"Dragon!" he heard someone give voice to their fear.
Somewhere above him, a tower of stone shuddered under the landing of something huge.
In spite of the fact that an arrow was planted in his shoulder and another on his arse, it was all Flokir of Riften could do not to laugh.
'Perhaps Akatosh had intervened,' he wondered.
The shock of being hit in the rear had worn off moments before. It took every bit of discipline in Flokir to stay silent.
A loud noise came from the top of the tower. It was a noise he had never heard, and one he knew would never forget.
The light of day visibly dimmed.
He lie still on the cobble path only half way to freedom, unable to look up.
Explosions of fire erupted all over Helgen, and Flokir took a risk. He reached around for the arrows and ripped them out. To quicken the clotting of his wounds, he cast a healing spell.
To his knowledge, Flokir had not attracted attention from his actions.
The thief looked up, and saw carnage like never seen before. Houses were aflame and stone walls were crumbling under a roving stream of fire.
He was suddenly aware of several voices ahead of him.
"Haming, you need to get over here, now!" Flokir recognized the voice of Hadvar. "That a boy, you're doing great."
"Torolf, gods everyone get back!"
A terrible shout came from up the road, and Flokir sprang into action quick enough to take cover from the roaring flames. As stayed in cover, Hadvar spotted him.
"Still alive prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."
Hadvar crossed the street, and ducked into an alley. Flokir followed close by.
"Keep close to the walls!" Hadvar shouted just in time for the dragon to land on the walls, and shower anyone in front of the soldier with fire.
Flokir was pressed against the stone wall hoping that the dragon would not notice him. His hopes were not in vain, and the dragon just flew off as he didn't care about his prey.
Flokir saw the opening, and took it. With the bony legionary behind him, he ran through a labyrinth of destruction. It ended when he found the front door of a burning house, which Hadvar kicked down without a second thought.
Between him and the closed gate, he saw a handful of angry battlemages fighting a losing battle.
"It's you and me prisoner, stay close." Flokir followed him, keeping his eyes peeled for a chance to escape.
They entered the courtyard of Helgen's Keep. He could not help but feel a streak of optimism. From the keep of Helgen, there would be an escape route that constructed for times when the garrison had to pull out in a hurry or in secret.
As they ran for the keep, he could see soldiers approaching. They were Stormcloaks armed and spoiling to kill something within reach.
"Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!" Hadvar addressed the blond who stood at the forefront in a tone that suggested something personal between the two.
"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time," Ralof rebuked Hadvar.
He got a look at the men standing behind Ralof. Among them was Ulfric himself as well as the man he had foolishly tried to rob, and would never have bothered if every bounty hunter and sellsword in the Rift wasn't looking for him.
"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar screamed at the Stormcloak. No doubt they were friends once.
The Stormcloaks simply passed him by. Not one save the strange man in tattered gray tunic even paid him any mind.
Their eyes met for a moment. Flokir could not place it, but there was something unnatural about his eyes which seemed to bore into his very soul. In those stormy blue eyes, he could see undisguised contempt. The lines on his face tightened with displeasure. His face was one, that it took a second look to realize that some of the lines on his face were just old scars.
His focus shifted to that of his companions as they passed him by.
Flokir likewise looked for Hadvar, and was rewarded by a hand gesture. "With me, into the keep!" Hadvar shouted once they passed.
Ralof was the first one in through the door. He had seen how the other Stormcloaks looked at him, and it was clear he knew this place best.
The interior of the castle, was well furnished with the stuffed heads of unmutated wildlife. The floor was graced by a large rug of a strange pattern. What grabbed his attention most, was the banners along the that hung from the top of the walls. A strange symbol in crimson, was curled up in the shape of a rhombus against a black background. It had horns giant wings and a long serpentine tail.
He thought back to the parade ground, and realized that there was a similar banner over there. He kicked himself mentally for not noticing it sooner. Contemplating the banner, it was obvious that they were not Caesar's Legion.
'So who were they?' David thought to himself. Had someone in the better half of Colorado, rebelled against the leadership of Edward Sallow? It wouldn't be the first civil war he'd seen.
"So this is it," Chief Ulfric asked Ralof in his deep voice that brought David out of his contemplation.
Aside from Ralof, there were two other Stormcloaks as well as their chief. All in all, there were five of them.
"No my lord, at least not this way."
"I don't know where that dragon came from, but I do know that without it, we'd all be a foot shorter and a lot less talkative." 'A dragon?' David thought with a start. He had no clue what to think except for 'oh shit.' From what he had seen, the thing looked like a Northern Deathclaw with wings.
"That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends. The Harbingers of the end times." David snickered, the end times came 200 years ago, and now the descendants of the wicked were left to survive on a land their ancestors destroyed. Now its children, warred with one another over things Old America would call insignificant.
"Let's get that door open," Ulfric pointed at an iron door. One soldier tried to open it, but it was locked.
"Get moving," a familiar and harsh voice served to remind him that enemies were only one gate away. "Get this gate open!"
No sooner had barked out order, the gate began to rumble open. Following the cues from the Stormcloaks, he pressed himself against the circular wall of the entry room.
The first enemy soldier entered the room and didn't even have time to react to Ralof swinging an ax at his unprotected throat. The steel ax bit into the legionary who fell to stone floor trying in vain to pull it out.
The second one was man with a youthful face and a frame that did a poor job filling his armor entered, and went straight to Ulfric swinging wildly. The Stormcloak Chieftain grabbed the wrist of the skinny swordsman, and forced him to drop his weapon. With his other hand he started pounding at the boy's exposed face.
He focused on the third. It was the bitch whose sword he had taken in the chaos. She had a new blade in hand now, and a shield in the other.
Their eyes met and for one quick moment, they sized up one another. The officer put up her shield, and changed stance, daring him to attack.
David grabbed a shield from the dead one, and moved towards her.
He brought his blade down on the shield, and the captain tried to stab him in his gut. David took two steps back and parried the attack.
She withdrew her blade, and pressed forward with a wicked slash that he avoided by leaning back. Taking advantage of his position, she put all her strength into a downward thrust with the blade.
David raised his shield in time, and the blade went through the wooden shield stopping it enough for him to cast the shield aside, and send the lodged piece of steel across the room.
Before she could recover, he struck her sword arm where it was weakest, and drew blood.
With his free hand, he ripped the shield away from the woman. With the other, he pressed the sword against her Adam's apple.
"What's my name?" he grabbed her unbloodied left arm to keep her from running away. For a moment she hesitated.
"Say my name!" David shouted for all to hear.
"Biggus... Dickus," the woman gritted the reply through her teeth.
"You're goddamn right," he released his hold and withdrew the blade. As soon as she took a deep breath, he grabbed her throat and pressed her against the cold stone wall.
"You see, that wasn't so hard lady." David spoke in a low gritty voice, and sniffed the air pretending to savor the fear that came from her body odor. It was almost strong enough for him to forget that he had emptied his own bladder a couple minutes ago upon seeing a purported fairly tale that looked very much a flying deathclaw.
"Now, we need to get out of here, and something tells me you can open that iron door." David pointed at it with the sword. She nodded indicating that she could.
"That's a good girl," he released her, and planted a light peck on her nose to see how she would react. If anything, it stripped away whatever nerve she had left.
She walked across the room and produced a key which opened the iron door, before making a run for the hallway that she came out of.
Ralof wasted no time in leading them all down the stairs that wrapped around the small fortress descending into the underground.
A rumble from above greeted them at the bottom. Something snapped and the corridor up ahead caved in leaving only a single door accessible from where they all stood.
"Damn that dragon doesn't give up easy," was all the talkative blond had to say. He opened the door, to what appeared to be a supply room.
"Take what you can carry, its still a long way to Windhelm," ordered Ulfric.
His men went to work rifling through barrels, cabinets, and crates looking for supplies. One of them tossed him a pair of boots.
David looked down and realized that he had been through the whole ordeal without something to cover his feet. The shoes in question were made of leather, and in the front, a shinguard was held in place by a pair of buckles. One was at the crown of the boot, and the other settled just above his ankle.
He put the boots on, then went looking around for supplies like the rest. In one sack, he found what he judged to be two pounds worth of potatoes and snatched it.
Ulfric ordered his men to move on. At this moment, he got an idea of what they were looking for. Some found weapons and armor, some found food, but every one of them stuffed a bottle of something into their packs.
David ran behind the rest carrying his meager plunder in the burlap sack over his shoulder.
"Troll's Blood!" Someone ahead shouted in rage, "It's a torture chamber."
He could practically feel the descending hallway heat with the rage of the now charging Stormcloaks. By the time he entered the room, the two unlucky souls were on the cold stone spilling their lifeblood, on the uneven stone floor. Not that he pitied such men.
"Jarl Ulfric, it's good to see you," an injured Stormcloak brave addressed his chief or 'jarl' as they called him. Ralof dug into his pack and produced a small red vial and handed it to the wounded man. "You'll need this."
"Thank you," replied the man as he opened the vial, and downed the contents.
He and another joined their meager fighting force, making seven in total.
"Lets move." The tribals instantly fell in line at the sound of Ulfric's voice and followed him out, with David bringing up the rear. As he left, he snatched a knapsack and stowed away his supplies. He left the now empty burlap sack in its place. It would do until he got his actual gear back wherever it was. He would have to ask around just how far they were.
They left the room through a hole in the wall that led down into a cave. He felt a flicker of hope, figuring this to be an escape tunnel.
"Orders are to wait until General Tullius arrives," a strong and gruff voice could be heard up ahead, a sergeant's David guessed.
"I'm not waiting to be killed by a dragon, we need to fall back." A younger voice objected to his commander.
He could hear the groan of something horrible on the surface.
And behind him, he could hear the enemy in their heavier armor on their tail.
Flokir picked the lock on the cage with ease, and relieved the dead mage within of his worldly possessions. By the cut of the cloth, the man was a novice with only a basic grip on magic, not unlike himself.
The robes stank of death as he put the surprisingly warm raiment on. 'Well, so did everything in here,' he decided. He only had time to put on his clothing before he heard the bulk of the Legion rushing down the hallway. Before long, soldiers in dark red and polished steel crowded the torture chamber.
"Where's General Tullius?" Flokir watched his gaze knowing that he was speaking to the officer charged to oversee his execution.
"He's still up there I think... there's others trapped up there." Her voice was so changed by fear, that he almost didn't recognize it. "He'll leave from the North gate, with the townsfolk and the Thalmor."
He could hear Hadvar sigh at the mention of the Thalmor party that he'd spotted earlier. The bony Nord had a dislike of those purist bastards that Flokir, like many in Skyrim had come to share. Those he knew had a habit of viewing humans the way he might view a dog, and he was well aware that he was considered a mongrel breed.
"And you, are you here to evacuate the keep's garrison?" Hadvar asked the woman, who had probably left her stones somewhere upstairs.
"I need your help Quaestor." The woman replied addressing him by his rank. "Catch them... The Stormcloaks... they'll kill everyone we don't get to first."
"Yes, captain." Hadvar motioned for them to lead the way.
Flokir grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall, and was the first out of the chamber. It was a short walk down a hallway before he saw a large hole in the wall.
Lowering his torch, he could see the stone floor give way to loose gravel and then to dirt. That many had just left through the hole was obvious. Flokir even swore that he could taste the dust still in the air.
He hesitated as those behind him caught up. Flokir knew that at least one of the Stormcloaks who had gone down here knew of a way out, and he was eager to find it. Hopefully, it would happen before any one who wanted his head was the wiser. With the help of the quaestor, that would not be too hard.
On the other hand, there was only so far he dared go by himself. He had never been to Helgen, let alone its underbelly. The place seemed more likely to cave in with every passing moment and he didn't want to get lost. He also did not want to meet the Stormcloaks by himself.
That's when he heard the echoes of battle up ahead. He cautiously walked through the breach.
Not every one was cautious though. Five legionaries rushed past him to aid their brothers in arms. Behind them, Flokir quickened his pace. The element of stealth was nothing now.
He entered the chamber behind an archer who took an arrow through his helmet, and was dead before he hit the walkway.
Flokir ducked in the case that a stray arrow happened to be on its way. He made his way to the nearest railing. His right hand moved the torch as far from his face and possible, both to draw the arrows away from his face, and to help focus in the dimly lit cavern. The only thing that drowned out the skirmish was the flow of a creek somewhere nearby.
A walkway of stone wrapped around the walls, to an exit that the last of Ulfric Stormcloak's rebels were slipping away through. Three members of the Legion cautiously pursued stopped only by a barrier of fire left by their pursued. Whatever happened to the last of his number was beyond his idea. One of them looked towards him, and Flokir understood what the soldier expected.
He ran up to the fire, which would probably burn for some time if left alone. Instead, he focused on the base of the fire, and smothered it with a frostbite spell.
"Good work mage," Hadvar whispered as he caught up.
With the three, he continued down the cave with Hadvar. Somewhere behind him was the officer and at least two wounded soldiers. The exit was a narrow flight of stairs that led him to an opened drawbridge.
From above, a long reassuring ray of daylight shone on the bridge like a sign from the divines. They crossed the drawbridge, and Hadvar started barking orders to his new squad.
All words and thoughts were interrupted at another rumble from above. Flokir looked back in time to see a massive slab of rock come down on Hadvar's commanding officer and the drawbridge as well.
Flokir felt a grim streak of satisfaction as he saw his escape getting easier.
"Damn it. No going back that way." One of the legion heavy footmen stated the obvious with gloom in his voice.
"I guess we're just lucky that it only took one of us," replied another guard.
We'd better move, I'm sure the others will find another way out." Hadvar spoke as if his words were enough to condemn the anyone behind them. "Let's try not to engage the Stormcloaks."
"That must be the way out," Ralof kept his exited voice low lest he invoke the wrath of the sleeping bear. "I knew we'd make it."
He didn't know how, but they all managed to sneak past the bear without disturbing it. They called it a cave bear. The creature looked unlike any Yao Guai he had seen. No matter how far from the bombed zones he went, those hairless bastards were always around.
Not many species could have benefited from radiation, but the almost ghoulified descendants of bears had become tough enough to take on just about anything else that shared the world.
He was not in the mood to engage the sleeping creature, and no one else was for that matter.
David was the second to leave the hole in the ground and face the blinding sunlight.
They all took a moment to adjust to the light of the day. When he did, he heard a curious noise from up ahead. Turning his gaze to the sound, he saw the monster from earlier just flying off into the morning sky.
"Let's get out of here. I think they're still on our tails." Ulfric chief of the Stormcloaks ordered his people to press on in his low baritone voice.
As they began making distance, Ralof suddenly collapsed not a hundred feet from the cave exit. With a cry of pain he landed on his knees.
His people stopped only for him to tell them to go on without him.
David took a moment to asses the man's injuries. He had taken a nasty cut on his left arm among other injuries that should have by rights severed an artery. "What is it, blood loss?" He inquired.
"No," Ralof shook his head. "It's spider venom." I just need to let the poison run its course, but that may take some time." He recalled walking into that den of hairy freaks that probably ate fire ants for breakfast. He had managed to keep himself from being bitten or being wherever they spewed their poison. Ralof on the other hand was bitten several times. The only reason he was feeling it now, was probably because his adrenaline was wearing out. Besides," he changed his tone somewhat, "My sister lives over in Riverwood. I won't attract much attention by myself, and I can recover there. Otherwise, I'll only slow you down."
"Then hopefully, we'll meet again soon Ralof." Ulfric bid him farewell then moved down the road with the rest of his followers. Ulfric turned his head one last time to face him, "Take care of Ralof will you, its a long way to Windhelm from here for one wounded man to travel." David said nothing and watched them go. Once they were gone, Ralof asked for help in getting to Riverwood.
"How far's that?" David asked thoughtfully.
"Not too far from here. Should be no more than a few hours north of here on foot." The wounded soldier pointed to indicate north.
"I'm not carrying you all the way to your to your family, if that's what you're asking," David may have been blessed with excellent strength thanks to his dad's side of the family, but he wasn't about to carry a complete stranger over unfamiliar territory.
"Talos forbid, I let anyone carry me like that." Ralof shook his head. "I can still use my feet, I'll just need help staying up."
David offered his hand which Ralof accepted. He pulled the Stormcloak to his feet, which seemed to shake just a little. He brought the hand he held around his shoulder, and without a word, they started down the rocky path to Riverwood eager to get as far from the Legion stronghold as possible.
David knew there had to be other survivors. Most of them would not be friendly. Wherever he was, stranger and enemy could be the same word.
He felt a small sense of comfort in having a blade at his side, and a free hand to use it.
Author's Note:
So many questions last about last chapter and the story in general came up. Here's a little info.
First of all, many of you have been asking about David's gear. Rest assured that he will recover it eventually.
Second, Ulysses will be around, but it will probably be a chapter or two before I can start his arc.
And finally for all who asked about a certain general's great friend in the Imperial city. There is no house of Dickus (Although it's fun to pretend that someone's descended from the hero of Kvatch), and yes he has a wife. Figure out your own names for her though, I doubt it will even matter in the story tbh.
Special thanks to Mandalore the Freedom for beta reading and being the best consultant a writer like me can ask for.
As always Favorite, Like, Review.