder: I want reviews. Click the blue link beneath this author's note and leave one. It'll help.