A/N: Hello and good afternoon! (or morning/evening...) Thanks for reading along, and thanks to Ozymandeos and CampsMcCamper for your kind reviews to the last chapter! Here's the Karrod fight you're been waiting for! I hope it's okay, I struggle with sustained fight scenes like this, and I also tried to give it suitable framing and context – but anyway, duel time! Now I'd better go work some more on Chapter 17, I'm really starting to catch myself up :/
Another minor language warning for this one.
Chapter 14: Old Fire
The room was dimly lit, the stone floor cold.
Julan woke up.
He coughed raggedly, sweet air flowing into his lungs. Well, sweet air was an overstatement – it actually tasted rank, hot, and dusty – but it was sweet to him. He had thirsted for it like a parched mer thirsts for water.
How long had he been out? His head thumped dully as he tried to sit up, tried to piece together what had happened. They must have hit him pretty hard…
Then he roared out loud as he remembered. Llovesi! That guar-faced bitch had forced Llovesi to kill her Hand out of mercy, then tried to imply she'd been working for her all along! Then she'd turned on him and...
Another groan escaped him as Julan threw himself in vain at the bars of his cell.
Llovesi wasted no time in making her way to the throne room, fighting the urge to sprint, as she knew she would need all of her energy.
The roar of the crowd as every footstep brought her closer to the arena, the sand, the blood and destiny...
The doors to the throne room were open and Helseth was sat in his throne, urgently discussing something with some royal guards. She could see Karrod, standing by his master.
Helseth looked up briefly, then caught her eye. Something dark passed over his face, but then it was gone and his expression was impassive again, as if it had never been any different. He made a gesture to the guards and they left the room, leaving Helseth and Kaarod alone as Llovesi approached.
Hesleth stood up.
"Well, this is a surprise," he said. "I presume your... investigations are concluded? For I distinctly remember advising you not to return until they were. With the current conditions in my city I would've thought it of the utmost importance."
"Things have changed," Llovesi said. And she told him about Almalxeia's relevance to the ash storms, Julan, Salas Valor, and Trueflame being the only solution.
"Now, I wish to duel your champion for his blade," Llovesi finished, gesturing to the scimitar at Karrod's hip.
The Redguard's eyes widened slightly as she pointed, but neither Llovesi nor Helseth noticed.
"Well, well," Helseth said, giving her an appraising look. "Duel my champion for his blade. And if you should lose..."
"What?" Llovesi asked. She realised the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.
"If you lose, I'm sure you'll think of something. Of course you have some contingency plan. You're not one to gamble my city's safety on the outcome of a duel."
Llovesi's heart thumped in her chest. "I don't suppose he could just... give me the sword, could he?"
Helseth's daedroth smile sprang to his lips. "Let's see what Karrod thinks."
He turned to the Redguard and made several complicated hand gestures. Some sort of language involving gestures, Llovesi realised, as Karrod nodded slowly in response, never taking his eyes from Llovesi.
"Very well," Helseth said. "Karrod is in favour of a duel. The stakes are yours, and yours alone. I think, given the circumstances, we should hold the duel here, in this room. There are none to witness it, none to talk of it, and I do not think your, ah, intentions regarding the Goddess should reach the ears of others.
"You see the pillars in the hall?" He pointed them out, tall, twisting green stone columns that bordered the dais where the throne sat. "To step beyond them is to forfeit the duel. You will not use any magic. All other fighting techniques are allowed. You will begin on my command."
Llovesi heart pounded fiercely again, and she pulled the Dwemer Shield from her shoulder and both her spears from her back in a fluster. "Now?" she asked.
"Oh?" Helseth raised an eyebrow, as he sat back in his throne. "I was under the impression you were in a hurry?"
Karrod stepped forward, raising the scimitar and moving into a defensive stance.
"Have I mentioned Karrod has never been defeated in battle?" Helseth called out as Llovesi backed up, finding space. The bastard is enjoying this, she thought, all because I outsmarted him the other day.
"Begin!"
Bolvyn Venim in his dark armour with his dark looks and his dark pride...
And Karrod, towering and broad, in the deep red armour with his scimitar raised high, charging like lightning...
She dodged, but barely. Karrod's blade caught her in the side as she twisted, the blade tearing a hole in her armour and causing a dull pain to spread across her ribs. She would have a nasty bruise.
She barely had time to remember to dodge again before the blade was flying through the air towards her face. She ducked, and felt it whistle overhead, but now she was rolling on the floor grasping for her spears as she dropped them.
She had the feeling Karrod was only just warming up.
The jeers of the crowd as the sword bit deep into her leg...
But no, this was here and now, scrambling against hard stone in Mournhold, far from Vvardenfell. Fighting bad, fighting distracted, ever since she'd come to the city, and was it any wonder why...
Llovesi...
That was not a voice from the past. The ring on her finger pulsed with the briefest warmth.
Julan? Had she imagined it?
But it reminded her why she was doing this.
Llovesi pushed herself back up, got a hold on both spears and, crossing them at an arms length in front of her chest, she caught Karrod's next blow and threw him back. Perhaps that surprised him. There was no change in his expression.
They circled each other now, the pace dropping a notch, each waiting for the other's next move.
Her side throbbing, Llovesi held her spears in a defensive stance, twirling one slightly. Given how the fight had started, she knew better than to take Karrod on the offense. Better to try and anticipate...
Too slow. He caught her again, and a bright red gash split the material covering her right lower arm. Unconsciously, she dropped the spear that arm was holding and lifted her fist to heal–
"No magic!"
Helseth voice was like a whip and Llovesi cursed internally, letting the arm drop as it rapidly became useless and her blood spread like an ink blot from the gash. She was wounded, and Karrod didn't have a mark on him.
Why are you fighting like this? This was no memory, no hint of Julan. This was herself again as she dodged the Redguard, him pushing her back as she tried to stay in with a chance.
Always fighting cornered, what happened to fighting smart?
Mournhold happened to that.
Where's some of your old fire? What are you doing this for? Let him see you burn...
Julan's face was in her mind again, but also Almalexia, her patronising smile draped across her beatific features.
Llovesi's rage flared, but instead of erupting from her in flame, she put all her strength into thrusting her spear. The tip caught Karrod in the stomach as he readied another blow, and it caught him hard. His armour dented, and a soft oof escaped his mouth as he dropped back.
It was the only sound in the room, save her own panting and the clashing of weapons against weapons, weapons against armour and the particular whistle of Karrod's scimitar as it sliced the air.
No crowds roaring. Only Helseth, silent on his throne with his legs spread and resting his bearded chin on his hand.
No cries or yells. This would be for Julan, and every strike with her spear brought him back to her. She would burn for him.
Karrod was fast and he was strong. Each blow that she blocked pushed her back, each dodge was a missed opportunity to strike. When she did strike, driving the butt of her spear in his chest and stomach, it merely bounced off or dented his impenetrable armour. But his head, his neck, those were unprotected.
He raised his sword high and swung fiercely for her chest. This time, instead of blocking, Llovesi ducked backwards. She winced as her injured arm caught her weight on the ground, a sharp bolt of pain tearing through the wound, but she rolled, then took her spear in both hands as Karrod stepped towards her. She struck his legs with all the force she could muster, aiming for his shins. The Redguard's momentum took him and he tripped and tumbled. Llovesi dove to his left and rolled again, pulling herself to her feet and cracked Karrod across the head before he could rise. He slumped face forward, and she placed the sharpened glass of her spear against the back of his neck...
"Hold!"
Llovesi stopped, uncertain, the tip of the spear pricking a small bead of blood at the nape of Karrod's neck. She couldn't do this. She couldn't go through with it. She was almost glad the voice had called out.
But it was not Helseth's, though the Wayrest accent was similar. It was muffled, as if the speaker was talking into the ground. She watched, dumbfounded, as Karrod dropped his scimitar and raised his hands, climbing up slowly and turning to face her.
"I am beaten," he said, his voice steady and soft.
Llovesi heard Helseth rise slowly from his throne behind her, the fabric of his robe brushing against the dais as he approached.
Karrod reached down and took his scimitar in hand again. A large lump was forming on his shaved head and he touched it lightly, a rueful smile touching his lips.
"You are the greater warrior, Llovesi."
Llovesi's tongue pushed its way through her shock. "You don't fight so badly yourself," she said, clutching her wounded arm as her blood stained her fingers.
Helseth's hand fell to her shoulder, and he pulled her aside.
"You speak?" he asked, staring at Karrod.
For the first time since Llovesi had seen him, Helseth looked genuinely shocked.
She turned to face the King as he studied his champion, the three of them standing in a strange formation. Karrod simply shrugged.
"I may have at first chosen to conceal certain things in self preservation," he said in his slow manner. "But everything I have since done over the years has been in your service, my king."
He bowed low before Helseth, still clutching his scimitar.
"Hmm." Helseth's face was a careful shroud again. "Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye. But a shrewd champion is better than an obtuse one. And you, Llovesi." He turned to her. "I find it hard to believe you have succeeded. I am, despite myself, impressed. Perhaps there are depths to you as well. Very well. Do what you came here for."
He returned to his throne, leaving her facing Karrod. Ignoring the bleeding in her arm just a little while longer, Llovesi reached out with magicka glowing at her fingertips.
"May I?" she asked.
Karrod bowed his head and she reached up, lessening the egg on his forehead. Then she used what little magicka she had left to stitch her own wound, wincing at the pain as the skin knitted itself together slightly.
Karrod was examining his scimitar with a sad smile.
"My father gave me this weapon," he said. "When I was just a boy. He had it from his father, he from his mother and so on. He told me that as long as it was wielded by our line, we could never be defeated in battle. He said that the day I fall would be the day its rightful owner came to reclaim it. I had to face you, to know you were the one."
He held the sword out to her, hilt first.
"I give it to you freely. I know why you must have it, and I wish you the best. May it serve you as well as it has served me."
Llovesi took it. She expected to feel some rush, maybe accomplishment, or recognition. But it was just a sword. She didn't even know how to use a scimitar properly. It was unusual true, with its spikes, carved handle and the shallow depression that ran through the metal. Mundane for now, but hopefully not for much longer.
"Thank you," she said. "I promise to do your family proud."
Karrod nodded, and made to return to Helseth's side. Llovesi was seized by a sudden idea. She holstered her glass spear and seized the one she'd dropped, a wrought-silver spear with a deadly tip.
"Karrod!" she called, and threw the spear out to him.
He caught it with a surprised smile.
"From one... warrior to another," Llovesi said. "We should not be without weapons in these times."
"Speaking of which, shouldn't you go?" Helseth asked from his throne. "Remember I give my word that what has passed here will leave none of our lips."
"Thank you," Llovesi said, though she struggled to muster any feeling of gratitude for the man. She picked up the Dwemer Battle Shield from where she'd placed it, held the scimitar firmly, and left for the Craftsmen's Hall at a run.
It was deep night when Llovesi finally returned to the Craftsmen's Hall, but Yagak was still awake.
"Interesting." He took the scimitar from her hand and examined it carefully; comparing it constantly to the image in the book, open on the table before them. Then her took the shield from her, and snorted.
"Hope you didn't pay too much for this."
He took the spike at the front, and demonstrated how it had been clicked into a small catch. A simple tug with his sinewy hand, and the hilt piece was free. He tossed the shield back to her, and Llovesi caught it, staring in wonder at the three pieces of the blade.
"S'just a Dwemer Shield. Nothin' special. These pieces however – I can do something with this. Make the best blade you've ever seen... not that I figure you'd know a daikatana from a butter knife."
He winked.
"Okay. I'll start tonight. Come back in two days' time, and I'll have your blade. Now leave me alone."
"Two – two days?" Llovesi was aghast. Who knew what could happen in two days? She needed it now.
"Yup. Two days. Don't look at me like that. Forging takes time, else you get a sloppy job. No apprentices in to help, remember." He snorted again, looking reverently at the blade. "Not that I'd let them get their grubby little hands on this in a month of Sundases."
"But what am I meant to do?"
"Search me." The Orc carefully shut the book, and just as carefully picked up all the blade pieces before heading back into the main workshop. "Wouldn't recommend going back into that storm. S'blowing something awful fierce now. Go have a wander around. Bother someone else. Get out of my hair."
With that he left her, standing in the cramped quarters.
Llovesi watched him go, feeling only helpless. Then the ring on her finger burned.
Llovesi?
She stared at her hand; sure she hadn't imagined it this time. Wild hope beat furiously in her chest and she tapped the ring desperately with her other hand.
Julan?
Nothing.
Then...
... Llovesi?
Julan! You're a– you're okay!
Llovesi... can't... well... some barrier... are... okay?
His mind was foggier than it had ever been, his thoughts coming as if from a great distance, each one barely distinct. Was he hurt? Or hidden in some secret prison? He was okay, that was what mattered.
Julan, I'm coming for you. I'm working on something to defeat Almalexia, and I'm going to get you back. Just hold on for me... just a little bit longer.
There was no reply, but it had been enough.
The waiting was by far the worst part. Llovesi rattled around the Craftsmen's Hall like a spare part in a machine. At first, she tried ignoring Yagak and watching him work, but the Orc pointedly refused to do anything until he was left in peace. Even Bols Indalen, the Dunmer armoursmith, was banished from the main workshop.
Llovesi didn't fancy her chances with the storm. Her recent excursions had worn her down, her arm had mended roughly, and the large bruise painted across her ribs ached dully. She didn't think there was any chance of Hession welcoming her back into the Winged Guar, nor did she particularly care to join in their vigil.
Instead, she found the former workshop of 'The Common Tongue'. It was a ghost of a place now, light patches where printing presses had once stood, dust settling on the empty tables. She traced her fingers through a patch of this dust, thinking of how she had stood there with Julan. Every second felt like a minute, every minute an hour.
She slept roughly in that sad room, wondering where Trels Varis was now, wondering about Almalexia's schemes and wondering, most of all, how Julan was. The ring was silent and cold, and she couldn't fathom what had prevented their contact. She woke the next morning, stiff and alone.
She borrowed a sword from the smithy, and practised wielding it, feeling foolish but determined as she slashed at invisible enemies, copying footwork she had seen Julan perform.
She walked through workshops and laboratories, trying to keep occupied. As it happened, the Craftsmen's Hall was not as empty as she had thought. The storms had struck in the early morning, before most had risen, but some liked to rise early and come to work. Elbert Nermarc, a Breton enchanter whom she vaguely recognised from her past visit with Julan, was one such person, along with a few tailors and alchemists who'd also become trapped. He was perfectly content to talk with her, wanting to know about the storms outside and her business in the Hall. But it was just a distraction, and after a few minutes of restless fidgeting, Llovesi noticed a shelf full of books.
"Are those yours?" she asked.
"Hmm? Oh no, those are Milinie's. She's a colleague, something of a Temple devotee," he said, as Llovesi crossed to the books, her hand hovering over titles such as Vivec and Mephala and Homilies of Blessed Almalexia.
"She didn't make it in. I imagine she's at home, praying. I'm sure she won't mind you borrowing books while you're here. Anything to spread the Temple's word."
As if she wanted to wait with the words of the Temple. Llovesi was about to turn away when she spotted something. A thick bound copy: The 36 Lessons of Vivec.
... Have you ever read my sermons?...
"Maybe I will," she said, and took the book.
Approaching footsteps forced her to shut the book. It was mostly incomprehensible to Llovesi anyway. Face-snaked queens, wheels and spokes, uncertain letters and other obscure mystical-sounding twaddle. Six are the walking ways? Julan was right. Why had Vivec wanted her to read this?
"You're hard to find. When I said 'get out of my hair' I didn't mean 'lead me on a wild-scrib chase all over the hall.'"
It was Yagak, holding a carefully wrapped package. Llovesi dropped the book into her pack unconsciously and got to her feet. Elbert Nermarc looked on in interest over his soul gem experiment.
"I've got your sword."
He let the material fall to the ground. Trueflame sat proud in his calloused palms: elegant, silvery and deadly – complete. Llovesi took it, felt its weight experimentally. But something was right. It didn't quite match the image in the book.
"Before you ask," Yagak said, holding up his hands defensively, "I don't know why it doesn't burn. Sorry. I'm a smith, not an enchanter."
"Elbert?" Llovesi asked.
The enchanter abandoned all pretence of carrying on with his work and came to examine the sword with them.
"I could put a normal flame enchantment on it," he said, looking it over carefully, "but that's not what you're after is it? Not from what you've told me. Trueflame... you've got a Dwemer blade. If you want it enchanted, you'd better speak to a Dwemer."
"Hah!" Yagak's laugh was short, brittle and entirely devoid of humour. 'How's she gonna do that, wizard? All dead, ain't they."
"Yagrum Bagarn," Llovesi muttered to no one in particular as she examined the blade. But the Last Living Dwarf was miles upon miles away, in northern Vvardenfell...
The enchanter didn't seem to have heard her. "Not so fast," he said, and Llovesi looked up at him. "There's a Dwemer Ruin that's just been discovered under the city isn't there? We've heard rumours here that a few of the Ordinators investigated it. They didn't get very far, but apparently it's one of the best-preserved ruins ever uncovered. There're whispers that it might be Bamz-Amschend."
He looked at both their faces eagerly. The name was familiar to Llovesi. Was it something Almalexia had mentioned? Yagak, on the other hand started to look incredibly interested, and he spoke first.
"Isn't that–" he started.
"Yes, yes," Elbert interrupted impatiently. "The place where Trueflame was forged! So maybe, and it's a long shot, but maybe there are still some writings down there from the mystics that enchanted the blade the first time. Not 'talking' exactly, but you might find out how they did it all the same."
Yagak nodded. "Makes sense. Sounds like you know what to do now. Hope you get that blade burning. Best challenge I've had in a while." He looked at it fondly, before smacking his head.
"Almost forgot! Made a scabbard for it too! Don't know what'll happen if you get it burning, but it'll hold it for now."
He unlaced it from his belt and handed it over, a sheath in light steel with straps to keep the blade still, and Llovesi tied the sword to her belt gratefully.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked.
The Orc waved her away impatiently. "Didn't you hear me? Best challenge I've had in a while. That's enough. I did wonder why you wanted such a priceless artefact, but then I had a little chat with Bols, and he told me who you really were." He looked at her gravely a moment. "So I'm satisfied. As long as you treat it right. Now go on, get going!"
Llovesi obeyed, and set off for the plaza. Hopefully she would get the blade to burn with a fire that matched the one inside her. Not much longer, Julan.