A/N: Just over two weeks this time, but as long as those update rates remain semi-constant around that area, I'll be a happy man. Now, eight reviews is better than five, but even so, more are always helpful.
Orion the Awesome: The thought has crossed my mind a few times, but I've decided against it for now. Much of his past will be revealed in chapters yet to come... well, a lot of it, anyway.
Random Reader: Yes, yes, and yes. Here's hoping I can make those developments all the more interesting... Mazoga, pregnant? Heh, she's more of a warrior than a woman... though I'm pretty sure Gorgoth wouldn't mind a son. I have plans in that area, though, don't worry. I've had plans for a long time, in fact...
Underpaid Critic: Hmm, odd... after reading your review at least ten times, I still can't see what's wrong with that paragraph of mine. I know I've never heard of passive voice before, though it appears I've been using it for pretty much the entire fic if I understand you correctly. Either way, I can comprehend one of those as well as the other; seems simple, to me. Anyhow, you're sure about that romance? I know it'll never be my strong point, but I do hope it's at least passable.
Rokibfd: Aye, I've been surprising myself with my writing speed of late sometimes, so I don't blame you. Nor do I blame you for being hooked by Skyrim. Anyhow, yes, not to worry, Dralasa will be appearing more frequently from now on, given that most of the action will be in Bruma from here on in (though I might go to unexpected places. You never know). I love writing her, but she's never had the opportunity to feature prominently until now. As for Ajum-Kajin and the Company... well, you'll see what happens, but while Gorgoth can work with his enemies, he will very, VERY rarely work with dishonourable enemies, which the Company definitely are. And until next time, indeed... methinks I can count on you reading my Skyrim fic when it eventually appears. ;)
As for the rest of my readers: Don't forget to review.
Chapter Forty-two: Broken Sword
Once again, Modryn found himself waiting for Gorgoth. He hated waiting, particularly when it was for someone who he'd helped climb the ladder of Fighters Guild advancement quicker than anyone for decades. Not that he expected the Orc to feel indebted to him; for one thing, it didn't seem like Gorgoth, and for another, he'd lost it all anyway, indirectly because of Modryn himself. So he'd settled down to wait on a chair and stoked the nearby fire, ignoring the rats that came out to nibble at the body of the Khajiit whose head he'd bashed in.
It was at least five minutes before there was an interruption in the magical barrier that the warrior-shaman had thrown up in the entrance to the Blackwood Company's command room. The Dunmer jerked to his feet as his fellow ex-Guildsman walked into the small cavern, idly kicking a rat aside as he made his way to the fire. "He's ready to talk," he reported.
"You're sure?" inquired Modryn. "Five minutes isn't long."
"I'm sure. If he resists any further, we can deal with that. For now, we'll get something, at least." The Orc glanced across at one of the Company men he'd killed – a Bosmer – and walked over to him, cutting part of the surcoat away with a conjured shortsword.
"What are you doing?" asked the Dark Elf, narrowing his eyes.
"Cleaning that lizard's shit off my boot," grunted Gorgoth, kneeling with a large strip of the green cloth in hand to rub at the soiled steel plate.
Modryn found himself smirking. "That effective?"
"I have my methods. I would prefer not to smell like a privy, however." The Orc straightened and tossed the stinking rag aside. "Best to strike while the iron is hot." The Dunmer nodded and led the way back into the command room. As he passed through the magical wall, the only odd sensation he experienced was the sound of the fire crackling in the other cavern suddenly vanishing.
Ajum-Kajin was crouching naked and bound in the far corner, pressed as far back against the wall as he could get. There was a slim Daedric shortsword unsheathed on the table, but as far as Modryn could see, no blood had been spilt yet. Odd, but different torturers would logically have different methods. The Argonian seemed to be broken, at least; he was trembling and casting terrified looks at his Orcish tormentor. Gorgoth walked up to him and dragged him to his feet before shoving him into a chair and picking up the shortsword.
"He's evil!" the Argonian told Modryn in a shrill voice as the warrior-shaman walked around to stand in front of him. "He sacrifices children to his dark gods! He kills babies! Do you know who-" The Dunmer cut him off by grabbing his snout in an armoured fist.
"I know perfectly well who he is." Given Gorgoth's reputation, the Dark Elf wouldn't be surprised if he did sacrifice children or kill babies, but right now he wasn't concerned with what his comrade might or might not have done. As long as he was true to the Guild and didn't dishonour it, he could do whatever he wanted in his private life. "Now answer our questions without lying, or I'll leave you alone with him again." He stepped back and released the lizard, who shuddered but kept quiet.
"How strong is the Company?" demanded the warrior-shaman, idly spinning the shortsword around on his palm.
"One hundred and thirty-six armed effectives, the last time I was updated," muttered the Argonian, his gaze falling to the stone beneath his webbed feet. "You can find the records on the table."
"What is your leadership structure?" asked Modryn. "Who leads you, if there's one sole leader?"
"Ri'Zakar. He is the Pakseech. Our leader." The words left the lizard's mouth with obvious reluctance, but one glance upwards at Gorgoth sent his gaze back to the stones. "He is a formidable warrior."
"We'll be the judge of that." The Dunmer gave the paper covering the table a quick glance before turning back to their captive. They could take them back to his house and read them later, but this source was fresh and might not keep that long. "What are your goals? What do you intend to do?"
"What do all men of our occupation want?" rasped Ajum-Kajin. "We want money and power. We're sellswords who'll do whatever you want. Easy to grasp, even for you provincial lackwit-" Gorgoth's fist slamming into his jaw sent him tumbling from the chair onto the cold, hard ground, grunting in pain.
"Keep a civil tongue in your head," warned the warrior-shaman as he hauled the lizard back into his chair. The Argonian gave the Orc a baleful glare that swiftly turned into a wince as he glimpsed his yellow eyes. He dropped his gaze and spat out a broken tooth.
"The Guild has three times your numbers in Cyrodiil alone," said Modryn, leaning closer. "How are you planning to combat us if it comes to open war?"
"We are strong," mumbled Ajum-Kajin, his voice thick due to the blood in his mouth where he'd probably bitten his tongue.
"So are we." The Argonian's eyes were firmly fixed on the ground, so Modryn grabbed his head and forced him to meet his gaze. "How are you strong, then? We've got the same training you have, maybe better. We've got the same motivation. We've got good men. How are you better than us?"
The lizard's breath was starting to come in ragged pants. "I can't-" He flinched as Gorgoth moved, but the warrior-shaman was only reaching into his belt bag. "I can't... they'd do unspeakable things to me-"
"We'll do unspeakable things to you, lizard-rat," spat Modryn, grabbing Ajum-Kajin by the throat and slamming him against the stone wall. "Maybe you should tell us what we want to know. I can promise you a quick death." He let himself grin, a horrible, threatening grin. "More or less."
"No! I-"
Both turned at the sudden sound of Gorgoth slamming a rock down on the table. It was as black as midnight, about as big as the Orc's fist. Modryn suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of unease. "Do you know what this is?" asked the warrior-shaman. The Argonian was shaking too much to answer, so he continued. "It is a black soul gem. So unless you want to spend an eternity in exquisite suffering, I'd suggest you talk." The gaze that the Orc was giving the hapless lizard would probably have frozen fire. When the Dunmer felt a warm liquid splattering over his greaves, he grunted in revulsion and stepped back, releasing Ajum-Kajin, who'd lost control of his bladder.
The Orsimer stepped forward and threw the Argonian back into his chair, grabbing the wooden back to make sure it didn't topple over. "Talk," he told the cowering lizard.
"You would, wouldn't you?" Shaking his head, Ajum-Kajin started to sob. "Promise me, Orc... promise me that you'll kill me quickly after you've got what you want. Promise me."
"No. You will get no promises from me. Just pain. Talk."
The Orc might be unsavoury, but he was certainly effective. As Modryn was rubbing the urine from his ebony armour with a rag torn from one of the dead Khajiits, the Argonian finally gave his answers. "Sap from the Hist tree." He shuddered as he surrendered the secret he'd fought to defend. "Sap from the Hist tree," he repeated, sobbing. "There. You have it. Now kill-"
"How? How does it work? What do you do with it?" demanded Gorgoth. "You give it to non-Argonians?"
Ajum-Kajin nodded. "It makes us... stronger. It also... no, no." A mere glance towards the black soul gem was enough to get him talking again. "It removes fear. No inhibitions... it creates mindless super-soldiers to do our bidding."
Modryn raised an eyebrow. He knew of the Hist, of course; the trees were of great importance to Argonians. But giving the sap to non-lizards... he cast his mind back to reports from the Leyawiin Guildhall. There had been numerous complaints about unwarranted savagery by the Company over a few months. And sometimes patrols had come across some unexplained corpses, mutilated and violated. "He's telling the truth," he muttered.
"Where do you get it from?" asked Gorgoth.
"We have a Hist tree in the basement of our headquarters in Leyawiin." As though the words had removed all desire to live from him, the Argonian slumped weakly in his chair, breathing heavily.
"Azura help us," whispered Modryn. "A Hist tree, here, in Cyrodiil?" He shook his head. "How did-" No, it didn't matter how they'd got it here, or how they'd kept it a secret. All that mattered was that it existed and that it was the source of a large part of the Blackwood Company's effectiveness. "I think we've got all we need," he grunted. Gorgoth nodded in agreement.
"Please... make it quick," begged Ajum-Kajin, his voice barely audible.
"You or me, Modryn?" asked the warrior-shaman, picking up his summoned shortsword.
"You had the pleasure of torturing him. I'll do the killing." He actually doubted that Gorgoth took pleasure from anything, least of all torture, but the point stood. The Orc nodded and offered the shortsword to him, hilt first. Modryn took it and plunged it into Ajum-Kajin's throat without ceremony, leaving it there as the Argonian choked on his own blood. "We should move as quickly as possible. If we can convince Count Caro to move against the Company..."
""He has a wounded city to rule, and the Company is helping keep the peace until he can train new replacements for his guard, last time I was there." Gorgoth shook his head as he pulled his gauntlets back on. "This is something we'll probably have to do ourselves."
The Dark Elf grunted as he collected up the papers on Ajum-Kajin's desk before leaving behind the warrior-shaman. "At least we won't have to worry about killing in broad daylight. Destroy the tree and kill the leadership in their Company Hall in Leyawiin. That'll do it. Cut off the head of the snake."
"Fitting. How soon do we strike?"
"I might need a few days to gather the men and evidence-"
"Forget the men. I could destroy the Company down to the last man myself if I had to. Just make sure we won't be arrested. And talk to Donton if you can."
Modryn frowned at his companion as they made their way up towards the surface. "You make it sound as though you're going without me."
"That is the plan. You will be needed to consolidate at home and make sure that we can capitalise effectively. Once the Company is eradicated, we can turn our mind to internal affairs."
"You make it sound like you're planning a coup."
"Once confronted with this evidence, Donton will be forced to admit that she was wrong. The choice will be hers to make, but I doubt we'll be out in the wilderness much longer."
The Dunmer rubbed his chin. Everything Gorgoth was saying made sense; once he'd destroyed the Company and proved its illegal status and operations, the two of them would be vindicated and Vilena Donton even more discredited than before. Popular feeling in the Guild was very much against her, and if the two of them managed to restore its status and eliminate a rival... "You know, for an Orc, you're pretty smart. I'll give you that." He smiled. "Send the Company to rot in Oblivion. When do you leave?"
"Now."
Gnaeus had departed to Cloud Ruler Temple to 'make sure they haven't forgotten about the old man' shortly after they left Glademist Cave, and Gorgoth had gone south, cutting through the forest to make better time as he headed for Leyawiin to deal with the Blackwood Company. That left Ilend and Aerin to fall in beside Oreyn as he led the way back to Chorrol. He'd insisted on their company so that he could talk the Imperial through the radical shake-up the Guild was expected to receive over the coming days. It was hard to talk at a fast trot, however, so once night had fallen they stopped to make camp just off the road.
"You seem optimistic," observed the Imperial as they watched Aerin roast some venison over their campfire. He himself certainly wasn't in the habit of making plans that hinged on events that might not even happen.
"Have I ever had a reason to doubt our green-skinned friend?" asked Oreyn, idly sharpening his ebony dagger. "No, he'll destroy the Company and its credibility, I'm sure of it. And when news of that reaches Chorrol, I'll be in place to ensure the Guild benefits the most."
Ilend snorted. "I never had you down as a politician."
"I do what I have to do." The Dunmer sighed and looked up through the trees at the clouds covering the sky. "I was Champion for near enough forty years, and never before has the Guild been led as badly as this." He shook his head. "I've survived three Guildmasters. When Donton took over thirty years ago, I was offered the job first by her predecessor, Borian. Not many people remember that now."
The Protector raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you take it?" It had been rumoured for some time that it was Oreyn who really led the Guild; if he'd led it in name rather than just in effect, things might have been a lot different.
Oreyn laughed bitterly. "I'm a warrior, Vonius. I'm a soldier, not some pen-pusher. Do you know how much documentation Donton has to deal with every day? She's sitting behind her desk more often than not. I'm not like that." He snorted. "I was a free-roaming mercenary for decades before I joined the Guild. I need freedom to operate. Being chained to a desk isn't my idea of duty. Champion suits me fine. Gets me a hand in decisions but I can still bash some skulls in whenever I get the urge."
"You make it sound like you're getting that position back."
"Of course I am, if Gorgoth succeeds. Do you really think I'd abandon the Guild completely just because of some woman mad with grief?" He dropped his whetstone and sheathed his dagger. "No, I've given the Guild loyal service and all I want is to continue that."
"What if Donton doesn't share your point of view?" From what Ilend had heard of the Guildmaster, she was more likely to behead Oreyn than reinstate him.
The Dark Elf snorted and leaned back against a tree, stretching his arms. "The Guild is with me. Most of us have had enough of Donton. If she doesn't see sense, she'll probably be forced to back down. I'll discuss it with the Chorrol Guild beforehand, of course..."
Ilend frowned. Something was missing in the plan of Oreyn's, sound as it was otherwise. "If she resigns and you won't take the job... who will be the next Guildmaster?"
"Good question. Immediately, I can't think of anyone, but within a few weeks of Donton's fall, there should be a clear-cut candidate." The Dunmer shrugged. "I'm thinking of a few. Azzan's good with paperwork, and he's run the Anvil branch with distinction for years. Ohtimbar over in Cheydinhal has years of experience, though I doubt he'd appreciate the spotlight. Ah-Malz in Skingrad is only a Warder, but he's been passed over for years. That's made him a tad bitter, but underneath he's a good leader."
The Protector rubbed at his temples. "Well, you've got it all figured out, I'm sure," he muttered. "But leave me out of all these politics. I want what's best for the Guild, for sure, but... I thought politics was for the Elder Council." Of course, inter-Guild politics would never compare to that load of ineffective hot air sitting in the Council Chambers, but Ilend preferred the simplicity of his sword and shield and having good men at his back.
Oreyn laughed. "Not to worry, Vonius, I've got other plans for you." His laughter faded as quickly as it came; the Dark Elf was most often serious, it seemed. "You've been in the Skingrad branch, of course, where you served well. But you were in the Kvatch City Watch before that." The Dunmer turned to look him in the eye. "I want you to go back to Kvatch and help rebuild the Guild there."
Ilend was so taken aback that for a second he could only gape. He sensed Aerin looking up from the spit, but right now he had eyes only for his former superior. "Kvatch is a ruin," he finally managed to get out.
"Don't you ever listen to the news? Anvil and Skingrad, along with most of the Cyrodilic cities, have sent aid. The camp at the foot of the plateau has been abandoned because they've moved back in. Refugees are returning. And Savlian Matius was elected Count."
"Captain Matius? Elected Count?" The Protector had fond memories of his old Watch Captain, that grizzled veteran who had kept the Watch together in that dark hour, but he'd always seemed too military in his bearing to ever lead an entire city. Then again, war had a habit of changing people.
"That's what I said. Under his leadership, Kvatch is rebuilding, and I want a Guildhall there again. Who better to lead it than you?"
"I... I'm only a Protector, Modryn. I don't have experience-"
"Don't be stupid." The Dunmer leaned closer. "I'm not deaf or blind to the exploits of Ilend Vonius, you know. You have three years experience as a Watch Sergeant, for starters. Then you survived Kvatch. You led a squad into an Oblivion Gate to save Skingrad. Then-"
"I know what I did," cut in Ilend. "But surely there are Guildsmen more capable than me."
"Who? There were only two survivors of the Kvatch Guild: Jongar and Fons Llendo. Neither leadership material. The other branches won't have many men to spare now that the war has taken its toll. But you... you have a connection to the city and you have more than enough experience of leadership." Oreyn smirked and turned his gaze to their companion. "And what say you, Aerin? Not like you to stay so quiet."
Caught off-guard, the Bosmer waited a few seconds before answering "He's a good choice," she said slowly. "You're right about him. And... he's a good man. I can vouch for that." An embarrassed flush crept over her cheeks and she hurriedly turned back to the venison.
The ex-Champion turned back to Ilend and smiled, a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth. "See? Even your bedwarmer, whom I've gathered quite dislikes me, agrees." Aerin muttered something incomprehensible under her breath.
Ilend pursed his lips. When he'd left Kvatch, he'd been convinced that he'd only return to visit. The Skingrad Guildhall would be a good place to live his life, and the Skingrad branch seemed like a good one. He could easily stay there, without much responsibility save for his own hide. Aerin would join him there, he was sure, and they might even be able to afford a small house after a few years. In Kvatch, however... it was his home as much as his birthplace of Skingrad had ever been. He'd shed blood to defend both cities, but it was the Battle of Kvatch that would always stay with him the most.
If he went to Kvatch to rebuild the Guild, he had no illusions about the life he'd lead. The city was still a ruin, and the work would be hard. There would be no comforts like there would be in Skingrad, no safety net, no one to take the responsibility away from him. But Oreyn was probably right; there might not be anyone better to lead the rebuilding effort. And the easy life in Skingrad might soften him. Kvatch would be a challenge, but if he truly wanted to best serve the Guild, he had no true choice.
He sighed. "I'll do it," he told Oreyn. The Dunmer smiled and started to speak, but the Protector held up a hand. "I'll need Guildsmen to help me, not just recruits from Kvatch. I'll want to pick my own, if they want to come."
"That can be arranged," agreed the ex-Champion, nodding slowly.
"I'll want a promotion. Protector isn't high enough for a Guild Steward."
"That's valid. As soon as we put this in motion I'll make you a Defender."
"And I want my cut from the Blackheart operation." Both Oreyn's eyebrows shot up, and Ilend though he could hear Aerin giggling under the sound of crackling flames.
"Your cut? That was a volunteer operation."
"Yet Aerin got twenty-five hundred. You took twenty thousand from that place. I saw the chests in your house. I deserve my cut, I think."
"Aerin got half-killed and did more to earn that than you did. Besides, that was Gorgoth's prerogative, not mine." Oreyn's eyes had narrowed, but it was clear that over by the fire, the archer was having trouble controlling her laughter. Predictable.
"I took wounds as well. It was a Fighters Guild operation, you said it yourself. That's how you justified taking that twenty thousand. And as one of the survivors of that operation, I'm demanding my pay." It had rankled when his lover had informed him exactly how much she'd been paid by Gorgoth for her role, especially when she'd given him the reasoning behind the warrior-shaman's decision to exempt him. Ilend had lost almost all his savings when Kvatch had gone up in flames, and while he'd got about a thousand septims back in Skingrad, it was always best to have a financial buffer in place. He didn't want to have to stay in Guildhalls forever just because he couldn't afford a house.
Oreyn grimaced. "Fifteen hundred," he growled.
"You'll be forking out thousands getting the Kvatch Guildhall up and running anyway."
"Two thousand."
"Better." Ilend leaned back and smiled. "All right, I'll take charge of the Kvatch Guild. But just remember that I'll probably be dead before the time comes anyway."
The Dunmer snorted. "You'd better not die on me now, Vonius, or I'll hunt you down through the depths of Oblivion to drag your carcass back up here to finish your job." He shook his head, unable to conceal his smile. "No, I think you'll survive. You'll insist on being near the danger in Bruma, I suppose, but you're a good soldier with a good head on your shoulders and a good girl to watch your back for you. You'll be fine." Aerin's head jerked up; she seemed to be even more surprised by the ex-Champion's sudden, unexpected praise than Ilend was.
"Nice of you to say so," remarked the Protector, slowly rising and making his way over to the fire, crouching down beside Aerin and putting his arm around her shoulders. "How much longer?"
"About ten minutes," she replied, smiling up at him as she turned the venison on its spit.
"Still keen on joining the Guild even though I'll be slaving away in a ruined city without many intact houses?"
She snorted. "Any bed will be warm enough with you in it," she told him, smirking and nudging him in the ribs.
He laughed and nudged her back. "Good to hear, Aerin." He always had been sure that she'd follow him to the Skingrad Guild, but Kvatch would have been a different prospect. Duty to the Guild was all over well, but not having his lover in Kvatch would have made the entire operation a lot less appealing.
Unbidden, his thoughts returned to that night in Bruma a few days ago, before Gorgoth had arrived with Modryn's letter to shake them out of their stupor. It had turned out that Aerin was inexhaustible in bed, despite her small size and inexperience; every time he had drifted off to sleep, she had woken him again. Not that he had been complaining. She had limped for two days after that, but told him that the pain had been more than worth it.
"Vonius." Oreyn's voice broke through his memories and brought him back to the present. The Dunmer was standing at the edge of the hollow where they'd made camp. "Can I have a word?"
"All right," responded Ilend cautiously, rising slowly and giving Aerin's hand a squeeze before following the ex-Champion to a clump of bushes out of her earshot. "What is it?"
"Have you bedded her yet?" asked Oreyn, his gaze direct and his tone blunt.
The Protector raised an eyebrow. He didn't like this. "Yes. What's it to you?" In his opinion, there were certain private matters that should always stay private.
Sighing, the Dunmer scratched his chin. "She's in love with you and you with her, that much is certain. It was certain the first time I laid eyes on you together." The Dark Elf closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I've lived for over a century, Vonius. I've bedded more women than you can count, most likely. I probably have a few bastards running around. I don't keep track of them like our Orcish friend does. But the point is, my bedwarmers were all elves."
"I know full well that Aerin is an elf. What are you getting at? You don't like half-breeds?" He knew of the stigma that many half-breeds had to battle through; there had been a few notable half-breeds in Kvatch while he was in the City Watch. Sometimes he'd had to intervene in the pubs to keep drunken purists from beating them bloody, though mercifully it wasn't as bad as that normally, particularly in Cyrodiil; it was a melting pot of cultures compared to some of the other provinces.
"It's not that. You can pop out as many half-elves as you like and I wouldn't give a damn. They could even be assets to the Guild if you raise them properly. No, the main problem is age." The ex-Champion sighed and laid a hand on Ilend's shoulder. "When you're eighty, your hair will be gone, your teeth will have fallen out. You might not be able to walk and I doubt you'll be able to swing a sword like you used to. You'll have wrinkles and your eyes will probably be going. Aerin, on the other hand... Aerin will still be in her prime. Still as good to look at as she is today." There was a hint of sadness in those crimson eyes as they met Ilend's. "After you're dead, she'll still have at least a century alone unless war or disease claims her. Such is the plight of elves who love humans."
The Imperial sighed. "I know, Oreyn, I know. But we both know what we're getting into." He grasped the Dunmer's hand and gently removed it from his shoulder. "We know that might happen. But right now, we both might not survive to the end of the month." He leaned closer. "Love is such a precious thing that it's best to experience what you can of it, when you can. That's what we're both determined to do. We'll worry about my age when the time comes."
A slow smile spread over the ex-Champion's face as he slowly nodded in agreement. "In that case, Ilend, I wish you all the best."
The Guildsman returned the smile. It was the first time the Dunmer had used his first name. "Thanks, Modryn."
Grunting, the Dark Elf turned back towards their camp. "Well, don't die, you hear?" he said gruffly. "The Guild could use more like you. Now piss off and go back to your elf before I get too sentimental. Go on." He gave Ilend a slight shove towards the camp. The Imperial was only too happy to oblige, a grin spreading over his face.
Grandmaster Marcus Steffan of the Blades was tempted to close his eyes and rub his aching temples. But such a display of weakness wouldn't be wise in front of several of his men, who included the Captain of the Imperial Bodyguard, the Captain of the Temple Garrison, and the Emperor himself. "You're completely sure?" he asked, his voice slightly raised to drown out the crackling of the fire in the Great Hall.
"I'm sure," sighed Martin, leaning back in his chair. "We needed the blood of an Aedra to balance the blood of a Daedra, so it's logical that we need a Great Sigil Stone to balance the Great Welkynd Stone."
"And there's no other way to get one?" asked Captain Varsis, standing in front of the fire with both hands clenched around the hilt of his katana. The new Captain of the Temple Garrison had settled into his new role well; that, at least, was good news.
"No. We have to let the enemy open a Great Gate." The Emperor's voice was heavy with fatigue, and he looked tired; the translation had drained him, as it always did, but this last revelation had clearly been a blow to him.
"In that case..." the Grandmaster slowly rose, drawing every eye in the hall. As well as his captains, there were over thirty off-duty Blades who had accumulated. "We'll prepare for battle," he ordered, voice hard as he turned to Renault. "Send messengers to the cities of Cyrodiil, to the Elder Council, to the Arcane University... to anyone who might help us. Thousands came out of the Great Gate at Kvatch. We'll need thousands to stop them here." There were about twenty-five hundred soldiers in and around Bruma at the moment, but they would need more. "Recall Gorgoth." The Hero of Kvatch would be needed without a doubt. Renault nodded and hurried off to send the appropriate messages.
Steffan turned to Baurus, standing behind Martin's chair. "How is the Emperor's armour coming along?" Some time ago, the ex-priest had been measured and Jauffre had commissioned a suit of plate armour made for him; Uriel's armour was back in the Imperial Palace, and it probably wouldn't have been a perfect fit for his heir in any case.
"Finishing touches, Grandmaster," reported Baurus. "After the enamelling, all it needs is enchanting."
Before Steffan could respond, Martin had slowly risen from his chair. "Good," he said. "I'll need it for the battle. I intend to lead our forces." Tired he might be, but there was steel in that gaze and his voice.
The Grandmaster resisted the temptation to smile. "Are you sure, sire?" he asked. "If you die, the-"
"I'm fully aware of the implications of my death, Steffan." The Imperial gazed into the flames. "But a true leader of men does not ask them to go where he dare not." He shook his head as he turned. "Unless I lead my men in this battle, I will be no true Emperor."
This time, Steffan let his smile slip onto his face. "Now you sound like Uriel V, sire," he told his liege. "Every true soldier on that battlefield will fight twice as hard when he sees you protecting your realm with sword in hand."
Martin raised an eyebrow. "I was convinced that you would try to talk me out of it."
"I am not Jauffre, sire. He would have tried, undoubtedly, but... I recognise that in dark times such as these, we need a strong Emperor." He smile grew wider as he clapped the Emperor-to-be on the shoulder. "You'll be a good ruler, sire. But I would advise you to go to Lathar. He can tell you if you've grown rusty." He knew that Martin, while keeping to the fitness regime thought up by the drillmaster, hadn't practised with sword or armour for at least a week.
The heir nodded. "I'll get some sleep first, but now that I no longer have the Xarxes distracting me, I'll have more time." He turned and left the Great Hall.
Half the Blades in the had already dispersed, presumably to prepare for the upcoming battle. The Grandmaster motioned to Captain Varsis and led him out of the hall, walking towards his office. "What do you think of our situation, Captain?" he asked.
"We need more men," replied his fellow Imperial. "Twenty-five hundred trained men is a large force considering, but from what I heard of Kvatch..." He shook his head. "A Great Gate can spew thousands of Daedra in minutes, I'm guessing. Burd can grab a thousand men of Bruma and conscript them this very minute, but they'll barely have any training. It'd be a slaughter if he did that."
"Which is why he hasn't. We need to redouble our efforts to get men from the other cities. And we need Ocato to see sense. If we had a single field legion..." A snarl briefly distorted Steffan's face before he forced it away. There was no point in wasting time getting angry over what Ocato hadn't given them. "How badly stretched are our coffers?"
"We can afford to pay for a sizeable number of sellswords if they show up. Spreading the word far and wide has brought them in, but their numbers are slowing to a trickle after the initial deluge."
The Grandmaster nodded as he pushed open the door to his office and bade Varsis close it behind him. It was unchanged; there had been no time for him to personalise it since the death of Jauffre. It remained sparse, with no carpet or ornamentation, just three chairs, a paper-covered desk and a window. "Any news from the Guilds?"
"The Fighters Guild is in turmoil," responded the Knight Captain, sighing as he sank down into the chair opposite Steffan and removing his helmet. "Vilena Donton hasn't responded to our messages. The only Guildsmen we have are from the small branch in Bruma." The Imperial closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. "And the Mages Guild isn't much better. Traven has recently died, and we have no idea where his successor is. There isn't much hope for either of them sparing many men."
"We can hold until we have the numbers," muttered Steffan. "Men with Gate experience are passing on the lessons to others. And most of those we have are already good fighters." From what Burd was telling him, all the men sent by the other cities were effective soldiers and good examples of the Imperial Legion. The mercenaries would be, as ever, a mixed bunch, but many of them would be skilled warriors due to the nature of their profession. Encouraging signs.
"We might get more men over time, true, but we bleed every day," pressed Varsis. "Soon enough, the Mythic Dawn will be refined enough to open a Great Gate whether we let them or not."
"I know, damn it, I know!" barked the Grandmaster, slamming his fist down on the table. A pile of papers toppled, spreading over the floor. He cursed them and contemplated reaching into the desk's drawers for a bottle of flin, but decided against it. A clear head was needed, now more than ever. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. The demands of his new office were nothing new to him – he had been acting Grandmaster several times in the last year – but now there was no Jauffre to take back command.
"Bad time to get promoted, eh?" asked his fellow Imperial, failing to suppress a smirk.
"You said it, friend," replied Steffan, chuckling. "How many of the men still call you Glenroy?"
"Fewer every day, thankfully." The Knight Captain grimaced. "It can get embarrassing, correcting people because they're calling me a name they've known me by for years..."
"I know how that feels. Course, if you miss it, you can always ask Lathar to give you a training session. You should hear what he calls the Emperor." Both of them laughed as the Grandmaster gave in and brought out the bottle of flin and two tumblers. "One each," he said, pouring for both of them. "We've got a lot to get done and no time to do it in." He raised his glass. "Here's to Martin."
"I'll drink to him," agreed Varsis, downing his shot in one and slamming the tumbler down on the table. Steffan emulated him, the strong spirits burning his throat as they went down. Damn, that felt good.
"If both of us survive, we'll have to finish this one day," he told his Captain of the Temple Garrison as he returned the flin to its drawer before standing. "But that's enough for now. See to your duties. We have an empire to save."
From a distance, Leyawiin appeared largely unchanged from how it was before the battle. It was only as Gorgoth drew near that he saw that the gates were crude, temporary replacements, and that large parts of the wall were still scorched. The remnants of the portal to Oblivion near the West Gate served as a grim reminder of how close the city had come to destruction. Fortunately for travellers, however, the Five Riders Stables were largely untouched. As the ostler stabled Baluk for him, the Orc spotted Vorguz in the meadow behind the building. Atahba had clearly done what he'd been paid to do; the broken stallion now had his well-deserved peaceful retirement.
The overcast sky gave the city an even more dismal atmosphere than usual as the warrior-shaman approached the West Gate. Fortunately, the six guards all wore the white stallion of Leyawiin on their surcoats; the City Watch would still be depleted from the battle, but at least they were no longer using mercenaries to keep the peace. They stood up marginally straighter as he approached, and one stepped forward clutching a halberd almost as tall as he was. "I recognise you," he said, peering up at Gorgoth's face from behind his helmet. Those eyes were hard, his demeanour both confident and alert. He was a veteran of the battle for sure.
"I thought you might," responded the Orc, casting his gaze over the Imperial's companions. All of them lacked that hard edge that pitched battle or long years of experience would give them. New recruits or conscripts, most likely. Two were Argonians; clearly, the Count had relaxed any racial bias there might have been in the Legion, at least for his own garrison. "Is this gate open for use?" Two of the youngest guards were looking at him like he was Akatosh made flesh. The others, thankfully, were doing their duty and watching the surrounding area for any sign of danger.
"For those who have legitimate business, yes," the guard told him, waving up at the walls. Moments later, the unpainted, crooked gates started to swing open. "No need to ask you yours, of course. You're the Hero of Kvatch." He wasn't a hero-worshipper like the two boys in his squad, but there was definitely a healthy level of respect in his tone.
"Even so, it's best that you do your duty with no exceptions," replied Gorgoth. "I'm here to see the Count. Where is he?"
If the guardsman took insult at the subtle reprimand, he wisely didn't show it. "If he's not in the County Hall, he'll be in the barracks with Captain Draconis." The gates finished swinging inwards, and the Imperial bowed his head briefly. "Don't let me keep you."
"Carry on, guardsman." The Orc turned and entered Leyawiin. At a glance, it mostly appeared to be unchanged from how it had been before Dagon's invasion, but closer examination revealed traces of the desperate battle that had been fought here. A large scorched circle of hard, black earth just inside the gate was an obvious reminder of the spell that had slaughtered the Daedric attackers. Other areas were burnt as well, however; the inhabitants of the nearby houses would have had to thank the damp atmosphere for preventing anything worse than scorched timbers and some dented walls. And, of course, there would be the smell; he was willing to bet that if he knelt and smelt the wet, muddy earth, he would catch some scent of the blood and fire that had prevailed that day.
But, of course, it was no Kvatch. The citizens were going about their everyday business without much change, though wariness was prevalent everywhere. Some wore hunted expressions, some were obviously fearful, and the white-and-green surcoat of the City Watch was visible everywhere. As Gorgoth walked through the throng, many turned to gaze at him. Several pointed, and a low buzz of conversation reached his ears. A few fools cheered. Of course they would worship their Hero of Leyawiin, the Orc who had saved their city in such dramatic fashion, while ignoring the many who had been equally heroic; Lurog, Mazoga and Dralasa had been instrumental long before he had arrived, but he suspected that few would remember them. He wondered if they would love Gorgoth gro-Kharz as much as they loved their Hero. Almost definitely not.
He passed through the crowd without incident, ignoring the few who tried to talk to him, and reached the heavily-guarded Castle Leyawiin. The Watch Sergeant at the gates to the courtyard directed him to the barracks. As he approached, the Orc noted with some satisfaction that the courtyard was full of new recruits being drilled by veterans of the battle. Captain Draconis certainly had some degree of competence.
She was in the barracks, leaning over a table and poring over a map of Leyawiin that was held in place by her helmet and gauntlets. Her auburn hair hung over her face, and her brown eyes were tired, but it was clear that she wasn't going to rest until she was satisfied that her City Watch was back up to something approaching strength. Definitely competent. Beside her stood Count Marius Caro. In the barracks, he looked slightly out of place in his upper-class finery, but he'd proved his worth in the battle. He was almost certainly the only Count in Cyrodiil to have faced the enemy invaders personally and shed blood in defence of his city. For that, Gorgoth was willing to respect him.
The ruler of Leyawiin looked up as the Orc approached. He was past thirty and already balding, but his broad shoulders and slightly muscular build meant that he certainly wouldn't look out of place in armour, and he wore the longsword at his hip like it belonged there. Of course, the last time the warrior-shaman had seen him, he'd been irritable and still recovering from the wound he'd taken in the fighting, but now he was fully recovered with his courtesy back in place. "It is good to see you again, Gorgoth," he stated, moving around the table and holding out his hand. The sincerity in his eyes meant that he wasn't completely lying.
The Orsimer removed his gauntlet and clasped the Imperial's hand firmly, feeling swordsman's calluses. "Have there been any other Gates?" he asked.
"None," responded the Count. "We heard some accounts of a few just over the border in Black Marsh, but the Argonians dealt with them well enough."
"Have you sent any men to Bruma? There are Gates opening there every day, near enough, and the fighting will only get harder."
Caro's face twisted into a grimace as he turned back to the table. "The battle left us with barely fifty fit men in the Watch," he sighed. "We've got our numbers back up to two hundred and fifty, but most of them are green. I won't send them north to their deaths." Gorgoth could see the conflict on the Count's face; on one hand, he didn't want to fail Bruma in its time of need, but on the other, he cared for his men; stripping Leyawiin of its veterans would leave few enough to train the new recruits, and sending the new unbloodied men would mean untenable casualties.
"Soon the time might come to make a decision," he warned Caro. "But that is not why I came. I have business with the Blackwood Company."
The Imperial raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with his Watch Captain. "What do you want with them?"
Gorgoth folded his arms and met his gaze. "The Blackwood Company are outlaws who regularly send their men out to do illegal contracts by having them ingest Hist sap from a tree that they've smuggled into their Company Hall."
"Do you have any proof?" asked the Count after a few seconds, his incredulity swiftly controlled as he forced his face into a neutral expression.
"What I know was extracted from a higher-ranking member. You'll get tangible proof when I destroy their headquarters and bring you part of their tree."
The ruler of Leyawiin grimaced. "While I've got no liking for those unscrupulous bastards at the Company... I can't act without proof. I can't sanction this operation of yours. And I-"
"I did not come here for your approval. I merely thought that it was common courtesy to inform a Count when you're about to slaughter some inhabitants of his city."
Caro exchanged another look with his Watch Captain, who shrugged. Shaking his head, the Imperial leaned closer. "Do what you want to the Company," he muttered, his voice low. "But keep it contained. I don't want violence in my streets. Bring me the proof and I'll have the City Watch round up the Company, but until you have it, don't be too... obvious."
Gorgoth nodded. "I'll be discreet if I have to." He'd rather not have to defy the Leyawiin City Watch to get at Ri'Zakar and his tree, but he would if he had to. "Expect me back before the day is out." He turned on his heel and left the barracks.
It had begun to rain in his brief stay inside, but he ignored the water beating on his armour as he made his way over to the Blackwood Company Hall. All around him, the population of Leyawiin lowered their heads and hastened their steps, clearly used to the dreary weather. He dismissed the thought of calling upon his former comrades in the Guild to help; some might be of use, but in this case he would work best alone.
The headquarters of the Blackwood Company was a large, long wooden hall near the centre of Leyawiin. The sword-and-axe were prominently engraved into the large double doors and into the sign that hung above them. There were no guards in evidence at the doors, but a glance around the square revealed a few green surcoats amongst the crowd. They wouldn't matter; once he was inside, the Company was doomed and no intervention would save it. Walking up to the building, he stole a quick look around the square before placing both hands on the wooden walls. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he placed an enveloping Illusion spell around the building, stepping back as it seeped into the timbers. No sound would escape until he ceased his maintenance of the spell.
Moving over to the doors, he found them locked. A quick, simple unlocking spell dealt with that. He pushed them open and entered, closing the doors behind him and subtly sealing them with a magical shield before looking around. The entrance hall was fairly spacious, with stairs leading to a balcony and the upper level. Through another pair of double doors right in front of him was clearly the dining hall; most of the Company was in there, sitting on the long benches and eating lunch. None were interested in him, but the handful of Company men lounging around in the entrance hall certainly were.
"I don't recognise you," claimed an Argonian, looking up from where he was sharpening his longsword. Up above, a Khajiit leaning on the balcony frowned down at him. The mixture of races sitting in the entrance hall were mostly regarding him with suspicious curiosity, but there was no outright alarm; he might simply be a Company member returning to the Hall without his surcoat.
"Didn't I see you in the Fighters Guildhall once?" asked a Redguard, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he rose to his feet, his hand dropping to rest on the haft of his war axe.
Gorgoth did not reply; instead, he took two steps forward and peered into the canteen. There had to be at least ninety men in there, and more would be around the Hall; there would be an underground section, as the area above ground was far too small to host the entire Company. "I asked you a question, greenskin," barked the Redguard, grabbing the Orc's arm.
"Yes, you did," responded Gorgoth, turning to meet the man's gaze before shoving him away, drawing Sinweaver and the Thornblade. Before anyone could raise the alarm, a hundred jagged lightning bolts shot from the end of each blade, scything into the dining hall and cutting down Company men as they ate. Within seconds, the air was rich with the stench of burning flesh and shattered corpses were all that remained of most of the strength of the Blackwood Company.
The inhabitants of the entrance hall had survived unscathed, but none seemed particularly intent on challenging him. "You... you..." the Redguard frantically reached for his axe as he stumbled backwards. The Orc moved smoothly forward and impaled him on Sinweaver, kicking the corpse off the Ayleid blade as one of the Argonians finally found his voice and shouted for help.
As blood started to stain the wood of the floorboards, a bell started to toll in the depths of the hall, and he could hear doors throughout the building slamming open, footsteps rushing over the floor upstairs. The Khajiit who had been on the balcony was watching the slaughter of his comrades with wide eyes, seemingly paralysed with fear until one of his Imperial comrades slapped him around the back of the head as he dashed past. By that time, both of the warrior-shaman's blades were crimson to the hilt. He spun swiftly on his heel to deal with the Imperial as the Company man slipped on the wet floor, leaving himself open to the slash that cut off the top of his skull.
"Are any of you worthy of calling yourselves warriors?" snarled the Orc, glaring around at the few survivors in sight, who were cautiously backing away from him, fear evident in their eyes.
The Khajiit on the balcony shuffled backwards and turned to run, only to find his way blocked by another Khajiit. This larger, braver feline shoved his compatriot out of the way and strode up to the railing, glaring down at the Orcish invader. He was clad in dark steel mail from neck to ankles, and two shortswords were grasped in bare fists. "Try me, Guildsman," he growled, vaulting over the railing and landing lightly in front of the Orsimer.
He was tall and muscular for a Khajiit, almost reaching Gorgoth's chin, with deep red fur and chilling golden eyes. His hair was tied tightly back into a pair of braids, in similar fashion to the Orc's own hair. Slashing the air in front of him with both swords, he settled into a half-crouch, poised to dart in any direction. "Ri'Zakar," stated the warrior-shaman, firmly plating his feet and sheathing the Thornblade, grasping Sinweaver's hilt firmly in his right hand.
It was not a question, but the Pakseech nodded nonetheless. "I know my death when I see it," he rasped, eyeing the darkly glowing claymore in the Orc's hand. There was a sense of finality in his voice, the tone an old warrior might use when he suspects the end had finally come.
"Where is the Hist Tree?" asked Gorgoth, glancing around the hall. There were no more than five other Company men in attendance, all with weapons drawn. There was a large empty space around him and their leader; conspicuously, no one was taking a stand beside him. Their fear was almost palpable.
"A steel kiss is all you'll have from me, Orc," snarled Ri'Zakar, leaping forward. The warrior-shaman moved to meet him, jerking backwards to avoid one blow and parrying the other with Sinweaver before slamming his free fist into the cat-man's chest, forcing him backwards and into the perfect range for the claymore. He swung quickly with speed that few would imagine possible with a one-handed grip on such a heavy weapon, forcing the Khajiit to block with both swords, knocking him off balance. The Pakseech recovered quickly, however, and span around to the Orc's rear, landing two ineffective hits on his backplate before he could turn.
Ducking low under Gorgoth's riposte, the cat-man surged up to within his reach again, thrusting towards what weak points he could see in the Akaviri-styled plate. The Orc hammered his fist into one arm, knocking it aside, and caught the other blade with Sinweaver's guard, locking the blades together as he kicked the Khajiit in the stomach, sending him staggering backwards. Darting forward, he grabbed one of the Pakseech's wrists in his left hand, holding it tight in a vice grip as he wrenched his blade free before slashing towards his enemy's neck.
Spitting obscenities, the cat-man parried the warrior-shaman's blow again as he twisted and ducked in an attempt to free himself. A sweeping kick at Gorgoth's ankles resulted only in the Khajiit being picked up and thrown across the room. As he surged to his feet, the Orc was already bearing down on him, swinging with such power that the Khajiit's block sent him reeling onto the ground again with a deep notch in one of his blades. The Orsimer pinned him to the floor with a boot on his chest and cut downwards.
Ri'Zakar reached up and grabbed his leg in both hands, pulling at him with all his strength and succeeding in hauling the massive Orc down to join him on the floor. Unfortunately for the Khajiit, Gorgoth turned his move against him and threw himself down on top of the cat-man's leg as he tried to scramble free. Even in this comparatively light plate armour, the warrior-shaman had to weigh well over twenty stone. He felt the Pakseech's leg shatter under his weight and wasted no time in rolling over onto his chest and slamming his plate-clad fist down into the Khajiit's face, again and again, until nothing remained but a bloody mess.
Hearing rapid footsteps crossing the wooden floor, the Orc got to his feet in time to parry a wild lunge from a Redguard, forcing his sword aside and cutting his shoulder open with a powerful slash. He stepped back to watch as the Company man staggered backwards, eyes going wide as his sword dropped from numb fingers. The Redguard clutched at his shoulder and started to retch as a sickly, corrupt blackness spread over what could be seen of his tanned skin. He fell to the ground, writhing and gurgling desperately as the blackness swiftly claimed the rest of his body. The corpse continued to twitch for some time.
Gorgoth looked each of the survivors in the eye, raising his left fist, still dripping with blood and bone and brain matter. "If you do not waste my time by forcing me to fight you all, you will not end up like him," he told them, nodding towards what used to be a Redguard. "Or him." His thumb jerked over his shoulder at Ri'Zakar's shattered body.
The choice was obvious for cowards such as these. One by one, the four Company men came to kneel in front of him and lay their weapons at his feet. True to his word, the warrior-shaman gave them the mercy of a quick death, spikes of Destruction magicka plunging into their souls and ending their existence on this realm. The lifeless bodies slumped over in front of him, leaving him alone with the dead.
After wiping his gauntlet and sword clean on a rag torn from a surcoat, he renewed his spell of life detection and looked around. As he'd predicted, there was an underground section; no life remained above ground, but there were several figures moving around downstairs. That was probably where the tree would be; it was unlikely that they would keep it in plain sight of any visitor to their hall. After kicking open a few doors, he finally found some steps leading downwards. He advanced with Blood King in his fist, left hand raised with various spells at the ready.
A heavy oak door soon confronted him, and he pushed it open, walking into a stone-floored cavernous chamber. The room was dominated by what had to be the Hist tree: a tall pine with a thick, grotesque trunk. It stood in a small expanse of black soil in the middle of the chamber, with Dwemer piping attached to various parts of the roots and trunk. Steam was thick in the air, and the grinding, hissing noises of machinery had reached his ears the instant he'd opened the door. Gorgoth's face unconsciously twisted into a snarl; the Blackwood Company was desecrating a tree regarded as sacred by many Argonians.
There were six Argonians working on the machinery around the tree, and most didn't even see their deaths coming as the Destruction magic descended upon them. Instead of killing the last survivor, the Orc merely paralysed him and took his time in making his way over, looking around the chamber. The machines were large and complicated, taking up most of the space around the edges, but what they produced was clear to see; several barrels of a yellow, sticky sap were lined up against the far wall, along with several vials already full of the same substance. He took a sniff and recoiled; the foul, sickly sweet stench reeked of wrongness. Orcish berserkers were valued parts of any army, but using tainted Hist sap to turn mercenaries into berserkers and remove all moral inhibitions was something else entirely.
After disarming the last remaining Company man, Gorgoth released the paralysis spell and kicked him back to the ground when he tried to leap up. He was a young Argonian, clad in robes rather than armour and surcoat, and looked to be an apprentice rather than anyone of importance. Still, he would know what Gorgoth needed. He grabbed the front of his robes and lifted him bodily off the ground so they saw face to face, thrusting the point of a conjured shortsword just under his eye. "How do I stop this?" he asked, nodding towards the machinery.
"The pipes..." rasped the hapless lizard, waving in their direction, the terror plain in his deep-set green eyes. "They feed... the tree. Not enough... soil... Just break it... all." The Orc nodded and thrust his shortsword up into the Argonian's chest before dropping him and leaving him to drown in his own blood. He ran his hand over the pipes, feeling their thickness. Some seemed to be feeding the tree, while others collected the sap. Shrugging, he took one of the vials of Hist sap and walked over to the door that led upstairs before turning to give the Hist tree one last look. He raised his hand.
The entire chamber exploded, fire erupting from every piece of machinery in the room. Bark and sap flew everywhere as the Hist tree shattered, the pine needles vaporised by the maelstrom before they'd even started to fall. A magical shield protected Gorgoth from the complete ruin of the source of the Blackwood Company's power. When the explosions finally halted, only scorched stone, shattered machinery and splintered wood remained of their sordid operation. The Company was finished.
Gorgoth turned and left the room, ignoring the smoke curling up past him as he made his way back towards the surface. He had destroyed most of the Company's strength and killed their leader, and with the bottle in his hand, combined with the destruction below, he could convince the Count to take the rest into custody. What happened then was no concern of his; Caro could hang them or pardon them, it mattered not. Their threat to his Guild was extinguished.
His thoughts turned to the Fighters Guild; Modryn would be back in Chorrol by now, making arrangements. It was almost certain that there would be a new Guildmaster; nearly everyone had lost all confidence in Vilena Donton. That would leave the way open for him to rejoin, and while he had business to take care of back in Orsinium, the Orc felt that he had a place in the Guild. A purpose. A cause. And that was good enough for him.
He dispelled the magic surrounding the building, banished his shield, and stepped out into the rain. Caro had not been idle, and apparently he was willing to stake much on Gorgoth's word; a full company of twenty guardsmen were stationed near the Company Hall, holding several disarmed members captive at sword point. Watch Captain Draconis stepped forward with an expectant expression. "You have proof, I assume?" she asked, looking over his shoulder at the thin wisps of smoke escaping from the open doors of the hall.
The warrior-shaman placed the vial of Hist sap into her hand. "I destroyed the rest," he told her. "That is what they were drinking. Question any of them and you will likely hear what they've been brainwashed to say, but you'll be able to infer enough."
She met his gaze for a few seconds before giving a short nod. "Thank you. I'll inform the Count." She motioned to her men before leading them off in the direction of the castle, taking their prisoners with them and leaving two men to guard the hall. Gorgoth felt something like satisfaction stirring within him, but he ruthlessly suppressed the emotion. The Company might have been destroyed, but there were far more dangerous enemies to contend with yet. He turned and headed towards the stables.
A/N: And thus a quest line draws to a close... as does another, if you were paying close attention during Steffan's POV. In places, it's a very dialogue-heavy chapter... do let me know via a review if you have any feedback, because I can't improve otherwise. That's why I value reviews so much...