Line in the Sand

Jordis jerked back from the haphazard swing of a blade. She knows desperation when she sees it. She knows reeling when she sees it. Before the cultist can draw themselves back to strike again, Jordis darts forward. She thrusts her blade through leather and cloth and into flesh, feeling the body it belonged to seize up, more in shock than pain. Then, it went slack, the body sagging forward. With her shield, Jordis pushed the cultist off and away, her sword drawing from the body with a slick, almost silent sound and leaving it red from point to center.

Then, Jordis shook. Not outwardly, as if from wind and cold but in her entirety, as if the ground was shaking her to her very heart.

She heard a Shout. It was something she had grown used to in her time serving the Dragonborn. Even then and even from a distance, it was jarring. So when she heard the Word of Power fill the air not just once but twice, she grounded herself; kept her legs set and steady to keep from being rocked.

Her fortitude was nearly lost when she saw what came next.

The Khajit swiped an arm at Felwinter. Felwinter, who was doubled over on the ground, his sword discarded and his arms struggling to keep himself upright. With magic or just pure strength, Jordis was afraid to learn which, the Khajiiti cultist sent her thane hurtling. Through the air, over their heads and past her gaping eyes, Felwinter fell back towards the temple and down until he was out of sight. She didn't hear him land.

Part of her felt as if she should be ashamed that all she did was watch as her thane, her sworn charge, was so brutally incapacitated, possibly even killed. But from the day she had met this man, he had always come across to her as larger than life, both in body and in spirit. To see the veritable mountain that was Felwinter Drakon be tossed off his feet and sent flying as easily as a child's kicked ball, maybe she could be forgiven for not immediately jumping into action.

But she did. Jordis, with a horrified Frea and a red-faced Gregor ahead of her, broke into a mad dash for the Temple of Miraak. She forced her mind to empty, to cease presenting her with all the horrible and gut-wrenching thoughts such a sight was bringing about and to just run. Run and run as hard as her legs and heart would allow and still run faster.

Then she felt the buzz along her skin. To the forefront of her mind came Felwinter's words, his lessons. Jordis didn't even bother to turn and find the source or the cause. She knew she didn't have the time. All she did was scream, "Get down!"

Gregor, Divines bless him, reacted perfectly. He reached out, grabbed Frea by the arm and roughly snatched her back less than a heartbeat before a ball of fire landed just mere inches from where she had been before. The explosion sent the dead cultists scattered about spiraling into the air, in charred bits and burning pieces. Jordis refused to give her mind the space to imagine that as one of their own.

She spun around, shield out, up, angled down. She caught the second ball of fire, painfully but a blessing compared to what it could have been. A third blast followed it, as Gregor and Frea took precious seconds to untangle and right themselves. Fourth, a fifth, each one blocked with pain that made her grit her teeth but blocked nonetheless. Dutifully, her shield remained up.

She heard another Shout and horror followed realization. Because of this, recognition came too late. Jordis attempted to lash out with her sword from behind the shield but the Khajiit had already shot across the expanse between them. When Jordis peeked over her shield, they were already eye to eye. Then the Khajiit threw her two hands forward. More buzzing erupted along Jordis' skin.

The ground left her feet. Before she even realized it had done so, her back struck something hard, heavy and loud. Her body rammed into both Gregor and Frea and sent them toppling. Hitting the ground, her body kept rolling through the dirt and sand before finally coming to a stop. Jordis flinched away when something landed near where her head had come to rest. Her sword went clattering away another few feet, its point just barely missing her skull. Her shield arm ached something fierce.

Jordis turned to check on the others, to take in the sight of them. She saw the dark red scrape on the side of Gregor's head. She saw Frea trying to rise on shaking legs, collapsing with a weak groan and then trying again.

The Khajiit was walking now, slowly. A shortsword in one hand and the other, a small, wickedly curved dagger, twirling over and around the maimed, clawed fingers. Her wide, bruised eyes remained wide, unblinking, set on them and there was never a time in her life more than now that Jordis has felt like prey.

Movement erupted from beside her. Gregor tore himself up from off the ground, letting out a fearsome, if not weary, growl as he did. He snatches up his blade, moves before Jordis and widens his stance, eyes dead ahead as he waits for what would come next. Another Shout, more magic, he did not care. And Jordis could tell, it would not matter.

"Frea…" the older woman called, the resignation in her voice palpable. "Go to the temple. Find Felwinter."

Frea's eyes widened. They passed back and forth between the two housecarls and the encroaching Khajiit. Jordis hauled herself to her feet, bending down with a pained grunt to take up her sword. Slowly, there was no point in rushing. "We'll hold her here. Give you time to bring him back." Jordis stepped forward, out from behind Gregor's back to join his side. Gregor remained as still as a statue, though she could hear him swallow.

Jordis did not turn to look at Frea again, even as she heard the sound of feet twisting and running away. She was grateful the girl, in the end, chose not to argue, lest she make Jordis repeat herself and doubt even further what would come next.

"So...she Shouts," Gregor muttered when they were alone.

"So she does."

"Just like our thane." He huffed out a small laugh, "What are the odds?"

"No point in odds with this crowd, Gregor." Jordis fixes her eyes onto the Khajiit. "Though I wasn't prepared for this. Neither was our thane."

Gregor hummed. The Khajiit was moving so slowly, he was caught between wanting her to stay away for as long as possible and wishing she would hurry and get it over with. He kept his shoulders loose, his legs fixed and prayed he did not start shaking. He was at Fort Frostmoth again, an army of fiery undead scrabbling at his heels as he ran for his head. Here, there was no Dragon to save them. No Dragonborn to lead them. Here, there was no army, just one woman. Here, there would be no running. "I don't feel good about our chances, Jordis."

"Nor should you."

Gregor licked his lips, tasting salt and sand and iron. Then he let out a slow, long breath. The nerves fell away. The fear remained but resolve joined it, as Jordis did by his side. "Our plan then?"

Jordis spread her feet out in the dirt. Her sword ready, her shield up and her eyes forward, all she said was, "No further."

Gregor gave her one final look. Silently, he agreed. No words were needed.

The Khajiit paused in her slow walk. Then she Shouted again.