Chapter 17
The Siege of Morahame
"After them! Do not let them out of your sight!" Dynar's voice resounded from several feet down the road, out of Atkynd's sight. Ahead of him, figures clad in leather armor flitted between the trees, shouting to each other as they attempted to corral the fleeing remnants of Morahame's army. Rounding a curve, he finally spotted the back of Dynar's horse, and he spurred his own into a trot to catch up with the prince as the elf continued to direct his forces.
When Atkynd caught up with him, Dynar nodded furtively to him, keeping one eye on his men. Atkynd slowed his pace to ride beside him, asking in a conversational tone, "How goes the hunt?"
"Not as well as I would like," Dynar replied shortly, though not unkindly. "My warriors have managed to capture a stray warrior here and there, but most of the army has managed to elude us thus far. When they retreated, they took to the jungle and split apart from each other. Thus, we've had to pursue them individually, and we haven't been able to force another battle. At this rate, it's only a matter of time before what's left of their army arrives safely at Morahame before we can capture them."
Atkynd frowned as he watched one of Dynar's warriors emerge from the underbrush, pointing a spear at the back of a female elf that he supposed must be from Morahame. The woman was guided towards the rear of the column that Dynar was leading, glaring up at the prince defiantly, though Dynar ignored her.
"Is there any way that we might intercept the remainder of Morahame's army before they return to the city?" Atkynd asked. When Dynar glanced at him, he suggested, "For instance, why not simply send your cavalry ahead to secure the road to Morahame?"
"If we simply intended to outrun the remainder of their army, certainly, that would be a viable strategy," Dynar answered. "However, relying upon speed alone is not a viable way to prevent their army from returning. I have less than one hundred cavalrymen remaining, and the remnants of Morahame's army still outnumber them by at least four to one, if not more. To say nothing of the garrison awaiting them in the city itself. If the remainder of Morahame's forces were to arrive at the city at roughly the same time, my few horsemen would be overwhelmed, especially considering that our enemy is desperate to reach the safety of its city walls. They would fight with the fury of cornered rats, and I have little doubt that my men would be slaughtered. Thus, it is more prudent to chase them down, capture those that we can, and accept that we will be unable to catch them all."
"I see," Atkynd said with a slight, sheepish grin. "This is why I refrain from attempting to lead armies myself."
"No, it was a fair question," Dynar assured him with a brief, tight smile. "However, in battle, you must consider not only how to achieve your own goals, but what your opponent's goals are, and how that will affect their strategy. A wise negotiator anticipates what the person he's speaking with will want, yes? It's the same concept." Dynar's smile widened and he added, "You have the talent for that sort of forethought. I've seen it firsthand. It's simply a different application of the same skill."
"I see. Well, since I have the talent, I shall petition the Paravant immediately to grant me command of one of her centuries!" Atkynd grinned. Dynar chuckled as he sat straighter on his horse, a thoughtful look on his face.
"I confess, I was uncertain what to expect when I finally met the leader of this rebellion," he commented. "I was curious about what sort of woman could inspire such fanatical loyalty in the face of insurmountable odds."
"Indeed? And what is your impression of her?" Atkynd asked.
Dynar breathed out a slow sigh as he leaned forward on his horse, apparently struggling to put his thoughts into words. "I see now that she is a natural leader. Rarely have I met someone with such inborn charisma. And it's not merely that she's persuasive or beautiful, though she is both. Something about her draws others to her. Something about her demeanor, the way she carries herself. It goes beyond mere confidence. It's her…." Dynar trailed off, gazing up at the sky while searching for the right word.
"Conviction?" Atkynd offered.
"…That's the word for it. Yes," Dynar agreed, lowering his hand. "She is utterly unwavering in her belief that the gods want her to emerge victorious in this war and that the slaves in Cyrod will be freed. Yet she does not seem deluded, as some with the same unwavering self-assurance do. It's difficult to describe, but now that I've met her, I understand why others follow her without question. In truth, I find myself wanting to believe in her cause as well, despite myself," he chuckled.
"Quite. Now wait until she requests something of you. Then you'll see just how persuasive she truly is," Atkynd added with a chuckle.
"Is that why you and Tari have remained in Cyrod?" Dynar asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Tari remained because she wished. I remained because I had little choice," Atkynd shrugged.
"I see," Dynar nodded. "That's quite unfortunate." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, "If you truly wish to depart from Cyrod, once we have defeated Morahame, I'm certain that my father could secure you passage back to your homeland. With the southern Niben under our full control, it would be no trouble to arrange for a ship to return you to Malabal, if you wish," he offered.
Atkynd hesitated, looking away uncomfortably. "…We shall see when the time comes," he replied evasively. He was surprised by how conflicted he felt now that the offer of returning home was within his grasp. Had the option been available even a month before, he would have leapt at the chance, but for some reason, now….
Dynar noticed the unease on Atkynd's face and glanced away, clearing his throat. After a moment, he changed the subject. "Speaking of, where is Tari? Was she not riding with you?"
"She was," Atkynd confirmed, looking up again. "However, she asked to speak with one of your mages. If I'm not mistaken, she's likely still hounding him with questions."
"About what?" Dynar asked.
"How to shape flame spells, I believe," Atkynd replied, smiling slightly. "And I believe he was showing her a lightning spell. Tari reacted like a child presented with a new toy when he demonstrated that to her."
"Indeed? Does she believe that she can master a new spell before we reach Morahame?" Dynar asked wryly.
"I'm certain that she does," Atkynd laughed.
"Do you?" Dynar pressed, amused.
Atkynd looked down thoughtfully. "I believe that if anyone in the army is determined enough to attempt it, it's her," he replied cheekily.
"Sly as ever," Dynar sighed. Atkynd's grin broadened, though only for a moment. A disturbance in the forest ahead distracted the two men, and they both warily peered into the jungle beyond the road, their hands resting on their weapons.
Yells filled the air, followed by the sound of metal striking something hard, and then a dull thump. This was followed by the rustling of plants, and then suddenly one of the Paravant's scouts emerged, dragging a captive Ayleid warrior behind him. Behind them, a balding human man followed the pair, cringing and warily watching them struggle. The warrior struggled against the scout's grasp, until the human twisted his captive's wrists, wrenching them higher behind his back. The prisoner let out a sharp, pained cry and fell still.
"Prince Dynar, I bring dire news from Morahame!" the scout announced grimly. The warrior growled and once again tried to twist out of his grasp, but the scout simply hooked a foot around the warrior's legs and swept his feet out from under him, pinning him to the muddy ground.
"Speak quickly," Dynar pressed him.
"Ah… forgive me, Your Highness," the scout grimaced. "In truth, it was this slave who claimed that the situation in Morahame is dire. He wishes to relay the message directly to the leaders of our army."
"…Speak then," Dynar repeated shortly, turning his gaze to the slave.
The middle-aged man trembled under the elf's gaze, seeming hesitant. "N-no," he muttered. "Not to you! You're one of them! If I tell you, all hope is lost!"
Dynar glanced at Atkynd, who shrugged and shook his head. If the man was an escaped slave, it was little wonder that he didn't trust an Ayleid. Atkynd nudged his horse forward and addressed the man in a soft, soothing voice. "Then speak with me. I am an emissary in the service of the Paravant. You can trust me."
The man eyed him warily, still seeming reluctant. His gaze briefly flicked to the side of Atkynd's head, and when his eyes fell on his pointed ears, Atkynd immediately regretted tying his hair back. "You look like one of them too," he hissed accusingly, shrinking away.
Atkynd frowned. He briefly considered pressing the man, but instead, he asked Dynar, "Would you mind remaining with him?" The prince nodded, and Atkynd wheeled his horse around, taking off at a gallop back down the road. As he rode by, he noticed Tari out of the corner of his eye, still talking animatedly with one of Dynar's mages. She stopped their conversation for a moment to shoot him a questioning look, but Atkynd simply shook his head as he passed her. He hurried down the column of warriors, until finally, Perrif's phalanx came into sight. She was walking at the head of the army, chatting pleasantly with Morihaus, but their conversation trailed off when they noticed Atkynd approaching.
"We require your assistance," Atkynd explained quickly. "There is an escaped slave who brings news from Morahame, but he distrusts elves and refuses to deliver his message to Prince Dynar or I. Would you please accompany me and speak with him yourself?"
"Of course," Perrif agreed immediately, though she continued to frown in confusion as Atkynd nudged his horse closer and held his hand out to her to pull her onto its back. "Though I'm surprised he did not at least speak with you."
"He saw my ears and assumed I was a mer. Given enough time, I could likely persuade him otherwise," Atkynd asserted – though privately, he wasn't so certain. "But if his message is truly important enough that he will only share it with a humanS, then we've no time to waste. It's simpler to grant his request."
"Very well. Then let's make haste. Morihaus, if you'd remain in command while I resolve this?" Perrif requested. When Morihaus silently bowed, she nodded to Atkynd, who nudged the horse into a run with his heels. Together, they sprinted back up the column of warriors with Perrif holding tightly to his waist.
As soon as they arrived, Perrif released Atkynd and slid off the side of the horse. The slave's eyes widened as she smiled pleasantly at him and inclined her head politely.
"Greetings," she said in a smooth, gentle tone. "I am the Paravant. Have you heard of me?"
"Y-yes, my lady!" the slave exclaimed. "You're the one they say has raised an army of slaves and seeks to liberate all of Cyrod!"
"That is indeed my intention," Perrif confirmed calmly. "My emissary informs me that you have a message to deliver?"
The man hesitated once again, shrinking away from both Atkynd and Dynar. "I… I do not wish to speak with them present," he stammered.
Atkynd struggled not to let a scowl cross his face as the Paravant said evenly, "These are two of my closest companions. Rest assured, you may trust them."
"Can I, though?" the man insisted. "If the elves are made aware of what I have to say…."
"You can," Perrif insisted, and though her voice was still calm, there was a firm edge to her words. "Time is of the essence, so please, speak."
The slave grimaced, then sighed in defeat. "Very well. I come from Morahame. I was raised as a slave there, you see, and we have heard tell of a war raging to the south. We did not dare rise against our masters, but we began to hope when the army marched out a few days ago. Today, some of our warriors returned, and immediately began sealing the gates. We overheard that they were preparing for an attack. Then they sought an audience with the mages."
The slave shuddered, looking away. "After that… it happened slowly at first. Some of the slaves were taken to the vaults beneath the city. Then I heard a whisper, a rumor. A slave working in the warrens witnessed a sacrifice. Such events are always horrific, but not unusual. But then another slave was slain. And another. At first, we thought they were trying to summon more dremora to prepare for the siege, and we began to fear for our lives. As the day progressed, we were gathered into groups and shepherded down into the vault. And that was when I overheard one of the masters talking. He…." The slave's voice caught in his throat, his eyes widening with fear.
"Go on," Perrif insisted, maintaining her patient demeanor.
The slave took a deep breath, then cried, "The mages of Morahame are sacrificing as many lives as they must to summon Mehrunes Dagon to Nirn!"
Atkynd's eyes widened with shock and disbelief, and beside him, Dynar let out a cry of disgust and horror. Perrif was silent for a few long moments, and then she turned to Dynar. "Order your men to move faster. We must reach Morahame immediately."
"At once," Dynar nodded, wheeling his horse around. He began shouting orders, while Perrif turned back to the slave.
"Thank you for providing us with this knowledge," she said in a low, soothing voice. "You are safe now. Is there anything we might do for you?"
"I… require a healer," the man admitted. He held up his left arm, wincing as he did. "After I broke free from the masters, I had to jump over the city walls to escape. I believe I may have broken my wrist."
"Of course. We shall see to it immediately." Perrif turned to Atkynd, pinning him with her sharp blue gaze. "Please fetch Tari. While you're at it, inform Morihaus of the situation as well."
Atkynd nodded and wheeled his horse around to carry out her request. Just before he departed, however, he heard Perrif add to the man, "In the meantime, you may rest easy with us. You're safe now."
"Am I?!" the man all but shrieked. "If Mehrunes Dagon is summoned-!"
"I assure you. The Prince of Destruction shall not set foot on Nirn," Perrif stated, her tone adamant.
Atkynd glanced over his shoulder and noticed that the man, who had been on the verge of panic, abruptly calmed at the firm assurance in the Paravant's voice. Conviction indeed, Atkynd thought to himself. Shaking his head to banish the flash of envy he felt, he kicked his horse into a gallop, ignoring its whinnying objection as he bolted back down the column to find both Morihaus and Tari.
A light rain began falling steadily as the army ran along the road to Morahame. The rainfall was heavy enough wet the roads, but not enough to impede their progress. The sound of heavy armor clanking and the labored breathing of the warriors filled the air, louder than the steady pattering of water droplets in the canopy above.
Atkynd rode his borrowed bay beside Prince Dynar at the head of the column, accompanying the prince as part of his contingent of cavalry. They traveled at a trot, hurrying along the roads as swiftly as possible without tiring out the horses or outrunning the men behind them. In a way, Atkynd almost wished he was walking with the army instead. It was frustrating that the horses could move at a faster pace than the men, yet they had to restrain themselves to avoid outstripping the warriors. He could almost feel the seconds bleeding away as they were forced to travel at the infantry's pace.
At last, they reached the fork in the road that they had passed earlier in the day. This time, Dynar turned down the narrow eastern path towards the city. With their goal close at hand, the warriors seemed more able to ignore their fatigue, and they began to travel at a faster pace, much to Atkynd's relief. His elation was dampened, however, when Morahame itself finally came into sight.
Whereas before the city had apparently only held a small garrison, a full army now seemed to bristle on its walls. Lines of archers paced along its white ramparts, and Atkynd could see dozens of dremora forming a barricade in front of the city gates. The daedra let out challenging roars as the army approached, daring the rebels to come closer.
Dynar called his men to a halt and dismounted, calling for his arpena to join him for a meeting. Atkynd pulled his horse up short and frowned deeply as he gazed at the city. He idly wondered if Perrif intended to ask him to negotiate with Morahame before combat was joined. Of course, calling for a parlay now was pointless. Their distant, frantic shouts and cries reminded Atkynd of a cornered beast, ready to lash out at anything that came near. Morahame was desperate, fighting for its own survival. If what the slave said was true and they were willing to attempt summoning the Daedric Prince of Destruction to Nirn, then diplomacy was no longer an option. He had little doubt they would fill him with arrows before he got within a hundred yards.
While Dynar conferred with his nobles, the human army caught up with the elves, with Perrif at the head of the army, accompanied by Morihaus. When she saw the enemy army arrayed before her, a grim look settled over her face.
"Have we had any word from Pelinal?" she asked Morihaus as Atkynd nudged his horse over to her.
"No, my lady," the minotaur muttered. "The scouts claim that he left on his own some time ago, and they have not heard from him since. I cannot fathom where he's gone."
"Do you believe he's dead?" Perrif asked quietly, lowering her voice so that the men couldn't hear her question.
Morihaus snorted, though Atkynd wasn't sure if he was amused or annoyed. "I have no doubt that he is not," the bull assured her. "Perhaps he is simply lost in the jungle."
"Or perhaps I was simply waiting for my nephew to arrive," a voice growled from the trees to their left. Their heads turned as Pelinal stepped out of the underbrush. He had removed his helmet, and his stark white hair hung around his flushed face in a wild tangle. His face was glistening with a fine sheen of water, though Atkynd suspected it was rainwater rather than sweat, as he wasn't even panting. When his eyes fell on Perrif, he lowered his head in a bow.
"Forgive my tardiness, my lady," he growled. "I have been observing Morahame, attempting to find weaknesses in their defenses It appears as though a direct assault on the walls is our only option if you wish to storm the city." He glanced at Atkynd, sneering with disdain as he added, "Unless you intend to rely upon a… softer touch to take it."
Atkynd shot Whitestrake a sour look while Perrif shook her head. "No. There will be no negotiation. We must conduct an immediate assault on the city, and I wish for you to lead it, Pelinal."
A wild grin spread across Pelinal's lips, and a dark chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled his helmet back over his head. "Well said, my lady!" he exclaimed. "At once! Mor!" he added, turning to the winged man-bull. "Take to the skies and fly over the walls. Attempt to open the gates from the inside. If you cannot, I shall break open the gates myself and personally lead your men into the city, my lady."
"As you say, uncle…." Morihaus muttered, though he seemed uncomfortable. The minotaur eyed the walls warily and let out a soft snort.
Dynar had been lingering out of range of Pelinal's reach, his arms folded over his chest as he gazed at the walls as well. "Well… if we're going to directly attack the walls, I may be able to lend you some support, General Morihaus," he chimed in. The other four turned to look at him as he added, "While each of my mages has a specialty, all are versed in magical alteration. As am I," he added as an afterthought. "One of the spells we all know is a simple levitation spell. We cannot enchant the entire army, but if I send some of my best warriors into the air to accompany you, General, we would be able to distract the guards along the walls more effectively than if you went alone." He glanced at Pelinal and added, "That would also provide you and the forces on the ground a wider opening to exploit so that you can reach the gates with fewer casualties."
"We also have ladders in our wagons," Perrif added. "We salvaged some from the siege of Atatar. If you would like to use them, your army can attack the walls while we try to breach the gates." Dynar nodded in agreement, folding his arms over his chest, and Perrif smiled in return. She then turned to Pelinal and added, "Please see to it that the men are prepared, my champion. I shall trust you to lead the assault."
"Mm… very well, my lady," Pelinal muttered, bowing his head again. His gaze lingered on Dynar for a long moment before stalking away.
"Remarkable," Atkynd commented drily as he sidled up beside the prince. "He must rather like you. He didn't even threaten your life once."
"All thanks to my royal charisma," Dynar replied with a grin.
"Your mages can cast levitation spells?" Atkynd added, folding his arms over his chest. "I've never seen such magic."
"It's a form of magic that we Ayleids developed ourselves," Dynar explained. "You've heard that our spells alter the natural world?" When Atkynd nodded, he continued, "Levitation is one such spell. It involves hardening the air around our feet, allowing us to walk on it. In fact, that is why the heart of our defenses are not our walls, but our vaults. After all, what good are walls when an enemy can simply walk over them at will?"
"But then could you not breach the vaults the same way? Can you not also soften the earth?" Atkynd asked.
"In small amounts, perhaps," Dynar conceded. "But no spell has yet been developed that allows us to collapse a well-fortified underground citadel or to walk through stone. Thus, when an Ayleid army must fall back, they do so into their vaults." A dark look settled onto his face as he added, "I also have little doubt that the vaults are where we shall find Morahame's mages attempting to summon Mehrunes Dagon. When we enter, that is where the fiercest fighting shall be."
"What else can we expect?" Atkynd asked, folding his arms as he watched Morihaus and Pelinal ordering the men into formation.
"From Morahame? I do not know, though I can guess. Aside from the additional daedra we're certain to encounter, all Ayleid vaults have had deadly traps installed. Swinging blades, poisonous gases, Welkynd stones enchanted to attack intruders…. And I have little doubt that Morahame's defenses will be even crueler than most. I cannot say for certain what we will encounter, but we must be on our guard," Dynar said.
Atkynd folded his arms over his chest, his stomach turning with anxiety as he turned back towards the walls. "Well… one thing at a time, I suppose," he muttered. "First, we do need to take the walls."
"Yes, and I'd like you to stay back until we do," a smooth voice piped up from behind them. Atkynd and Dynar turned around to see Perrif standing behind them, her hands folded in front of them. "There is little reason for you to join the assault – you're too lightly armed, and I do not wish to risk losing you unnecessarily. Once we are within the city, though, I would like you to accompany Pelinal and Morihaus into the vaults. Perhaps once they are backed into a corner, Morahame's leaders will be willing to parlay and surrender. If we can resolve the battle with as few deaths on our side as possible, so much the better."
"As you say," Atkynd acknowledged, inclining his head. He tried not to let his relief show on his face, but the knowing smile on Perrif's lips suggested that he wasn't doing a good job of it.
Tari approached from Perrif's side, sidling up next to Atkynd. "I shall be grateful for the company until then, at least," she remarked, though Atkynd noticed she seemed a bit sullen.
"Is something wrong?" he asked gently.
"I wished to join the assault on the walls," Tari admitted. "Now that I can cast fire, I had hoped I could provide more direct aid to the rebellion. Yet… I confess that I am still fatigued from the battle at the river, and the Paravant requested that I remain behind to aid the healers. It's simply frustrating that I still cannot truly fight with the others."
Atkynd smiled gently at her as he reached out and tapped her lightly on her forehead. "You're forgetting what I told you when I first taught you about spellcasting. Is magic your only weapon?" he chided her gently.
Tari stared up at him, then sheepishly pulled the pack from her shoulders and withdrew a few clay bottles. "I have not forgotten," she muttered as she drew her dagger. She dipped her fingers into one of the bottles and began smearing the blade of her knife with a foul greenish-black concoction. When she realized Atkynd was watching her, she added, "Hand me your sword. I shall apply this to your blade as well."
Atkynd drew his sword and handed it to her, but his eyes snapped up as an exultant laugh echoed across the field. Pelinal was paced back and forth in front of the centuries of human warriors, his ivory tabard fluttering in the wind and rain. When he was certain every eye was on him, he jabbed his sword at the city looming behind him.
"We haven't much time, and I've little patience for words, so hear me!" he barked. "We must take that city as swiftly as possible! While the elves are dancing with each other on the walls, I shall lead anyone courageous enough to follow me through the dremora and through the gates themselves! Together, we shall cut a swath through the city and descend into its very bowels to slaughter every last daedra-loving Ayleid fool enough to bow to the Prince of Destruction! If any among you lack the courage to follow me, retreat now! I have no use for the craven!"
A heavy silence hung in the air as Pelinal's eyes roamed over the ranks of men arrayed before him. Not a single warrior moved. A low chuckle rumbled from Pelinal's mouth, and he gave the men a nod of approval. "Good. That's what I expect of the men Cyrod," he growled. "Now, show me that your courage is not idle boasting! Raise your shields and stay together! Forward!"
Pelinal turned and began sprinting across the field, screaming madly with his sword raised above his head and his shield in front of him. The centurions followed suit a few moments later, ordering their men into a charge behind the silver knight. At their command, the bronze warriors broke into a run, though they tried to maintain some semblance of a formation as they followed the mad knight in his dash for the gates.
As Pelinal charged the city, the dozens of dremora waiting outside the gates braced to meet him, while the archers arrayed on the walls lowered their bows, aiming at him down the shafts of their arrows. A distant cry reached Atkynd's ears, and at once hundreds of arrows streaked through the sky towards the lone knight. Pelinal halted his charge and raised his shield, kneeling behind it. His arm shook as the arrowheads impacted its ruby-red face, but to Atkynd's amazement, most of the arrows slid harmlessly off the surface of his shield. A few that had been fired from the side did connect with Pelinal's body, but his gleaming armor likewise deflected every bolt, though his body did shudder slightly from the impacts. When the first volley ended, Pelinal rose to his feet and let out a triumphant roar, banging his sword on his shield as a challenge for the elves to try again. Then he once again raised his shield and resumed his charge towards the line of dremora.
Atkynd stared with his mouth agape, awestruck at the invincible knight racing across the battlefield. The Ayleids were likewise paralyzed with stunned disbelief, trading uncertain glances with each other. Their hesitation allowed the rest of the rebel forces to surge towards the city, and within moments, the first of Dynar's warriors had reached the walls. Ladders were quickly raised at six separate spots on the northern, western, and southern walls, and within minutes, Dynar's warriors were scaling the defenses. The defenders snapped out of their daze when they realized how swiftly the attackers were advancing, and they immediately turned their bows on Dynar's forces. Moments later, however, they had a new threat to contend with.
True to his word, Dynar had ordered his mages enchant a handful of his men with levitation spells. Ten Ayleids ascended into the air as naturally as climbing a staircase, until they were hovering over the city walls. The elves began raining arrows from above the defenders, who futilely tried to take cover behind the ramparts. With the attackers hovering directly above them, however, the men on the walls were completely exposed and helpless against the aerial assault. Some of the archers returned fire, and the levitating bowmen eventually had to ascend out of the range of their opponent's arrows to avoid being hit. Nevertheless, they continued to provide an adequate distraction that allowed Dynar's men on the ground to climb the ladders and scramble over the walls with relative ease, and the archers were soon forced to focus their efforts on repelling Dynar's infantry.
A roar in the middle of the battlefield returned Atkynd's attention to the assault on the main gate. Pelinal stood in the midst of the dremora, his sword and mace both singing through the air. He was engaged with one of the daedra, who managed to parry Pelinal's first blow, to the knight's mild surprise. With a grunt, he swung his mace around with his free hand, which slammed into the dremora's chest, knocking it backward. With his opponent off-balance, Pelinal viciously slashed it across the neck with his blazing sword, and then he turned to deflect an axe from another dremora.
Meanwhile, the phalanx supporting Pelinal had formed a long line of spears, and they were furiously jabbing at the other dremora. While the daedra individually were more than a match for any human warrior, they were vastly outnumbered. For every spear a dremora broke, two more stabbed at it from another angle. Their formation caved inward under the inexorable assault from the men, and the occasional flash of purple fire indicated the defeat of one of the daedra.
That was not to say, however, that Perrif's forces weren't taking losses. Though the bowmen on the flanks were distracted by the assault on the walls, the archers near the gate continued to harass the forces on the ground. Arrows streaked through the air, and all too often found their mark in the soft, unprotected arms, legs, and throats of the men. Warriors fell to the ground, unmoving, with wooden shafts sticking out of their bodies. The men around them quickly moved up to fill the gaps left by their felled comrades, but the storm of arrows continued to pelt them from all sides, and their advance was slowed by the platoon of dremora, despite their best efforts. For several minutes, neither side was able to gain ground, as the spellcasters on the walls continued summoning new dremora to replace the ones that fell. Slowly, however, the men began pushing the dremora back. When they realized this, a few of the Ayleid spellcasters shifted their focus from summoning to directly attacking the human formation.
Two globes of fire suddenly erupted from either side of the gate, hurtling like meteors towards the crowd of men below. The fireballs slammed into the earth and exploded, showering the men with flame and knocking them to the ground. Atkynd grimaced as Pelinal dispatched another dremora and shouted furiously at the mages on the walls. Almost blithely, one turned his magic on Pelinal instead. A thunderclap echoed over the battlefield as a long, thin thunderbolt lanced towards the knight. Pelinal barely managed to raise his sword in time, and the bolt struck the tip of his sword before dissipating, leaving Pelinal unharmed. Atkynd watched the mage recoil in surprise and hesitate, reconsidering his strategy. The other mage, however, hurled another ball of flame towards the troops on the ground, which struck the middle of the formation. The men screamed in terror and agony as the stench of seared flesh and metal erupted in the air. Those that survived the blast involuntarily backed away. Fear was starting to erode the warriors' morale, and they seemed on the verge of falling back.
Then, a large figure streaked through the air above the battlefield, over the archers pelting the men below, and even above Dynar's elves hovering closer to the walls. Morihaus' dark form soared past the gates, taking advantage of the distraction that the frontal assault had provided. Of course, most of the combatants noticed his flight, but even as the Ayleids screamed for their compatriots to shoot him, the winged bull descended, plummeting to the earth like a stone. At the last moment, he opened his wings to slow his landing, and then he disappeared behind the gates. A loud, heavy bellow resounded across the battlefield, followed by strained grunting. Atkynd craned his neck as he heard a low grinding sound, like wood scraping against metal, and then a deep, dull thud. A moment later, the front gates of the city burst open, and Morihaus charged through them towards the line of dremora. The daedra turned just as the bull swung his massive club in a wide arc, sweeping it through their ranks. Three of the infernal warriors disappeared in flashes of purple flame as their bodies were sent tumbling across the ground. The others turned to face the new challenger, but this gave Pelinal and the other human warriors the opening they needed to turn the tide decisively in their favor. Spears rained down on the daedra's unprotected backs, and Pelinal's sword and mace cleaved through the dremora's bodies, the blade cutting into the neck of one while his mace bashed in the skull of another.
"Well done, nephew!" Pelinal crowed. "Charge!" he screamed at the men. The warriors roared triumphantly and sprinted for the open gates at the knight's command.
The Ayleids on the walls immediately began screaming for their comrades to cover the breach, but their own lapse in focus allowed more of Dynar's own men to pour over the walls, their blades and axes flashing as they tore through Morahame's panicking defenders. Conflicting orders were shouted above the din. Some of the commanders began demanding their men fall back to the gates, while others ordered their warriors to hold their positions, and still others screamed for the defenders to retreat into the vaults. Confusion gave way to panic, and the city's defenses began to crumble.
The human warriors led by Pelinal surged past the gates, only to be met by a battalion of elves that had lined up behind the gates in a last-ditch effort to halt the invaders. Over the tops of the men's heads, Atkynd could see Pelinal wildly swinging at the elven warriors, his weapons battering at the Ayleids' armor, while more men poured through the gates behind him. Morihaus, meanwhile, waded through the sea of men back to Perrif. Once he was in front of her, he put his hand over his chest, bowing deferentially to her. Atkynd noticed marks on his ebony armor, and then realized his golden wings were bleeding and missing several feathers. He realized that the elves behind the gates must have been positioned there to begin with, anticipating the rebels breaking through. Morihaus' arrival must have startled them, and he had wrenched opened the gates before they could do more than land glancing blows on him, much less stop him. Still, they had done enough damage that Atkynd suspected he wouldn't be flying again for a while.
"It shouldn't be long until the city surrenders, my lady," Morihaus rumbled. "Until then, I request that you remain out here and wait until we've declared victory."
Perrif looked down, an uncomfortable expression on her face. "I… I thank you for your concern, Morihaus, but if Mehrunes Dagon-"
"The Daedric Prince shall not be summoned. My uncle and I shall see to it," Morihaus said firmly. "However, we cannot risk allowing you to put yourself in danger. Especially since you have not been trained for combat. I insist, my lady. Remain out here until the city is secure."
Atkynd noticed Perrif's fingers curling into her palms, an evident sign of her frustration. Her shoulders shook, but then she finally, reluctantly, looked up and gave Morihaus a defeated nod. "Very well…." she murmured.
Morihaus looked away, unable to meet her eyes, and he murmured in a pained voice, "Thank you, my lady." He then turned to Atkynd, pinning him with his dark gaze. "Come. The Paravant wishes for you to accompany us into the vaults, and we must make haste."
"As you say," Atkynd nodded. He glanced at Tari, adding, "Are you coming as well?"
Tari hesitated, glancing at Perrif, and then back to Atkynd. "I… I would like to, but I have duties to attend to as well," she replied. "There are still those that need healing, and I feel that I should attend to them first."
Tari shot another meaningful look at Perrif, and Atkynd gave her a warm smile of approval, winking at her as he caught her meaning. "Very well. Though it'll be a pity not to have you with us," he said.
"Another time," Tari replied. "Go!"
Atkynd nodded, then turned to Morihaus, who snorted and motioned for Atkynd to follow. The pair ran across the open battlefield as the rain began to intensify, lashing the ground with thick, heavy droplets. As they passed the fallen warriors lying on the ground, the water began mixing with blood, washing it towards the nearby river. Atkynd briefly stopped outside of the range of the archers and knelt beside one of the bodies. Muttering a soft thanks, he gingerly pulled a bronze shield emblazoned with Veyond's sigil off of one of the fallen human warriors. He strapped it to his arm, then hurried after Morihaus, who had graciously paused to allow Atkynd to better arm himself.
Thankfully, there was little need for the borrowed shield. By the time they reached the front gates of the city, most of the defenders had cleared off the walls, and those that remained were focusing their attention on the centuries of men invading the city streets. Thus, Atkynd and Morihaus passed through the gates unmolested. Once inside the city, the Paravant's army's had evidently had little trouble against Morahame's defenders, as there was no sign of the battalion of elves that had been barring their way into the city.
"General! Telepe!" a voice called out to them. The pair turned to see Pasare running towards them, her bow slung under her arm and her hair a wet, tangled mess around her face. She grinned broadly at Atkynd as she stopped in front of them, breathing heavily.
"Speak, scout," Morihaus grunted.
"I came to retrieve you," Pasare panted. "Whitestrake wishes for you to join him immediately, General. With Prince Dynar occupying the walls and protecting his flanks, Whitestrake was able to push swiftly into the city. When the entrance to the vault was in sight, he sent me to find you. He is awaiting your arrival before he descends into the lower levels of the city."
"Very good. Lead on, scout," Morihaus said, lumbering past her and starting off on his own.
Pasare turned to Atkynd, glancing around. "Tari decided not to accompany you?" she asked, sounding surprised.
"She wished to tend to the wounded first," Atkynd explained. "Though I suspect that if we take too long, she'll insist upon joining us anyways."
"I would expect nothing less," Pasare grinned. "Come. Let's-!" she began, but then abruptly stopped, gazing at something behind him. She fumbled for her bow as Atkynd frowned, then swung around to see what she was staring at. When he did, he felt himself go pale.
One of Morahame's archers was lingering on the walls, unnoticed in the chaos of the general retreat. Her eyes were fixated on the back of Morihaus' head, and a vicious sneer spread across her lips as she drew back her bow and sighted down the shaft.
"General! Behind you!" Pasare yelled. The archer flinched at her cry, though she released the arrow anyways. Morihaus turned around in time to see the arrow flying towards him, and he shifted just slightly to his left. The missile struck him near the collarbone, and Atkynd inhaled sharply as he heard a sickening crack.
Pasare cursed as she finally nocked an arrow of her own, drawing it back as the Ayleid archer reached for another bolt. Pasare released the arrow, and it struck the Ayleid square in the stomach, piercing through her leather armor. The elf screamed in pain, clutching her middle, and she stumbled backwards a step. Unfortunately for her, her legs struck a low point in the wall, and she pitched over the side, falling out of sight.
Pasare lowered her bow, and she and Atkynd immediately hurried to Morihaus, who was hunched over, clutching his upper arm. Atkynd felt his heart hammering as the general slowly straightened up and removed his hand. To his surprise and relief, Atkynd noticed that the arrowhead had struck the armor rather than the minotaur's flesh, though it had cracked the ebony material. Morihaus, however, seemed unharmed.
"Are you hurt, general?" Pasare asked anxiously.
"No. No worse than I may have been, in any case," Morihaus rumbled. Then he bowed his head. "Thank you. Your vigilance saved me."
"Think nothing of it, general. My apologies that I could not act more swiftly." Pasare said, seeming flustered by his deference.
"You acted as swiftly as you could, and I am grateful," Morihaus assured her. "Now, let us press on. Morahame's summoners shall not wait until we arrive."
As the trio ran through the streets, Atkynd noticed terrified Ayleid faces peering at them fearfully from the upper floors of their marble houses. After peering past them into a few of the dwellings, however, he slowly began to realize that there were no slaves accompanying their masters. At first, he wondered if it was because the slaves were simply kept in another part of the city. However, the messenger's claim that the slaves were being sacrificed crept into the back of his mind. Surely Morahame's mages didn't intend to sacrifice every slave in the city to summon Mehrunes Dagon…?
As they neared the heart of the city, they hurried across a marble bridge spanning a narrow but deep ravine. Before them loomed a grand, circular temple capped with a high dome plated with gold. A platform bore a statue of a daedra bending its knee to a proud Ayleid, who was extending his hand benevolently to the submissive creature. Pelinal waited in the entryway of the temple, pacing back and forth impatiently, his boots covered in the blood of the Ayleid guards that lay dead at his feet. When he spotted the trio sprinting towards them, he let out a terse snarl.
"You're late!" he snapped.
"Apologies. We were occupied, uncle," Morihaus muttered, inclining his head.
Pelinal let out a short grunt. "We haven't any time to spare," he muttered. "I can feel the magic those foul cultists are weaving in my bones. Come."
He guided them into the temple, where thirty men were assembled. After a brief glance at their faces, Atkynd realized that they were men from various units, rather from than from one century that Pelinal had randomly selected to join him. He noticed Plontinu lightly turning a shortsword over in his hand while speaking casually to a young woman wielding a heavy mace, while Huna lurked near the entrance, looking surprisingly sullen.
"Hear me!" Pelinal bellowed, his voice ringing off the marble walls. "You are among the finest warriors in the Paravant's service! I have personally selected each of you to descend with me into the pits of this city! The fighting will be fiercest here, and you may find your deaths below! I expect you to face that possibility without hesitation! I say this not to frighten you, but to warn you of the risks! We must prevail here, else an evil greater than any you can comprehend will walk the land! Do you understand?"
There was a grim nod of assent, and Atkynd felt his heart starting to pound again. He certainly didn't count himself among the finest warriors Perrif had at her disposal, and he doubted any of these men did either. In fact, he didn't think there was any chance for negotiation. Desperation had clearly driven the mages of Morahame mad, and he reckoned that they were beyond reason. Yet Perrif asked you to try anyways, he reminded himself sternly. He supposed that was reason enough.
"Mind your brothers as you descend," Pelinal shouted. He glanced to the side and added, "Morihaus, guard the entrance. Allow no elves to escape. The rest of you, through the gates!"
Morihaus grunted and pushed open the heavy double doors leading underground. He led the way into the lower levels, with the men filing after him, though Pelinal slipped past them, heading for the entrance of the temple. Atkynd watched him curiously as he approached Huna, who was glowering at him stubbornly.
"I ask you once more, Pelinal… allow me to accompany you," the young man demanded.
Pelinal sighed beneath his helmet and reached out, stroking Huna's clean-shaven cheek with a surprisingly tender caress. "I cannot permit that. Your training is not yet complete," he murmured.
Huna leaned into his hand, but his eyes remained fierce. "Even half-trained, I have been taught by the finest warrior in the world," he insisted. "Do you doubt your prowess as a teacher?"
"I fear the quality of the enemies we face," Pelinal replied. "And of all the lives in this army, yours means the most to me, save for my lady's and my nephew's. Soon, my dearest," he added, pressing his forehead to Huna's. "Soon I will name you a full hoplite, and you will charge into battle at my side. But not yet. Not yet."
"Swear it to me," Huna hissed, putting his hand over Pelinal's. "You're not the only one who fears for the life of their beloved, and I trust no other to guard you."
"I swear it on the Paravant's honor. When the time comes, we shall carve our names into legend. Together," Pelinal assured him. "Soon."
"Soon, then," Huna sighed, lowering his eyes. Then he released Pelinal's hand and nudged the knight towards the entrance. "Very well. Go. They need you."
"That they do," Pelinal agreed with a chuckle. He released the young man and turned towards the vault, pausing only to glare at Atkynd when he spotted him watching them. "What, elf?!" he snarled.
Atkynd shook his head as he walked over to the double doors and pushed them open. "Simply waiting for you to accompany us," he said blithely.
Pelinal stared at him furiously through the slits in his winged helmet as he stalked past the emissary. "If only the Paravant did not stay my hand," he muttered. "Move!"
Atkynd hurried through the doors in front of Pelinal as they entered the lower levels of the city. The pristine white marble was embedded with glowing white stones that made the walls gleam almost uncomfortably bright as the light refracted off the alabaster walls. They quickly descended a staircase where a half dozen Ayleids lay slain at the bottom of the steps. Ahead, Atkynd could hear the telltale signs of battle: metal ringing off metal, and voices shouting.
Pelinal charged ahead as Atkynd warily raised his shield and followed at a more cautious pace, far less eager to meet their enemies. They soon found themselves winding their way through a twisting passageway, until they reached a crowd of their own soldiers. Ahead of them, several Ayleid warriors accompanied by a pair of dremora were blocking their path. Though the men had managed to form an impromptu phalanx, there was little room to maneuver, and they were trapped in a stalemate.
Pelinal snarled and roughly pushed his way through the men, pulling his mace from his belt as he did. The dremora spotted him, and both let out challenging cries, which Pelinal answered with one of his own. His heavy club smashed into one of the dremora's shields, knocking it backwards and forcing it to drop its guard. Pelinal followed this up with a second strike that clubbed the demonic figure on the skull, whereupon it vanished in a flicker of purple flame. Pelinal then caught its companion's retaliatory strike on his own shield and swung his mace around in a short arc. The dremora grunted as the burning club caught it in the ribs, but it remained standing and cleaved its heavy, volcanic axe downward. The blow struck Pelinal on the shoulder, but his heavy armor deflected the blow. Unfazed, the silver knight slammed his mace into the dremora's side again, and this time it collapsed, disappearing in another plume of violet flame.
Seeing this, the morale of the human warriors surged, and they pushed forward again, furiously slashing at the Ayleids with their short weapons. A figure that Atkynd quickly recognized as Plontinu sidled up next to Pelinal and rapidly jabbed at one of the Ayleids three times with his shortsword. The elf managed to deflect the first two blows, but the third caught him in the thigh, sending him to one knee. Plontinu kicked his leg, and the Ayleid screamed in pain, lowering his shield, whereupon Plontinu plunged his short blade into the elf's throat.
Beside him, Pelinal swept his mace across the elven formation in broad arcs, his weapon ringing off their shields. The softer bronze dented inward with each thrust, and the Ayleids were steadily pushed back as more of their comrades fell. Finally, the few remaining warriors retreated, leaving the passage clear for the rebels to press onward.
The passageway led to an open balcony overlooking a small room lit by a brazier filled with blazing white stones. As soon as the men entered the room, a contingent of archers below released a volley of arrows at the intruders. Atkynd had thankfully kept his shield up when he entered, but some of the warriors were not so lucky. He heard two or three screams of pain, and a woman a few paces from him sank to the ground with an arrow in her body. Pelinal let out an indignant shout and vaulted over the balcony. He landed heavily in front of the archers, who scrambled away from him, trying desperately to reload.
As Pelinal carved through the bowmen, Atkynd glanced around and noticed a side passage with a stairwell leading to the lower room. He called out to the other men, pointing to the passageway, and the warriors hurried down the stairs to help the knight. Before they reached the bottom, however, all of the archers had been slain, and Pelinal stood fuming in the center of their corpses, gripping his sword and mace tightly, his shoulders shaking with his growing rage.
"Hold! I surrender!" a voice suddenly called out from the passage behind them. Every head turned towards the speaker as they rushed in. A proud elf with wild, tousled hair and battered golden armor scurried into the room and threw himself at the feet of the warriors. "I beseech you, mercy! They're mad! You must stop them!"
Atkynd's eyes widened as he recognized the speaker as Glinferen, the former king of Atatar. Pelinal sneered at the Ayleid as he turned towards the king, raising his weapons.
"Mercy?" he growled. "Why should I show mercy to one who has never shown it to anyone? What mercy have you ever shown your slaves, sorcerer-king? Or even your fellow elves? No… there shall be no-!"
"Wait! He's already surrendered! Hold, Whitestrake!" Atkynd shouted. Pelinal whipped around, and Atkynd involuntarily took a step back as his rage was turned on him. Part of him immediately regretted his decision, and he absently wondered why he had bothered stopping the knight, especially when the other human warriors turned to glare at him. Thinking quickly, he added, "No… he does not deserve mercy… but he also does not deserve a swift death! That's far too kind for him. And the Paravant will wish to make an example of him, to properly repay him for his cruelty. Let her pass judgment on him."
Pelinal shook with rage as Atkynd held his breath, and then he whipped around. Ruthlessly, Pelinal kicked the king across the face, sending him to the floor with a groan. Pressing his boot on the king's face, he hissed, "You will tell us what awaits us beyond!"
"Argh! St-stop!" Glinferen pleaded. "A half dozen mages! They… they have dremora… and a xivilai! And the slaves… they are… killing the slaves! All of them! You must… hurry… if you wish to save them!"
Pelinal hissed, then kicked the king one more time. He pointed to one of the men and barked, "You! Bind him and take him to the Paravant! The rest of you, come!"
Pelinal swung around and charged into the final room, with the rest of his men in tow. The hallway opened into an enormous central chamber comprised of high bridges overlooking an enormous pool of shallow water. In the center of the pool stood a towering marble statue of Mehrunes Dagon, the four-armed Prince of Destruction, clutching a different weapon in each hand, his hideous face twisted into a snarl of rage. The statue was lit by a quartet of braziers filled with aqua-colored stones, giving the figure an eerie, almost lifelike glow. Yet, as chilling as the statue was, the scene on the bridges was what truly froze Atkynd's blood.
Morahame's mages, dressed in flowing red robes, were spaced out on the bridges, accompanied by dremora guards. Each stood before a massive hanging blade made of bronze, which descended automatically at regular intervals. The mages stood with a line of slaves, chained by their hands and feet, and each time a blade rose, they grabbed another slave and pushed them forward. Each mage then changed, "Lord Dagon, we offer you this prize! Sate yourself with red-drink and hear our prayers!" The mage then held the slave under the blade as it descended. If they were lucky, the slave was instantly killed in one stroke. Occasionally, however, the slave struggled, and the blade mutilated them. Their screams drowned out the mage repeating the prayer, and once the slave was finally slain, they dragged another forward.
Atkynd felt bile rise in his throat as his eyes fell on the dozens of bodies that had already been discarded in the pool below. The water was stained a ghastly red, darkened by the dim light of the stones used to illuminate the room. At the foot of the statue, a mage repeated the chant while scooping the bloody water onto two objects placed at the feet of the statue. One Atkynd recognized as a massive blue-green Welkynd stone the size of a child, while the other was a malevolent orb the size of his torso that seemed to be made of roiling magma and shadows.
Many of the men balked and retched at the horrors they were witnessing, while Pelinal let out a roar of unbridled rage as he stormed into the room. Spotting him, some of the mages pointed to the intruders and ordered the dremora to stop them while others tried to hurry the sacrifice. Pelinal sprinted across one of the bridges and immediately plunged his sword into the chest of one of the mages, then turned to deflect the follow-up blow from the blade of the dremora with his mace. He knocked the dremora into the water below with another furious shout, and then he dashed under the guillotine to another mage, who fired a panicked lightning bolt at Pelinal that missed the knight entirely.
"Attack the other side!" Pelinal roared to the men. The remaining warriors immediately answered his command, charging towards the remaining bridge as one. Pasare set herself near the entrance to the chamber and aimed an arrow down at the mage praying to Mehrunes Dagon, but the arrow seemed to strike a clear, solid surface surrounding the mage, and it bounced off harmlessly. Swearing, she shot once more, with the same result. Pelinal, noticing this, shouted to her, "Continue shooting, girl! The wards shall not hold forever!" Pasare hesitated, then nodded and grimly drew another arrow.
The warriors ran across the right bridge, charging the first mage, who almost lazily looked up and lifted his hand. A stream of frost erupted from the palm of his hand, and a low wall of ice spread across the stone under the men's feet. One of the unlucky warriors near the edge lost his footing and tumbled off the bridge, landing heavily in the shallow water below, where he lay, unmoving. The others, however, managed to leap over the patch of ice, raising their weapons as they neared the mage.
The mage's dremora guard intercepted them and let out a primal bellow as it swung its heavy warhammer in a wide arc. A female warrior caught the blow on her shield, but she was sent careening over the edge of the bridge, her scream echoing through the room as she fell. Taking advantage of the opening, Plontinu and another warrior darted inside the dremora's range. The second warrior bashed his shield into the dremora's side, knocking the daedra off-balance, and then Plontinu rammed his shoulder into it and plunged his blade down. The weapon caught the dremora in the cheek, slashing it open, but the blow wasn't fatal. Undeterred, Plontinu brought his blade up and thrusted down again. This time, the attack tore through the dremora's throat, whereupon the daedra hissed and gurgled in agony before disappearing in a flash of fire.
The Ayleid mage brought his hands up, electricity flickering between his fingers, and he began chanting another spell, but Atkynd was faster. Raising his own hand, he concentrated and mentally recited his most familiar spell, and a flash of bright green light erupted from his palm. The bolt struck the mage square in the chest, and for a brief moment, a glazed look crossed the mage's face. Another warrior took advantage of the opening and swung her short axe around, cleaving the mage's head from his body in one clean stroke.
"I'll free the slaves!" Atkynd yelled over the chanting of the mages. "Dispatch the other mages!"
"Very good! Davo, aid him!" Plontinu shouted. "The rest of you, with me!"
The other warriors charged past the falling blade behind Plontinu, their footfalls echoing loudly in the hollow chamber. Atkynd glanced down at the fallen mage, and then his eyes trailed to the spot where the dremora had been slain moments before. It seemed Plontinu's claim of skill with a shortsword was not just idle boasting, he admitted to himself.
After quickly searching through the mage's robes, Atkynd found a heavy black key, which he shoved into one of the slaves' cuffs as the man watched him nervously. The key turned without resistance in the first slave's manacles, whereupon Atkynd repeated the process with the next lock, with the same result, and he continued down the line until all the humans were freed. As soon as their shackles were undone, the slaves began fleeing for the exit. Atkynd nodded to the bridge Pelinal had cleared and added, "I'll free the slaves over there. Follow Plontinu and retrieve the other keys. The fewer slaves the mages can sacrifice, the less likely it will be they can summon Mehrunes Dagon." If they could at all, Atkynd added mentally. He had his doubts that a simple mass sacrifice of blood could draw a Daedric Prince to Nirn, but even if that wasn't the case, he wanted to save as many slaves as possible from Morahame's madness.
As he began running to the other side, he noticed that Pelinal had reached the central bridge hanging over the statue of Mehrunes Dagon. Two mages were backing away from him, but Pelinal's advance was interrupted by a new figure. A massive, muscular, blue-skinned daedra that towered over seven feet tall lumbered towards Pelinal, its pale-yellow eyes glowing in the bloody light. Wordlessly, it drew a two-handed axe over its head and cleaved it horizontally across its chest. Pelinal rotated his shield, and a deafening crash echoed through the chamber. Pelinal managed to hold his ground, but Atkynd heard him grunt from the force of the blow. The daedra snarled and brought its axe up again, but Pelinal responded by swinging his own mace around, slamming the flaming head into the creature's ribs. The daedra, in turn, groaned in pain and staggered backwards, but it managed to recover its footing before Pelinal could pursue it with a follow-up attack. A low, challenging grunt erupted from the beast's lips, and Pelinal let out a chuckle.
"Seems you'll be a bit of a challenge," Pelinal remarked, bringing his shield up again. "Very well."
Atkynd stopped in front of the slaves still huddled on the left-hand bridge, and he quickly began rifling through the mages' robes for the key. However, he was unable to tear his eyes away from the duel between Pelinal and the daedra in the center of the chamber. The daedra cleaved its axe in a wide, vicious arc, which Pelinal stepped back to avoid, and then he darted in with his mace again. His blow caught the beast on its shoulder, but the daedra shrugged and rolled its arm before attacking with a heavy overhead attack. Pelinal caught the attack on the corner of his diamond-shaped shield and deflected it to the side, then once again struck the monster on its left arm. This time, the daedra's grip faltered slightly, and Pelinal managed to strike it once more before it recovered its stance.
As his fingers closed around something hard and metal, Atkynd looked down to find he was holding the next key to the slaves' chains, and he quickly freed the remaining captives on his side. The slaves sprinted for the exit, and Atkynd noticed that the men on the opposite bridge had also freed the last prisoners on their side. The only slaves remaining were those cowering on either side of the central bridge, where Pelinal was fighting the giant blue daedra. Atkynd swallowed hard as he began to slowly approach the two combatants, his heart racing with fear, as he tried to deduce how close he could approach the two duelists.
As Atkynd crept up to the bridge, his eyes were fixed on the massive daedra's muscular back for any sign that it was aware of him. Its left arm now hanging uselessly, the daedra shifted its grip on its axe, hefting it so that it was held halfway up its haft. Pelinal chortled, taunting, "You couldn't defeat me with two hands. Why do you believe you can do so with one?"
The daedra considered Pelinal's remark, and then its eyes fell on the slaves behind it, still waiting to be sacrificed. Pelinal's laughter abruptly stopped as the daedra turned and swung its axe in a wide arc. Shock ran through Atkynd's body as blood seeped across the smooth platform, and three slaves fell, lifeless, to the cold marble. Pelinal screamed with fury and moved to interpose himself between the daedra and the helpless slaves, but the daedra rammed him with its shoulder, sending Pelinal stumbling back. Pelinal growled and recovered enough to grab the daedra by the arm, yanking it away from the huddled, helpless slaves.
"Elf!" Pelinal shouted, spotting Atkynd hovering near the edge of the bridge. "Free the men, now!"
"I need the key!" Atkynd yelled back, his blood running cold as the daedra's eyes fell on him, daring him to try freeing the remaining men. "One of the mages should have it!"
Pelinal growled in frustration and glanced at the two mages still cowering near the edge of the bridge. Plontinu suddenly sprang forward, grabbing one of the mages and plunging his shortsword into the woman's chest. As her lifeless body crumpled to the ground, he began rummaging in her robes for the key, while the rest of the men stood behind him, brandishing their spears threateningly at the large daedra.
The other mage, seeing this, backed towards the edge of the bridge and pulled a small bronze knife from within his robes. "Lord Dagon, I offer you this prize! Sate yourself with red-drink and hear my prayer!" the man shouted, plunging the knife into his chest. Atkynd watched, horrified, as his body pitched backwards and toppled, lifeless, into the water and well out of their reach.
Pelinal swore furiously as the daedra returned its gaze to the slaves on the left side of the bridge. It raised its axe again, and Pelinal was forced to grab its arm and tug it backwards once more, while the daedra struggled to push him away. Atkynd thought frantically as the slaves stared at him with pleading looks. His eyes traveled along the bridge, and then up to the heavy bronze blade above him, still rising and falling automatically. And then an idea struck him.
"Come! This way!" Atkynd beckoned the slaves, who shivered and hesitated. When he insistently motioned for them, however, a young boy no more than a decade old shyly wandered towards him. Seeing this, the other slaves pushed themselves up and hurried towards him, though they stopped short as the heavy blade fell in front of them again. Atkynd held his hand up and waited for the blade to rise, and then he motioned furiously for them to move forward again. The chains binding them to the rectangular stone altar in the center of the bridge stretched taut across the ground, and the last two lifeless bodies were left trapped inside the blade's range. Those still living, however, were able to cross under its threshold.
"Good! Now hold!" Atkynd shouted, and the nearest slave shied away from the blade as it finished its ascent. All eyes watched the blade intently as it descended to the ground, and a heavy metal clanging filled the room as it slammed into the chain binding the prisoners to the altar. Atkynd held his breath as it rose again, but to his dismay, the chain was merely damaged, not broken.
As the blade began rising again, the giant daedra roared and swung its arm, dislodging Pelinal, who stumbled backwards. The daedra charged towards the helpless slaves, who shrank away and screamed in terror. Atkynd's heart pounded as he willed the blade to rise faster, but it quickly became obvious the daedra would reach them before it fell again. He only saw one option, and he wasn't even sure it would work.
Taking a quick breath, he drew his shortsword and darted to a spot just in front of the heavy hanging blade. He dropped to his knees and turned the sword around, pointing its tip to the floor, and then he raised it above his head. With a yell, he slammed the point of his sword down onto the damaged chain with all his might.
His sword rang like a bell as it struck the mangled link cleanly. The blade broke in half, splintering from the impact, but the link also snapped, breaking the chain. Immediately realizing that they were free, the slaves took off across the bridge, screaming in fear. Atkynd allowed himself a brief, pleased smile before he looked up again and realized that the enormous daedra was bearing down on him, roaring with fury, and all he had to defend himself with was a broken sword.
Atkynd raised his arms over his face, for all the good it would do him, but before the beast reached him, Pelinal's sword pieced through its back and tore its way through the monster's chest. The daedra stumbled and fell to the ground a few feet from Atkynd, groaning in pain. Its gaze fell on him, and it let out a hate-filled snarl as its body disappeared in a flash of purple fire, leaving Atkynd sitting motionless on the marble ground, staring blankly at the spot where the daedra had fallen. Then the heavy blade descended again, slamming into the ground in front of him, and he yelped in surprise and scurried backwards.
Pelinal stood on the other side of the blade, gazing down on him, his helmeted face inscrutable. On the other side of the bridge, Atkynd spotted the other slaves running across the bridge, the last of them freed. He turned back to Pelinal and rasped hoarsely, "Th-thank you."
"Mm. Rise," Pelinal grunted, then turned around and gazed down at the last mage, still chanting in front of the statue of Mehrunes Dagon. Atkynd slowly pushed himself to his feet, his arms and legs shaking. But at least he was alive.
The mage paused in his ritual to glance around, and a panicked look crossed his face as he realized he was alone. His chanting became high-pitched and frantic as he shrieked, "Lord Dagon, accept this prize! Sate yourself wi-!"
His voice caught in his throat as one of Pasare's arrows pierced the clear barrier protecting him and penetrated his lung. He choked and stared down at the bolt protruding from his chest, then pitched forward, clutching the base of the statue with bloody hands. He tried to hoist himself up, but Pelinal vaulted over the railing of the bridge and landed heavily in the water. Mercilessly, he kicked the mage away from the statue, leaving him to float helplessly in the bloody red water. The knight then turned to glare coldly at the statue.
"It would seem that we were not too late, at least," he growled, just loud enough for Atkynd to hear.
A low rumbling filled the chamber, and then the walls began to tremble. Atkynd's eyes widened with fright as he fell to the ground and clutched the railing of the bridge to avoid falling over the edge. He briefly feared they were caught in an earthquake, but when a furious, echoing voice began to speak, he found himself wishing it was a mere natural disaster.
"Mortals! I did not bid you to cease!" the voice boomed. The words bounced off the inside of Atkynd's skull, leaving him clutching his head and groaning in pain. "Gift me your lifeblood! Fall on your blades, open your veins, and surrender your lives to herald my arrival!"
For a brief moment, Atkynd was seized by a mad desire to plunge the broken blade of his sword into his chest. The moment quickly passed, but he was left horrified by how compelled he had felt to obey. Below him, another deep voice shouted an answer.
"Cease bawling, monster!" Pelinal bellowed. "None of your followers yet remain! You have no power here!"
The voice responded with a menacing growl. "Silence, thrice-damned ada! The ritual will be completed! No mortal would dare stand in the way of my arrival!"
"One would," a firm voice answered. Atkynd blearily looked up, and though his vision swam, he could just make out a robed figure standing with her hands folded in front of her, her posture serene yet resolute.
Perrif looked over his shoulder at her and growled in a warning tone, "My lady…!"
"The slaves you rescued informed me that the vaults have been secured," Perrif cut him off tartly, her irritation at being forced to remain behind evident in her tone. "And I trust you to protect me." She then turned her attention back to the statue. "Begone, Prince of Destruction. You'll find no welcome here."
The voice was silent for a long moment, and then a low, dark chuckle resounded through the temple. "Ah, the slave girl holding this knight's leash. It seems that having two ada heeding your commands has made you arrogant, mortal. You dare challenge a Daedric Prince?"
"I do," Perrif answered firmly. "As my champion said, your followers have been slain. Your plans here are undone."
"Here, perhaps," Dagon retorted. "But I have followers throughout this realm. Eventually, I shall walk your land, ravaging it as I please."
"No, you shall not," Perrif replied. "I swear by the Divines. So long as it is within my power, you shall never set foot in Cyrod."
Mehrunes Dagon burst out laughing, and Atkynd clutched his ears and grit his teeth as his head throbbed with pain. "So long as it is within your power?!" the Prince cried incredulously. "What can a mere mortal do against a god?!"
A slight smile crossed Perrif's face. "Right now?" she replied. "I can do this. Pelinal?" she added, turning to the knight. "Those stones at the base of the statue. Does Lord Dagon require them for his ritual to be completed?"
"Yes, my lady," Pelinal confirmed.
"Destroy them, please," Perrif requested.
Pelinal let out a short chuckle and turned to the statue as Dagon cried, "No! Stop!"
The knight ignored him as he pulled his mace from his belt and turned towards the large Welkynd stone. With a short yell, he raised the weapon over his head and brought it down on the glowing gem. The mace bounced off its surface with a sharp, clear ringing sound, as though he had struck a crystal bell. Pelinal slowly looked down at his mace, seeming confused and surprised, but then he shrugged and turned to the molten orb instead. Once again, he raised his mace and brought it down. This time, the orb shattered into hundreds of shards which scattered across the base of the statue and in the water.
Mehrunes Dagon let out a short, furious roar as the orb shattered. After a brief pause, it addressed Perrif once again. "So be it. I shall remember your oath, mortal. Daedric Princes have very long memories. One day, I shall walk the land of Cyrod. I shall recall your oath, and I shall take great pleasure in destroying everything you swore to protect."
"Pelinal. The statue as well, please," Perrif said coolly.
Pelinal turned and swung his mace into the ankle of the towering statue. Cracks climbed up the marble surface, and moments later the hideous figure collapsed under its own weight and toppled into the water, breaking into several large pieces on impact.
At last, the voice fell silent, and Atkynd was finally able to slowly push himself to his feet. His head was aching and throbbing, and it was several seconds before his vision stopped swimming. As his eyes refocused, he noticed that the other warriors across the way were also slowly rising from the ground. The fact that he wasn't the only one so affected by the Daedric Prince's voice did make him feel a bit better.
Perrif waited patiently for the warriors to limp over to her, and when they were assembled in a loose semicircle around her, she addressed them with a warm, pleased smile. "Well done. Morahame's army has been vanquished and we prevented a great evil from being unleashed upon the land." She raised her hand, pointing at the ceiling. "The men on the surface are celebrating, but I imagine you all would prefer a long rest. So, this is my command. Return to your brothers, enjoy a meal, and sleep as long as you wish. Pelinal!" she added, turning to her champion. "General Morihaus would like to speak with you about what comes next. If you are not too exhausted…."
"I am not," Pelinal grunted. "I shall speak with him immediately."
"Very good," Perrif nodded. "The rest of you are dismissed. Atkynd!" she added, calling out to him as he started for the exit. "I would also like to speak with you later. We must decide what is to be done about King Glinferen."
"As… as you say," Atkynd grimaced.
A sympathetic look crossed Perrif's face, and she spoke in a pitying tone, "We shall discuss it later. For now, seek out Tari and have her treat you if you require it, then rest." Atkynd nodded gratefully, his exhaustion evident on his face and in his stance. Perrif favored him with another smile. "You all did well," she added, looking back towards the ruined chamber. "This was a great victory you achieved."
Atkynd looked back at the grisly temple, at the blood staining the floor and the lifeless bodies of the slaves strewn about. His stomach roiled with nausea, and he turned back to Perrif wearing a grim expression. "I hope I never witness another 'victory' like this again," he replied solemnly as he moved past her and began wearily climbing the stairs to the exit, hoping to never return to the cursed vault.