Chapter 4

Saetring had a despairing look on his face as he stood inside the circle of survivors. He had been forced inside by Carius and Brellin after his sword had been flung away along with the reincarnated troll. Even as the Nord watched, Chorrol militia and guards were being pulled from their comrades and torn apart. The Fighters Guild was taking less casualties; their members trained extensively for combat against monsters. Saetring was useless without his sword. His shield lay on the ground beside him where he had dropped it. Its steel body gleamed in the sun. It was hopeless, Saetring decided. There was no end to the masses of undead that had assaulted one of Cyrodiil's major cities, their claws sharp and eyes filled with an unquenchable thirst for blood. The necromancers had summoned them using some kind of newly discovered power from the dark province of Morrowind.

Nalmila.

The thought of the Dunmer land brought his attention to his old companion. She was currently engaged in a slashing match against an undead with unusually long claws, almost talons. Saetring cried out as he saw the zombie open a gash on her leg but she ripped it up the centre with her dagger. Saetring felt his berserker's rage come upon him once more. He stooped, picked up his shield and re-strapped it to his left arm.

Brellin felt himself be violently thrown aside by a gauntleted hand. He spun around, sword whistling at neck height but stopped when he saw Saetring shoulder past a Fighters Guild swordsman. Though he had no sword, he crushed the undead in his path with his heavy shield and knocked them to the ground with his muscled arms. Brellin had seen enough of the Nordic people to know a berserk rage when he saw one. Saetring quickly smashed a path through the undead leaving a trail of twitching bodies in his wake. "Now!" shouted Brellin before the undead could fill in the gap, "Follow the shield-bearer!"

Brellin sprang foward, swiping a head from the undead's shoulders. He was followed by the bulk of his forces, some remaining behind to cover their escape. Erecting an arcane shield in front of him, he bulled over the quicker of the undead as they attempted to close the gap behind Saetring. Saetring stayed well in front, hardly even slowing to smash in a head or crush an outstretched arm. His fury was undiminished by the carnage he created; it was only swelled by the foul stench the rotting bodies released.

Whump!

A missile impacted against Saetring, the cloud of Darkness exploding from it. Brellin nearly fell in shock. They had been so close to breaking through, to escape. All their hopes had rested on his berserk companion and now, they were shattered.

"Saetring!" Nalmila screamed.

Brellin didn't wish to watch as the Darkness cleared but his eyes were locked to it. Around him, the survivors fanned out, creating another ring of defence. The Darkness began to become transparent and behind it Brellin could see movement. He can't be alive after that! He thought numbly. But Saetring was. His whole body shimmered in the sunlight; an unknown magic coursing over his skin. Saetring drew himself up to full height and uttered four words. They were in a language unknown to Brellin and Saetring's voice turned so deep that he couldn't make the words out. As his voice thundered across the city, a large from began to materialize behind the ranks of undead. It began to acquire shape and mass. No... it can't be... that's an impossibility.

But against all of his mental disbelief, Brellin's eyes could see a dragon crouched in the city of Chorrol. The dragon was protected along its back, limbs and tail but a thick layer of diamond-hard, brown scales. Its talons were half a metre long, curving downwards into a needle sharp point. It's eyes smouldered dangerously as it viewed Saetring. The latter shouted a command at its summoned beast in the language from before. Instantly, the dragon began to lay waste to the undead near it. It's talons sheared through their rotting flesh and bones, its fire incinerated them. The men and guildspeople of Chorrol watched in disbelief as this creature they thought a myth destroyed their enemies.

"Now!" Saetring thundered, "Go!"

As one, they broke their reverie and began to press for the castle. Any undead in their path was cut down or obliterated with magic. They spread out to fill the street as the majority of the undead were already destroyed by the dragon. The beast itself spread its wings and threw itself from the ground, spraying it with fire. The undead caught in the flames howled.

The survivors cleared their way to the castle gate, only to find them closed and being assaulted by an only slightly smaller group of undead than before.

"Stand back!" Saetring ordered. He then raised his face to the sky and shouted in the unknown language. The dragon answered with a roar as it sped towards them. They all sprinted away as the cries from the guards atop the parapets echoed against the stone. The dragon opened its maw and bright flame gushed forth. It engulfed the undead in seconds, leaving them to run around, aflame. The dragon swooped down and snatched one up into its jaw. After rising again it dropped to the road, slaying the zombies in a violent fury. Brellin and the other survivors watched with a sick fascination as their enemies were torn apart. When it had finished its blood bath the dragon eyed them, sniffed at Saetring and vanished. The gate creaked ponderously open and the survivors rushed inside.