To say the Emrik was unimpressed with the King in Rags was somewhat of an understatement, but as soon as the elderly man turned his eyes upon Emrik, all doubts as to the Kings' power and influence were washed away.
"Your Highness," Emrik said with some formality, bowing slightly. "I –"
"Come in the name of the self-proclaimed Bandit King," Madanach said tiredly, turning back to his desk and parchment. "I have eyes and ears everywhere in the Reach. Even in a cell, I know everything that happens in my kingdom."
Emrik hid his surprise at Madanach's blunt statement of the truth, but quickly realised that it only made sense that the King in Rags would know the occurrences of the Reach.
He cleared his throat. "I'm here in the hope that we can discuss a treaty between our kingdom and yours."
Madanach sighed. "As impressed as I am at how quickly your bandit kingdom has grown, the Forsworn have no intentions of forging alliances. Especially not while their king is still in a cell."
"Then let's get you out of here!" Emrik proclaimed quickly.
The King in Rags chuckled. "I can get out whenever I want. Are you really that naïve? A prison break isn't just about escaping the prison, it's about timing and execution. I have a plan, I'm just waiting for the ideal moment." He then looked at Emrik quizzically. "But I suppose… if you made it here without alerting the guards, perhaps this is the greatest opportunity that will present itself for years…" He trailed off.
Emrik stood silently, completely aware that anything he might say could break Madanach's trail of thought and result in them not escaping as soon as he desired.
"It's decided," Madanach said at last, standing from his desk and pushing past Emrik. "Follow me."
He led Emrik back the way he'd come, through a a simple tunnel and to the gate where the Orc still stood guard. Although the he'd only seen the Orc some minutes ago, Emrik couldn't help but wonder if the beast ever slept. He immediately thought of Guraag and might have smirked at the similarity, if this situation was any less serious.
"My King," the Orc nodded, trying to hide both amusement and surprise.
Several people who were sleeping or resting lamely amongst the space were quickly aroused and alerted at the presence of Madanach. His presence here must have meant something significant was bound to occur. It was obvious that the King in Rags controlled his people through both respect and fear.
Much like Ti'laan, Emrik thought to himself. No wonder he wanted to reach out to this man.
"My friends," Madanach addressed the small gathering. "The time has come for the king to return, and lead the Forsworn against the rest of the Reach. You may follow me with undivided loyalty, or stay here to rot and, eventually, die." Emrik said nothing as Madanach looked evenly at each of his followers in turn. There were five of them, including the Orc. The others were human races, mostly. Some resembled elves, so Emrik assumed they were Bretons.
Madanach spoke. "Follow me." He made off to a part of the mine that Emrik didn't know existed. The troop of them travelled unnoticed by the still unconscious guards, and when they finally arrived at what looked like any other dirt wall, Madanach gestured for the Orc. "Borkul."
The Orc stepped forward and dug his fingers into the wall, tearing at it until the dirt collapsed to the ground, revealing a tunnel.
Madanach stepped into the tunnel without waiting for the others to follow. Borkul went second, and a human went third. Emrik ducked in after her, and was immediately astonished at what he saw.
It is said that Markarth used to belong to the dwemer before their mysterious disappearance from the face of Tamriel. While Men now controlled the city, and would have others believe it was they who constructed it, a labyrinth of dwarven ruins rested beneath the city. Emrik had just stepped into such ruins. The ceilings were high and the stone fine, decorated with coppers and bronzes. Steam drifted eerily from grates that lined the roof and the floor, and the ominous sound of moving metal could be heard echoing throughout.
Madanach crouched to the floor and held out a hand. The woman amongst them gave him a shiv, and he used it to begin sketching on the floor their path of escape. Emrik watched intently as the King in Rags traced rooms and corridors, before drawing a line that would lead them from where they were to their exit - their freedom.
"Come." Madanach stood, giving the shiv back to the woman. He made off again, his subjects and Emrik in tow.
He led them through a myriad of corridors and rooms, each one more decorated and regal than the last. Twice did he crouch to draw his map again, making edits as he needed with growing frustration. No one spoke, but Emrik could taste the anticipation in the air. He couldn't deny how infectious it was; he felt it too. Even though he'd spent a short time in prison, his eagerness to return to what was familiar was unparalleled.
They continued on their path. It felt as though they were delving deeper into the bowels of this ruin, and Emrik kept a feeling of growing anxiety at bay as they continued to move downward with little intent of moving up.
He paused. "What was that?"
Everyone looked at him, not with worry or concern, but with scorn. "Looks like someone's getting a little jumpy," one of the humans jeered.
"No, I'm serious." Emrik listened, his ears twitching as he tried to collect what he'd heard. "Something... It sounds like something's coming this way."
"Automatons." Madanach scowled.
Soon everyone could here it. The rattle of metal on metal, fast and deliberate. Something was undoubtedly approaching.
A grate above them burst open in a torrent of steam, and from it spilled half a dozen mechanical spiders the size of dogs. Instead of showing fear, the Forsworn took combat stances. Some pulled shivs, others summoned magic to their fingertips, but all of them instinctively stepped toward the king, using their own bodies to shield him from harm. Emrik went for his sword and cursed that the blade wasn't there to meet his fingers. He summoned his fire magic and let the gout of flame envelope the machines.
The spiders had whirring gears on their backs, and as they spun arcs of electricity fired from them, striking the stones around their feet, daring anyone to enter their space. However, no matter who dared to damage them, their armour was strong, and Emrik felt as if they were doing little to damage their enemies.
"You need to move!" He shouted. "We can't fight these things when we're not well equipped."
A spider jumped at Borkul. He caught it midair and tossed it aside. "The outsider is right." He admitted. "We must move, King."
Borkul grabbed Madanach by the back of his shirt and forced him deeper into the ruins at a jog. The others fought off the spiders and followed suit, well aware that their attackers pursued them.
They exited the corridor and into a large room. It was larger than any room they had entered, with the stone giving way to natural dirt and rock. At its centre a flight of stairs led downward, but around it orbs of dwarven metal sat on pedestals. As they exited Emrik turned and let loose a firebolt, succeeding in blowing some of the pursuing spiders backwards. Then Madanach was in front of him. The older man raised his arms, and the air around him began to cool. Emrik stepped out of the way as the King in Rags was soon surrounded by a swirling storm of ice. He looked on in awe as the man used his magic to propel the ice forward, creating a thick slab that separated them from the spiders. When the ice had set, Madanach stumbled somewhat, and both Emrik and Borkul stepped forward to help him balance.
"It's been too long," Madanach muttered.
"Well there's no going back that way." One of the Forsworn said.
"It won't hold for long. We must keep moving." Madanach addressed the group. "We're almost at the exit. The Reach beckons."
Indeed, the spiders could be heard chipping away at the ice on the other side.
"They're smart enough to realise they can abandon the wall and get here via the grates," Emrik added. "Respectfully, King, if there was a time for haste, now is that time."
The Forsworn eyed him dangerously, but Madanach nodded in agreement.
The group began to move, but were halted by the sight of two of the orbs unfolding, revealing two machines equipped with crossbows and blades. Although reluctant, Emrik followed suit as everyone prepared for combat.
"Not you, King," Borkul growled. "We will distract these things, you find the exit."
"I may be old, but I can fight." Madanach said stubbornly, stepping forward.
"If you die, you won't have any Forsworn to lead. Who will take your place?" Emrik asked. "Your men need you to live. Make haste."
"You do not give me orders!" Madanach spat. "I am the King in Rags. Everyone here will abide by my will or be punished."
And here I was believing this man had a reputation for honeyed words, Emrik shook his head.
"We would die for you, King," the woman said. "But if you die with us, we would have nothing. We would never free the Reach from the Nords."
Madanach's fury subsided.
"Borkul, with me."
"Of course."
"The rest of you, I pray to the Old Gods we see each other soon."
A crossbow bolt clattered across the floor, returning everyone to the situation at hand. The Forsworn attacked, splitting up and going for each of the automatons in even numbers. Emrik stood back and watched as their attacks bounced harmlessly off of the armour forged by the dwarves. Although the Forsworn ducked and weaved out of harms way, Emrik knew they were facing enemies who didn't need stamina. If this continued, no one would be leaving alive.
Borkul got half way around the outside of the room with his king before charging into the fray. Madanach continued on his own as the Orc ploughed into one of the automatons, knocking it over. As the machine fell Emrik spied the glint of a soul gem, and an idea struck him.
"Borkul," he called, breaking into a run towards the beast. "Hold it down."
The Orc roared and used his weight and strength to keep the machine pinned. It raised an arm and plunged a blade into the Orcs shoulder, causing him the scream in agony and bloodlust. Emrik slid over next to the machine and commanded the surrounding Forsworn to attack the other. They obliged.
Reaching into the automatons armour, Emrik felt the smooth surface of the soul gem. He gripped it tight and summoned fire, burning the artefact away. The automaton tossed and turned, almost breaking Emrik's arm in many different places, until finally there was an audible crack and a gush of wind as the machine died.
Emrik panted as he extracted his arm, feeling that it would be bruised the following morning. Borkul gripped the blade that was still in his shoulder and - in one motion - yanked it out, hissing in pain as he did so.
By glancing over to the second sphere, it could be seen that the Forsworn were quickly growing weary. Exhaustion and lack of sustenance in the mine was finally coming to a peak, and Emrik watched helplessly as one of the four was felled where he stood. The dwarven sphere was easily fighting off its attackers, sustaining little damage and fearing no numbers.
Gathering himself, Emrik charged at the sphere in an attempt to knock it prone. He crashed into the metallic body, only hurting himself and doing little to disrupt the machine. He summoned fire and released the stream upon the automatons face. Undeterred, it swiped and Emrik and he jumped backwards, looking down at the new slash in his shirt. The bleeding and tired Forsworn had stepped out of the fight, instead picking their way across the room to where Madanach watched and waited.
Emrik leapt forward again, reaching for the soul gem. It happened in an instant, but where there was once no opposition, suddenly there was a blade. The blade itself cut straight through Emrik's hand. It protruded from his palm, holding him in place. It was like fire. Blood pumped in his ears and pain swelled in the spot where the blade still was. The adrenaline fought off his cry of agony. He watched as the automaton fired with its crossbow, dropping another one of the Forsworn. It briefly took aim again, this time at Madanach. Emrik drew on his last reserves of magicka and cast the firebolt. It sped across the room ahead of the crossbow bolt and impacted near Madanach's feet, tossing the older man out of the way.
There was a shout of alarm as the Forsworn saw this outsider cast a spell against their king, and in an instant Borkul had torn the soul gem from the second sphere and had lifted Emrik off of his feet by the throat. Emrik registered the rage in the beasts eyes, and felt the darkness closing in on him from both the loss of air and blood.
"You dare attack our King." It was a statement. The Orc was about to pass his judgement. "To hell with you."
He reached back with a shiv in hand, ready to strike Emrik.
"Wait!" The voice belonged to Madanach, but it felt... fuzzy. Emrik desperately tried to hold on, but slipped over the edge, falling into unconsciousness.
If he was expecting to awake, he wasn't expecting to awake in a tent. Emrik blinked his eyes into focus, gathering his immediate surroundings. The tent was made of leathers and furs, and was being held up by sticks and bones, strung together with rope. He was naked, that much was certain. The chill of Skyrim settled on his skin, causing goosebumps to rise.
"So you're awake then," a voice said.
Emrik looked to see a young woman, adorned in armour made of the same materials as the tent.
"Good," she said, bored. "I'm sick of babysitting. Get changed," she added. "The King wants to see you."
She left Emrik to his own thoughts. He immediately raised his hand to his face, noticing the white scar tissue where he'd been stabbed. He'd been rescued and healed. It just didn't make sense.
Standard hide armour had been placed in the tent, and Emrik hurriedly strapped it on. With it was an iron sword and some kind of bow, once again made of wood and bone. He sighed, knowing full well that he'd lost his belonging.
He stepped out of the tent, the sun meeting him as it tried to break through a thin cover of clouds. Looking around he was undoubtedly within a Forsworn camp. They mingled about dressed like savages, doing things as simple as cooking and forging new weapons or defences for the camp.
"Hey outsider," the same woman from before said. She pointed. "He's that way."
Emrik found the King in Rags sitting on a throne made entirely of the bones of people and animals. He was dressed in armour similar to that as everyone else, but this set had skulls hanging from various parts of it. Borkul the Beast stood next to the King, arms crossed. The Orc grinned menacingly at Emrik, and it took all his willpower to not flinch. Emrik was well aware that the Madanach sitting in front of him now was leaps and bounds more powerful than the Madanach who he'd met in Cidhna Mine.
Emrik dipped his head politely, waiting for Madanach to initiate proceedings.
The King raised a crossbow bolt in front of him.
"This," he began, "is the bolt that would have killed me. It would have killed me had you not acted the way you did. I am no stranger to the cycle of life and death. Many times have I acted as both judge, jury, and executioner. The Forsworn seek peace within the Reach. It belongs to us, and so we wish to see it prosper. It is, however, a peace that must be attained through war, although I wish it not so. The Nords have forced us into this act, and where we fight they retaliate with equal parts courage and ferocity. We could be attacked here in an hour, tomorrow, a week from now, or not at all. The possibility of dying is always on the doorstep for us. It is our way of life. For me to die before my role in this land is fulfilled seems unfathomable. But, it is always possible. We all danced with death in that ruin. We lost some of our own. And it was because of you, in that moment, that I had not died myself. So hear this," he placed the bolt down and leaned forward, gazing at Emrik with a certain determination and warmness. "Your King and his bandit kingdom will remain unmolested by us. But you, Emrik, I owe you a debt that I can only attempt to repay. We will not ally ourselves with the kingdom you hail from, but should you ever need the might of the Forsworn, we will aid you. Once. And only once. Do you understand?"
Through his surprise and confusion, Emrik nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"You must return to Whiterun. A handful of my men will keep you safe until you reach the border. Don't worry," he added with a sly grin. "They will assist from the shadows. To any guard of traveller, you will appear to be on your own. I invite you to stay for some hours to rest, to eat, but the next move of the Forsworn needs to be both planned and executed. I want you gone come sundown."
Emrik bowed. "Of course, King." He spoke.
Madanach nodded, and with a wave of his hand Emrik was dismissed.
He left the King in Rags behind him, meaning to return to the tent in which he'd awoken. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and the questions he had that would remain unanswered. He knew Ti'laan wouldn't be happy that Madanach had refused an alliance, but perhaps this oral treaty would be enough to keep him alive. His confusion gave way to fear.
A/N: I don't have any excuses. I lost the creative spark and moved on to other things. I finished this chapter literally a day before I'm meant to sit my first exam to mark the end of my schooling career.
A lot of you have good reason to give up or lose faith in this story. Honestly, reading over it, I've lost a little faith myself. I've noticed all of my mistakes, both grammatically and in terms of plot points. But I haven't given up. If a writer gives up once they see their work isn't perfect, we'd have no writers. As I once said, I fully intend to finish this fic. It'll be rewritten once, maybe twice, just to accommodate everything that needs to be changed or fixed. We'll finish this draft first, though. I appreciate your constructive criticism and your support. It's made me a better writer, it's made me consider so much more than I could've thought of on my own, and it's just made me feel... good, I guess. There is (or there was) a lot of creative and friendly people that wanted to read the next chapter, that wanted to see The Bandit King succeed. So I guess this is just me saying sorry and offering a huge massive thank you.
I'll see you all for chapter 13. And I won't take more than a year this time.
