Chapter 4: A Restless Soldier
In his death, eternal slumber does not wait nor loved ones, but an eternal dream. A dream of changing myths and faint echoes, where he spoke to himself in this dream and lived under many names…
For his soul is a doomed one, and would know no rest.
"May you find your worth in the next life, my champion."
For within the madness of his divinity he could forget the bitterness of his mortalhood.
"Where is the Count?"
The spoken question repeated ad infinitum. Because of his actions during the Oblivion Crisis, Savlian Matius became the captain for the city of Kvatch, that meant his job should entail issues concerning the city and its people. Traditionally there would be another captain specifically for Castle Kvatch with duties entailing the overseeing of the Count's security, then there would be lieutenants assigned to them as their subordinates like Jesan and Merandil.
Savlian did not have the luxury of having a co-captain to oversee the Count's guards. The reasoning behind the idea was simply because there hasn't been a need to. The Count himself had his own personal knights from the military orders of the Nine Divines that served as his own escorts.
Right now, he wanted to strangle the new Count by the neck himself for not going along the traditional hierarchy. Hell, for persuading him to go along that decision as well! He could feel his hair going bald and white from that man's disappearing act because no doubt about it, there was nothing on Tamriel that could threatened that monster of a man the Champion of Cyrodiil is.
What kind of Count doesn't want a personal guard captain? Oh wait, his!
"When I find that man…" Savlian managed to mutter these heated words out through his grinding teeth.
"Captain, you're doing it again." Merandil, his High Elf lieutenant warned him gently.
Savlian forced himself to inhale deeply. Oleta told him to practice deep breathing if there was any moment that his stress was going to overwhelm him. It sounded like a bunch of broken crocks to him, but the admonishing look she gave to him wisely made him shut his trap. You don't say disrespecting words to a master healer like her lest you wanted your priests to put you into an early grave and have them bring you back from the brink of death.
At the sound of soft crinkles of multiple chainmail marching across the stone arched great hall, Savlian perked up only to frown crossly when he saw his Imperial lieutenant leading unhappy fellow guards behind him. Jesan shook his head slowly under his questioning look as he approached him.
"No sign of our lord, sir." He reported when he stood attention in front of him.
This was not good for morale.
"The knights were of no help at all?" Savlian asked.
He had utmost trust and respect for the military arm of the Nine, the Order of the Hour had protected the Great Chapel of Akatosh with a barrier against the Daedra at the sacrifice of their lives. If not for them there wouldn't have been any survivors left in the cathedral halls.
At that Jesan looked cross. "The knights are arguing with the Count's mother. Something about handing over a woman to them."
He didn't want to linger any thoughts on the Count's mother. That woman both terrified and gave him a headache whenever his mind rested on her, and to hear that she was involved in this made him feel his heartbeat slowly rise in trepidation.
"What woman?" Savlian kept his voice from snapping at his subordinate. "Why wasn't I told anything about this?"
Jesan immediately saluted. "I had thought it was just Chapel's business and nothing to do with the Count's disappearance, sir!"
This was why there needs to be a traditional clear rank of hierarchy, miscommunication like this wouldn't be a thing. Savlian held a sigh. "Tell me what you know about this, lieutenant."
"The knights believe the magical incident in the old keep might actually be daedric," Jesan began carefully, knowing the word daedra and anything associate with it was likely going to strike a nerve around him.
It was already happening even now, Savlian noted the tightening grips of his soldiers' lax hand holding their swords and a manic alertness in their eyes. He couldn't even stop the feeling of his guts twisting when he heard that.
"A mage also claims the same," Savlian said gravely.
Something about tree roots that won't cut unless it was ebony or strong magic, the captain thinned his lips in his recollection.
"The woman also appeared in this incident. She's currently with Oleta as a patient," Jesan continued.
"Are the knights planning to interrogate her?"
She was here. The Count wasn't. A connection doesn't mean it's the cause of the latter though.
"The Theurgist has commanded them to stand down."
"It's best to leave it to them then and continue our focus on the search for the Count," Savlian ordered. "At this point we might have to start searching the city itself."
That part he was dreading since the people would no doubt start to ask questions, there was a difference to their set of patrol routine as opposed to actively looking for a person.
His guards saluted him, and he let them be. Savlian once again was left alone in the looming tall archways of Castle Kvatch's great hall. He glanced at the throne made of sleek oak, carved with symbols of Kvatch's glory and power, decorated with the county's renowned color, purple.
He was filled with piety to Kvatch and what its throne represents but could the same be said for his new Count. Can he lay down and give his life to him as he had done for Kvatch? Undoubtedly, but there was a difference to his respect given to Count Goldwine and the respect he gives to Count Warhaft. When he thought about Count Goldwine, he held his former ruler above him. With the current Count there was a frustrating sense of equal footing between them, one that the man he gave oath to purposely made no amendment towards.
He was more of a friend than a ruler, Savlian admitted bitterly.
One that made him worried sick. What the hell was his lord doing wondering about while being unwell? Perhaps someone or something did take him away, knowing the state he was currently in.
He remembered his first memory of that man. He didn't look much at first, surly with shadows under the eyes and straight to the point. It was only later he learned this same man had never once rest since his preemptive release from prison. Who knew how long he had been in jail for, but one thing was certain he looked worse for wear. When those grey eyes turned towards the hellish gate of Oblivion and its creatures, it was there and then he felt his own blood froze at the killing-intent from him.
His second encounter with him was when he requested aid for Bruma, and he hardly recognized said man. The familiar sense of iciness in him was still there but there was fire in his steel-blood gaze where there wasn't. What little strength and grace he had when they last met renewed into this hero he knew him now. As the minstrel aptly once said, as true as icy steel, but fierce like the roaring fire of a dragon.
Although he knew his lord would scoff at such saying.
Something soft and warm rubbed against the steel of his closed greaves. Savlian looked down with a frown and noticed a large, long-furred silver-white suit cat staring right up back at him with a pair of bright gold slitted eyes.
Taken aback, Savlian asked, "Are you lost?"
He heard there were Khajiits that could be mistaken as domesticated housecats but one thing that set them apart is that they were larger. The cat in front of him did appear to be bigger than the usual stray cats he has seen, although to see a stray cat in Castle Kvatch was unusual by itself. The servants kept them out for hygienic reasons.
A slow blink of a wink was his reply, and it turned its gaze away from him.
Must be just a cat then, Savlian safely assumed and bent down to pick it up, but with a sharp scratch and a warning hiss, it slinked away and escaped from his grasp. The veteran would have been amused had he not noticed the claws managed to scratch through the steel plate of his greaves and the mail of his chausses.
"What in Oblivion?" Savlian managed to utter the words out and quickly searched for the cause.
Like a ghost, the white cat was gone.
"Captain Savlian," a young but stern voice called out to him.
Her voice echoed clearly despite how quiet it was, the great hall was after all purposely designed so that one could hear the other's voice easily without raising it, especially the Lord of Kvatch. The younger sister of Count Warhaft approached him from the center of the hall, wearing some would say a garish Nibenean flowing garment called a chiton that accentuates the body and showed off the skins of one's arms and shoulders. Her mother wore something different but similar, a shari or saree. The rich and the ruling nobles of Cyrodiil women followed the typical long Colovian's dress that had a bodice, covered the arms and shoulders with the legs hidden behind long blooming skirt, but some magocracy remained steadfast against such fashion, preferring the traditional Nibenean ways despite how fashion comes and goes quickly for them.
She was a pretty, young woman, one that he had to give sharp eye on young shoots in his rank from gawking. He heard the Count cared for her, having gone out of his way to bring in handmaids familiar with the ways of old Nibeneans nobility. He even bought enchanted moth silks for both her and their mother, the one luxury he spared no expense towards. Besides their unusual fashion statement, the female relatives of Count Kvatch were reserved and remained to themselves. Although there were horror stories of the mother being some witch and necromancer under the watch of the Temple of the Nines with the daughter being cursed and haunted.
"Milady," Savlian greeted the young lady with a salute. "It's getting very late; shouldn't you be preparing your evening."
A slight frown rose on her face, but it left quickly. "Have you seen my cat?" she blurted out.
Savlian frowned crossly. "A white cat with silver stripes and a pattern that look like it's wearing a suit?"
She nodded vigorously with a mildly perturbed look.
"Yes," the Captain of Kvatch admitted acidly. "It managed to cut through my armor quite easily." He gestured his offended greaves towards her.
"Oh." There was a genuine look of surprise.
"No cat can do that, not even if it was a Khajiit. May I ask what the hell is going on?" Savlian glared at her.
"It's my familiar," she answered quickly. "I was playing with my magic. You know, making it strong. Particularly its claws."
Why? Stray cats already had a habit of ruining good furniture. Why give them the ability to be capable of doing more?
"I advise you to choose another hobby, milady. My people here would not appreciate such a cat capable of cutting through plates and mail like it was butter," Savlian scolded her.
"Yes, captain. I understand," she said softly.
It won't do to hear the Count's relative badmouthing behind his back, although he trusted his lord not to indulge such habits nobility unfairly showed towards their own kin. Still, last he heard about her; Lady Doruntine was a decent young woman. There have been many proposals made for her hand in marriage, simply because she was the only daughter of the Warhaft, and because of her ties with the Champion of Cyrodiil.
His lord had dumped all the proposals into a fire after asking a question whether she was interested in marriage and a life outside Kvatch in her future. She chose Kvatch, and that meant a lot to Savlian, to its people. The Count had no heir, no partner, and took no actions toward correcting this worry. Whenever there was a court to be held, Lady Doruntine sat by where the scribes transcribed, and the workers did the paperwork. It was assumed she would be groomed as his successor as that was the place the heir apparent would sit.
Savlian sighed. "Your cat disappeared off before I could manage to nab it, so I can't say where it went off."
"I see," she sounded more distracted than disappointed. "Thank you for your time, captain." She quickly curtsied.
Savlian saluted. "And to you, milady. I hope you find your cat."
"Yes." She nodded and glanced away. "I will keep searching, perhaps the dining hall. The smell of food might have attracted it."
Normally he would have interrogated her odd behavior or have someone else to give him a report what she might be up to, but he had other more important matter to attend to. Like their missing Count.
"What's your relationship with the goddesses of light, twilight and darkness?"
"Wow, rude. I don't go badgering about your relationship with your divine goddesses, Champion."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You wedded with Mara. You kissed Kynareth on the altar. You consummated with Dibella."
"That's just a saying to treat your spouse right on their wedding!"
AN: Urgh, I should just aim writing short chapters.