When I came to, I was in a wagon with my hands bound behind my back, skin burning lightly in the dappling sun. A blonde Nord sat adjacent from me.
"Hey you, you're finally awake," he said with a sad smile. "You tried to cross the border; walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there."
I glanced towards the grungy man seated next to the Nord and wrinkled my nose. "I almost escaped. An arrow came out of nowhere and hit us."
"That was out mistake lass. Thought you were an imperial."
Glaring at the man, I popped the cloth binding my wrist, letting the fabric flutter through a crevice in the cart. I tuned them out and concentrated on not incinerating in the growing light. The carriage stopped in a village called Helgen, and we were forced to dismount the cart. A bloodied block stood out starkly from the mossy stones and dirt that encompassed the landscape. This would not do.
A dark haired man in imperial armor started listing off names and the prisoners each moved forward to stand before the stained structure. When he reached me, he seemed confused. Conferring briefly with a female officer, he looked up and slowly said, "I'm sorry."
I was about to raise hell and escape, but a huge black dragon descended from the heavens, bellowing his rage and power. I remembered another dragon, long ago…
I ran out of the cottage and saw the world was on fire. A huge, bronze scaled dragon writhed in our clearing, fire streaming from its jaws. He screamed something in an ancient tongue, and I felt his terrible pain. The great ebony claws drug trenches into the earth and his gleaming tail severed and shattered the surrounding trees. What was causing him to act like this?
"Ronica!" a familiar voice called out from the other side of the clearing. "Help me secure the monster." Turning, I saw Weylin trying to push a spear deeper into the trembling muscle where the wing met the creatures back. One hand was spread and straining, casting blood magic in an effort to weaken the dragon.
"Weylin, stop!" I yelled back. "Let him go!" The man's pale face twisted in disbelief, then in rage.
"Do what I tell you, wench," he screamed. "Get the hatchet from the lumber shed!"
I looked at the dirt stained vampire trying to dominate the Dovah, and felt my heart stir. Running for the shed, I grabbed the axe and then careened toward Weylin, nearly getting caught in a jet of flame on the way. He saw me coming and smiled cruelly.
"Quick, hack off its wing," he instructed. I shook my head, lips tight, not wanting to hurt the beautiful creature.
"Let him go," I replied.
"What?" he said wrathfully.
I stepped forward and used the top of the hatchet to shove him backwards. "You heard me," I growled. "Let. Him. GO."
Pulling out a dagger, Weylin let go of the spear embedded in the beast. He ran forward, wildly slashing at my face. I stumbled back, appalled at the man's actions. I should never have made him. The axe in my hand caught in a stray branch, and Weylin chose that moment to strike. Unfortunately for him, so did the dragon. The monster burned to death in one agonized scream. Pivoting, I faced the dragon, towering over me and dripping fire.
"Praan, grah-zeymahzin," he rumbled.
"What." I said eloquently.
He seemed to laugh, a deep volcanic chuckle that vibrated in my teeth. Then growled in pain. Holding his wing out gingerly, the beast settled into a tight crouch, muscles glittering and bulging under his metallic scales.
"I am Vulthuryol," he said.
"Vulthuryol?" I asked, taking care to pronounce the word correctly.
"Yes," the dragon responded, ancient eyes resting on me. "For saving my life, I grant you permission to call upon me if you ever have need."
"You wouldn't be a lot of help like that," I blurted, then clapped my hands over my mouth.
"What do you mean, vulon-lun? Speak carefully." Smoke drifted angrily from his nostrils,
"I mean, I can help heal your wing. If you will let me," I said slowly. The Dovah's golden gaze made me dizzy, but I held his eyes.
"Very well," he breathed, voice hissing and crackling like fire.