Lydia slapped her hand against the back of her neck. 'These damned insects won't leave me alone' she said silently, knowing it was not a Housecarl's place to complain. It had been six days since they had left the Greybeards monastery of High Hrothgar in search of the ancient Horn of Jurgen Windcaller and despite stopping again in both Riften and Whiterun for supplies they were no closer to finding any trace of Ustengrav. Ustengrav, Lydia thought as she sidestepped yet another muddy patch, keeping her feet on the more solid looking stones that littered this part of Hjaalmarch. 'Ustengrav, burial crypt of the great Jurgen Windcaller, creator of the Greybeard Order itself…and no one knows where it is' She thought, taking in the crisp but bitter stench the swamp held. The Dragonborn, for the Greybeards had been able at least to confirm the Thane of Whiterun as that, had been told that his tomb lay somewhere North of Morthal. The acrid smell of the swamp and bitter smell had put Lydia into a foul mood and the water in her boots and mud sticking her legs in did little to relieve her.
The Dragonborn walked ahead, keeping his usual quick march. He seemed different since returning from the monastery; quieter, if that was possible. They had moved off the main road at his lead and had for the last few hours treaded water and mud in this forsaken swamp. 'North of Morthal the Greybeards said' Lydia thought, slapping another bug bite on her neck. 'There was no reason to leave the main road. Those revellers had been the only thing we'd seen on the road and that road led straight to Morthal…that dry, solid road'.
Suddenly the Dragonborn crouched and Lydia instinctively did the same.
"Huh?" She asked, straining her ears to hear anything above the buzzing and squelching of the swamp and its inhabitants. Her eyes darted across the horizon but the mist shrouded landscape revealed nothing. Suddenly the Dragonborn dashed ahead, his titular weapon the Axe of Whiterun drawn and shield readied.
"What's the hurry?" Lydia asked, following his lead and faltering momentarily as her boot got stuck in the mud. Jerking it free with a gutteral curse she followed him over the ridge and through the foreboding mist and trees. Coming to a fallen log the Dragonborn peered over it cautiously. Lydia drew up besides him and instantly see what had caused the commotion. The hill they were on sloped downwards to a clearly old Nordic burial mound, the large stone pillars covered in moss. And around that moss a fierce battle was being fought.
Two men and a woman, all Nords and dressed in a mish mash of leather and iron armour were fighting against two skeletons and a single Altmer woman dressed in coiled black robes. The struggle was fierce and the Altmer woman was clearly a spell caster of the necromantic kind, the skeletons defending her whilst she cast sharp ice like spikes as big as a mans forearm at her opponents. One struck a male in the shoulder and he died with an agonising grunt. The Dragonborn quickly rose to his feet and begin to stride down the side, heading for the Necromancer. "Skyrim belongs to the Nords!" Lydia cried, rushing down the hill, keeping an eye on her footing. She collided into a skeleton, using her shield to knock the abomination back a few steps. Following up she brought her sword down in a powerful arc. Dismay flooded Lydia's face as the skeleton raised its blade and caught the blow. The two circled each other, looking for an opening. The Skeleton struck out first, its blade an old Nordic piece of weaponry but still deadly sharp. His first blow was blocked by Lydia's shield, his second and then third forcing her back a few steps but still unhurt. Thrusting her shield out to disorientate the skeleton Lydia swung her sword in a clean blow to the head, taking the skull from its skeletal body. For a moment Lydia feared the worst and prepared to fight on, but the body collapsed moments after the head was taken. Glancing around, the man and woman continued to spar with another of the skeletons whilst the Dragonborn was fending of a magical assault from the Necromancer herself. Lydia sprung towards the Thane to aid him but a powerful blow to the side threw her off. Jumping back she looked into the eyes, fresh but unblinking of the third Nord reanimated with foul magic.
"Ughhhhh" He groaned, darting out again with his steel blade. 'Quick for a dead man' Lydia thought grimly as she prepared for the new combat. Twice he struck out, both times causing Lydia to desperately block the blow. The Nord, pale in the cold mist of the swamp draw his arm back with the Ice spike fresh in his fatal wound to deliver another powerful blow.
It never came.
Instead, he collapsed forward into the dirt. Lydia kicked the blade from his hand and then looked about. The Dragonborn stood over the corpse of the Necromancer, bloodied axe in hand.
"Long life to you, my Thane" Lydia saluted her liege. She noticed movement on the periphery and turned to the man and woman. Unfortunately it was just in time for an arrow to hit Lydia straight in the leg, bringing her to one knee.
"You stupid excuse for a Nord!" Lydia cried out, the pain searing through her as she stumbled, trying to get back on her feet.
There was a booming sound and Lydia fell into the dirt. Her ears rung and mud dripped from her face. Reaching out, she grasped the handle of her sword which had tumbled from her grasp and with a supreme effort lifted herself to her feet. Ahead of her the Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun bashed the Nord woman, armed with a bow, in the face. Lydia staggered, recalling her oath as a Housecarl, and lurched towards the combat. Her eyes were alert even if her head was muddled and ears rung. She could not see the second man. There was a woeful wail as the Axe of Whiterun imbedded itself in the stomach of the woman, resting for a moment before being lurched free. Lydia came over to the Dragonborn and looked over the corpse of the woman, her eyes as clear and unblinking as that of the reanimated Nord. 'Bandits most likely' Lydia nearly said but bit her tongue. She was unsure of the background of the Thane and was in no position to ask. Best to say nothing, she thought eager to not offend her new liege. The sound of insects filled the air again and Lydia noticed the bitter taste of the swamp again now that combat had passed. She turned her gaze to the burial mound, a crude thing but clearly made to last descending into the earth of Skyrim itself.
There was a splashing sound to the East and the pair focused their gaze, weapons ready. The second male, dripping wet with a vicious cut across his forearm staggered out of the water and headed towards them. Lydia sheathed her sword and shield, pulling out her bow and an iron arrow. The man was dressed in leather armour with a heavy iron sword in his hand. His other hand was free and he brushed a swathe of wet hair from his face. It was black and matted, a sign of living outdoors for sometime. Lydia drew her arrow and aimed at the mans chest.
"Hyuuuuuuurh!" He roared incoherently, rushing towards the Dragonborn who raised his shield and sword. The arrow flew true and struck the man in the right breast, causing him to tumble forward a few paces ahead of the Dragonborn. With a strained cough the man tried to stand but blood flew quickly from him and he collapsed into the growing puddle of mud and blood.
The Thane of Whiterun showed no sign of remorse or thanks on his face, his cold blue eyes turning slowly to Lydia and then onto the old Nordic burial mound the combat had occurred around.
"I have a bad feeling about this" Lydia said, placing her bow back across her back and pulling the arrow from her leg. She grimaced through the pain but it can out clean and she silently thanked Mara. The Thane moved over and searched the bandits, pocketing a few coins before standing back up and heading towards the burial crypt of Jurgen Windcaller. Lydia, sworn to serve, followed leaving the acrid swamp smell behind and taking in the stale, bitter air of times gone by.