Chapter 7

The Trail

As he rode along the mountain trail, Salazar recounted the last time he'd used this pass. It felt like an eternity since then, running from some minor noble's personal guard, shivering and cursing the gods for leading him to Skyrim. Now, the trail was clear of snow, revealing a stunning view of the green valley below. A small brook wound its way through the valley like a blue serpent. Patches of violet wildflowers swayed in the breeze with the grass. A family of deer munched on clover near the brook's edge.

"Beautiful isn't it, General?" Rikke had rode up alongside him and looked down in the valley. Her plumed helmet was under her arm and her hair swayed in the same breeze that moved the grass below.

"Very. Last time I came through here, the pass was snowed over."

"Right. That was before Helgen." She winced.

Salazar chuckled. "Rikke, you weren't even there. Even if you were, you wouldn't have known me or who I would turn out to be."

Rikke drew herself up. "Given your and Hadvar's description of the events, that captain should have been court martialed."

"And," Salazar said, "Given my description of the events, Alduin the World-Eater was there himself, burning the town to the ground. It was better you weren't there."

"General Tullius was there and he got out alright."

"Only barely," Salazar sighed. Rikke was in the middle of thinking up a reply before she squinted down the path.

"Riders, sir. Just two of them."

Salazar shrugged, "Probably just travelers." He snapped open his telescope to take a closer look. He cursed at what he saw.

"What is it, sir?"

"The Commander of the Imperial Legion has decided to give us a warm welcome."

Rikke's mouth hung open in shock. Salazar handed her the telescope so she could see for herself. The Commander was in parade dress and straight backed on a massive war horse. The man riding next to him was someone he didn't recognize, but looked important. He'd met the Commander only once before. That was at his swearing in ceremony for becoming a General. He remembered him as a stone wall: tall, imposing, and silent. He also remembered the look of utter contempt he'd given Salazar at the ceremony. He felt his feathers ruffle.

"Come on, Legate. Let's go out to meet him," Salazar said, spurring on Shadowmare. Rikke gave the order for the Legion to halt and put on her helmet before turning her horse to follow.

When they met on the path, Salazar gave a crisp salute to the Commander, who nodded back. The Commander of the Imperial Legion, Antonius Flavius, was a tall, balding man in his early sixties. He had been one of Titus Mede II's closest advisors before his death and had apparently fallen out of favor in the court after his assassination.

"May I ask to what my legion owes the pleasure of your visit, Commander?" Salazar said.

Commander Antonius spoke in a deep bass, "I've come to see the famous 'Snowbacks' for myself, General Salazar-jiin." He waved his hand to indicate he was to be followed. Salazar and Rikke shared a look before following. They rode alongside the legion as the commander's companion scribbled on a portable scribing desk. Antonius curled his lip in disdain. "Not many Imperials in command here, are there General?"

"No, sir. Even before the Rebellion, the Eleventh was more diverse than most. Some non-Imperials distinguished themselves in battle, so I promoted them."

"A practice you learned from Tullius, no doubt. Scribe, make a note of this." Antonius kept riding at a leisurely pace and his scribe kept his quill in motion, dipping it in his inkwell to make the note.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Salazar said.

Antonius turned again. "Not yet, General. Understand, however, that when you march into the Imperial City with these," he moved his hand in a circular motion, as if trying to find the right word, "Mongrels," he finally concluded, "You won't be met with admiration by everyone."

Salazar felt as though he'd been slapped in the face. The Eleventh Legion was one of the few things he was truly proud of. To have his superior write them off as nothing but 'mongrels' felt like a betrayal of all he'd been working for for the last four years. He was about to retort, but, to his horror, Legate Rikke spoke before he could.

"Commander, this is the best fighting force the Empire has seen in two hundred years. I suggest you-"

"You will suggest nothing, Legate!" Antonius snapped, somehow making his posture even more straight, "And you will speak only when directly addressed. Is that understood, soldier?"

Rikke shrank under the stare of Commander Antonius. "Yes, sir." She said, quietly.

Salazar smelled his own fury on the air. Antonius turned his head back to Salazar, looking as though nothing had happened. "Do you let all of your officers talk like that? I'd have her flogged if I were you. Insubordination like that is not to be tolerated in the Emperor's own Legion."

"It was a comment that was out of order," he said, shooting Rikke a glare. She shrunk even further, as though her armor were a turtle's shell she could retreat into. "But, out of order comments are usually not punished with flogging, sir, but a verbal reprimand. I will give her one when we camp tonight." Rikke saluted Antonius one more time before riding back to the front without a word.

Antonius raised an eyebrow. "A flogging ensures that the behavior will not happen again. The Legion thrives on order, General. Order can only be maintained by the most stern leadership. I take no pleasure in flogging my own men, but I understand that it keeps order. I hope you can grow to understand it yourself. You are very young after all. Scribe, note that the officer is too familiar with the general." The scribe kept up his incessant scribbling.

Salazar struggled to gain control of himself. He wanted very much to shout this pompous ass off the cliff face at this very moment. No, he thought, No, I need to wait just a little bit longer so I can stick a dagger in that pretty polished armor of his.

"Commander, with all due respect, did you come here for the sole purpose of insulting myself and my troops, or did you have an actual goal in mind."

"I'd advise you to watch your tone, General. I came here to inspect if you were ready for the Triumph."

"We're a week away from the Imperial City, sir."

"I wouldn't expect a provincial to understand. The Triumph is a week-long festival beginning with the parade in the Imperial City, but the festivities begin as the legion in question passes through the closest city in Cyrodiil." Salazar looked out over the valley so Antonius didn't see him roll his eyes. He then went into a detailed diatribe about the venerable tradition of the Imperial Triumph that to Salazar just sounded like an excuse for everyone to get drunk.

His anger ebbed. What did this glorified bureaucrat know about discipline? He was a childhood friend of Titus Mede II and got his station because of that. He wouldn't be the first man to gain his station because of his connection to powerful people. He had demoted several centurions whose elderly and noble parents wrote him angry letters demanding they be repromoted immediately otherwise he'd "face the consequences" or some such nonsense. Amusingly, one of them had gone so far as to beseech the Night Mother herself to have him killed.

Antonius was in the middle of explaining how the way the troops march was important to the effectiveness of the Triumph when Salazar interrupted him. "You know, Antonius," he said, "Speaking man to man, we both know this is just a farce for our glorious Emperor to garner support. So let's stop pretending that this is about tradition and honor and let's call it what it is: a political maneuver."

Something in Antonius' face changed. "Of course we both know, Dragonborn. The Emperor is begging for a scrap of credibility and showing off your military successes is a way to do that." He waved away his scribe and moved close enough that their faces were about six inches apart. "I'm here to remind you that there are some in the capitol who aren't children, content with the jangling of keys that can distract the rest of the populous. I've seen men like you before, Salazar. Generals with an overinflated sense of importance and political savviness. Don't think that just because you have some supernatural power at your disposal that you can do as you please. I will warn you once. Do not try to influence the Emperor. You will get yourself entangled in a quagmire that even a swamp swimming lizard like you can't navigate through."

Antonius bowed his head. "Thank you for allowing us to inspect your legion, General. I must bid you farewell as I have business in the Imperial City. Scribe!" His scribe joined him and they rode back the way they came.

Argonians didn't go pale, but Salazar felt as though he had. His feathers were flared out to their fullest extent, the ones on his back pressing up against the tunic beneath his armor. Boras, who had up until now been riding in the back with the baggage train, walked up while stretching his back and legs. "Why did we stop, Salazar? I can't say I'm not grateful, but-" He noticed Salazar's agitated state. "What's wrong? By Azura, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Worse than a ghost, Boras. The Commander of the Imperial Legion just came around for an inspection."

Boras raised an eyebrow. "I don't see why that's a problem. Your troops are the finest in the Empire."

"I know. I just feel like I don't really know what I'm getting myself into." Salazar bared his teeth. "One thing I do know, though, is that I'm going to kill him one day. Very. Slowly."