A/N: Just wanted to give another quick thank you to all the reviewers so far! We've long since surpassed 600 hits, which is fantastic! Hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a longer one...
On a cold, clear night in Mournoth, shadows glided across the dark waters of the Bjoulsae River. Moving against the current, the rowboats swiftly made their way up the river. The slapping of oars against the water were muffled with sorcery, and the hulls had been painted black as pitch. Even when they passed by Evermore, none of the city watchmen's lanterns could cast a light strong enough to reveal the vessels bearing Blackthorn soldiers across the water.
Ethenriel was instilled with a terrible resolve as she crouched low in the leading rowboat, hearing only the breathing of those men cramped into the vessel with her. William was positioned at the front of their boat, his eyes glowing with the pale green light of a Night Eye spell as they forged their way up the Bjoulsae toward Lake Halcyon and the nearby Durand Stronghold.
The hulkynd checked her gear. A mace hung by her belt next to her longsword. Her usual armor had been exchanged for darker plate and chainmail with her House jupon thrown over the cuirass. She wore the same kind of black cloak that had been thrown over every man and woman in their force to help conceal their approach. It's been a while since I was part of a night battle.
Her attention returned to her surroundings. Night Eye spells glowed through the visors and helms of their soldiers. Quiet anticipation filled the air. Not even the sound of their boat's hull cutting across the water escaped their area; their mages had been meticulous with their muffling spells. Anything less might have betrayed their position.
At the head of the boat, William suddenly waved and pointed. Ethenriel looked. Her world had been rendered in pale green light due to her Night Eye. The figure of Durand Stronghold loomed in the distance ahead of them, across the water of Lake Halcyon. The hulkynd felt a knot of anticipation tighten in her gut as she laid eyes upon the keep. Battle would be imminent.
Their boats slid quietly ashore. The shoreline was unguarded and distant enough to avoid the gazes of House Durand's guards on the walls. One by one, the remaining rowboats followed suit. Mages from each vessel renewed muffling spells as the troops disembarked, masking the splashing of their feet as they gathered on the shore. In less than half an hour, they'd amassed their force of two hundred on the shores of Lake Halcyon.
Ethenriel sent a few Blackthorn Nightblades out to scout the area while the final few landing craft came lumbering up the Bjoulsae in their wake. She took a moment to study the keep, recalling what she'd seen with her own eyes last she had been there. There was an outer wall and an inner wall protecting Durand Stronghold. A pair of watchtowers flanked the central keep along the inner wall. They would need to force their way through the first gatehouse, establish a foothold in the bailey while they breached the second gatehouse, and only then would they be able to assault the keep itself.
William appeared alongside her. The tall man had a wicked grin on his lips. "All the troops are accounted for, Ethie. Shall we give our friends a wake-up call?"
She shook her head. "Not until the Nightblades report back. We must orchestrate this perfectly if we want to do it quickly and cleanly."
"There's no fun in clean." William groused, turning back to look longingly at the distant keep. He could hardly contain his excitement, rubbing the hilt of his greatsword as if itching to take it into a battle stance. An overeager young lion hoping to prove his strength.
Ethenriel fought down an exasperated sigh. "Need I remind you that Evermore is mere hours away by horseback? We will strike hard and fast, then we will extract ourselves before reinforcements can arrive from the city. Do you remember your father's orders?"
William rolled his glowing eyes under his helm and counted them off on his fingers. "Capture King Dorian. Capture his children Bernard and Mirabelle, and Queen Josephine. Only a few other prisoners are acceptable for ransom. Kill everyone else."
The hulkynd noticed that Roland hadn't even been mentioned. Ganelon had always been scornful of King Dorian's bastard - he probably couldn't care less if the lad lived or not and probably preferred to see him dead out of spite. She muttered, "Well done, young knight. Now, go make yourself useful and send a contingent of men to watch the southwest road. It's the most direct route from here to Evermore."
He bristled indignantly. "You will not delegate me to the back of the battle, Ethie. Have a sergeant sit watch - I will be taking part in the battle."
She couldn't help the frustrated sigh that escaped her. "Your Highness, you are the only heir to House Blackthorn's throne. If you die, who will lead when your father passes away?"
The Blackthorn prince gave her a smug grin. "I won't rush recklessly into the battle, if that is what you fear. But when we breach those gates, you will not stop me from entering with our men."
"So long as you don't do anything foolish. And remember what I said about mistreating prisoners."
Again, he rolled his eyes and shook his head dolefully. "I liked you better when you didn't care about your enemies so much, Ethie. Don't think that House Durand would show us any mercy if the tables were turned."
The Nightblades returned shortly thereafter. All of them reported the same thing: no heightened awareness from the patrols on the walls, and the guard presence in the nearby hamlet of Myrcia had been taken care of - no witnesses. First blood had been spilled and still House Durand suspected nothing. It was with a heavy heart that Ethenriel gave her next commands. "Bring up the battlemages and the crossbowmen, William. It's time to begin our assault."
William's eyes lit up with glee. "I'll muster the troops. Where will you be when the fighting begins, Ethie?"
"Commanding our troops. Have your personal guard with you at all times, your Highness - I will not be there to keep an eye on you."
"Wouldn't you rather be by my side in the thick of it?"
"Somebody has to hang back with the reserve troops - it's difficult to have a good grasp of the situation when you're surrounded by the chaos of a battle. You'll learn that soon enough, I wager. If the fighting starts to go poorly, I'll be in a position to send aid your way."
William scoffed. "Very well. More glory for me at the front, then. See you on the other side, Ethie." She watched his excited grin disappear as he slipped his helmet over his head. Ethenriel did the same, though she kept her visor up to maintain visibility.
This is it, thought the hulkynd, turning back to the gatehouse that would be their first obstacle. Deep inside her, the knot of anticipation tightened further. No turning back now. The die is cast.
The long, dark night over Mournoth was shattered by the glare and roar of destructive magic. Ardent motes of flame shot into the sky in a high, graceful arc, before landing among the guards standing on the walls. Fiery blooms erupted against the ramparts, throwing the night into stark relief. The concussive wave of the explosions shook Durand Stronghold down to its foundations.
Somewhere in the gatehouse, an alarm bell began to ring. More fireballs exploded against the ramparts, shaking the entire structure and killing the few remaining guards standing on the walls. A final explosion ripped apart the outer gate, opening the way for the main body of Blackthorn troops. As the darkly clad soldiers advanced upon the breach, the few surviving Durand guards in the gatehouse began to frantically prepare to try and stem the incoming tide, shouting orders amongst themselves. But then the Blackthorn Nightblades were upon them, materializing out of the shadows with daggers and keen swords. The last Durand guardsman died at the alarm bell, still ringing for reinforcements that would be too late to save him.
The second gatehouse greeted the assaulting forces as they entered the bailey. By now, Durand Stronghold had been roused from its sleep, and its garrison was moving as quickly as it could to bring itself to bear against the attackers. Durand archers with yew longbows took aim at the invaders, firing through arrow slits within the two watchtowers or manning the walls and taking cover behind the crenellations. The first Blackthorn casualties fell to heavy bodkins that pierced their chainmail. One bodkin struck William in the chest, but it was deflected by his armor plate. "Crossbows, return fire!"
The infamous Blackthorn pavise crossbowmen answered the call. They stood their large shields upright on the ground and used them as cover from which to fire and reload behind. Bodkins and quarrels flew in a hissing barrage as the marksmen traded shots.
A heavy grinding noise echoed in the bailey, and a metal portcullis crashed shut at the gatehouse. More Durand archers began to appear on the walls, firing down at the invaders. The casualties began to mount swiftly as Blackthorn men-at-arms fell clutching the bodkins stuck in their heaving flanks.
"Bring down the gate!" William yelled, signaling for the battlemages. A trio of Blackthorn battlemages began to focus their destructive fire upon the metal gate, slowly melting it into slag with great blasts of flame; the knights and men-at-arms tried to protect them from arrow fire with their shields. Blackthorn Nightblades appeared amongst the ranks of the Durand archers on the wall without warning, flying into the fray with their blades and deadly magic. The archers fell back, reaching for their swords and axes, stemming the tide of arrows for a moment and giving the attackers some breathing room.
A mighty crash filled the air as the portcullis came undone, falling apart in a twisted heap of glowing, orange-hot metal. The oaken doors were next, receiving a barrage of destructive magic. Concussive blasts thudded through the doors until they burst inward with a final fireball, filling the air with smoke. The Blackthorn troopers gave exultant cries and rushed to fill the breach as it formed.
Destruction magic began to fly through the gateway from the other side. Bolts of lightning scythed down men like wheat stalks and leapt between bodies in brilliant, flashing arcs. The front ranks of Blackthorn men-at-arms fell dead within a heartbeat. Their fellows behind them nearly ran into the wall of spellfire before they could stop short.
William enveloped himself in a shimmering blue arcane shield, then yelled at his battlemages to form a ward-wall. Arraying themselves side-by-side, the Blackthorn mages raised protective wards and advanced into the smoke-filled breach. More bolts of destructive magic greeted them, but the wards held fast. William took his bodyguards and advanced behind them with the rest of the Blackthorn mundane troops. The men kept their shields raised against the barrage of arrows that continued to fly.
Suddenly, they were out of the bailey, and the smoke cleared. Through the shimmering wall of Blackthorn spell-shields, ranks of armored men and women with sky blue jupons greeted them. House Durand's garrison had arrayed itself before the stronghold's central keep into a wall bristling with kite shields, spears, and poleaxes. William's features twisted into a wide, bloodthirsty grin beneath his helm. He raised Shear and pointed it at the ranks of Durand troops, uttering his command in a bellow like an enraged ox.
"Kill them! Kill them alllll!"
Roland awoke to the sound of concussive blasts roaring through Durand Stronghold. While he was still reeling from the abrupt awakening, a second blast made his windows rattle. The young man threw off his bed covers and dashed out into the hall. Alarm bells were ringing, voices were shouting, and the hallways were thrown into chaos as household troops began racing into their positions.
What is going on?
He turned. His father and Queen Josephine were exiting their shared bedroom, and Bernard and Mirabelle were also peeking out their doorway. At eleven and ten years old, respectively, the legitimate children of King Dorian had seldom known any kind of conflict yet in their lives - they rushed immediately to their mother's side. Mirabelle buried her face in her mother's nightgown with a terrified whimper while Bernard gripped his father's wrist. "Father! What is happening?"
"We are under attack." King Dorian's features were twisted into a scowl. He gently pushed his son in his mother's direction. Then, addressing Josephine: "Take the children. Keep them in our room, but get them ready to flee if the battle goes poorly."
"Dorian!" They turned to see Vivian approaching them, eyes wide and wild. She was still barefoot and clad in her nightgown, her sword and dagger gripped tightly in each hand. "It's House Blackthorn. I could see them from the window."
Dorian's scowl deepened, his mouth growing taut with rage. The weight of this betrayal hung over them like a headsman's axe, and they could all feel the man's seething fury intensify. He finally took notice of Roland standing in the hallway and beckoned him. "Come with me, son. You too, Vivian. We're heading to the armory."
Roland felt a twinge of fear deep in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard, nodded once. "I'm with you, father."
Dorian stopped only long enough to grab Durandal from his chamber before they departed together. The whole keep resonated with the pounding of boots as more household troops hurried to muster themselves for battle. Men-at-arms and footmen took up spears, shields, and poleaxes. Battlemages bore arcane staves topped with snarling dragon heads that swirled with fire, ice, and lightning.
"What is the status of our defenses, Viv?" asked Dorian as the trio rushed down the hall toward the armory.
Vivian answered, dodging around a squad of soldiers. "They've breached the outer gatehouse. We have them pinned in the bailey. Razig is mustering the household troops, but the Blackthorns look to have brought greater numbers."
"Caught us by surprise," muttered Dorian, before falling silent. Grim determination was written upon his features. Roland had never seen his father so dour and angry.
Razig was waiting for them at the armory. The Orsimer was already clad in his brigandine, waving troops along with his orichalcum mace. He gripped a kite shield in his other hand. When he spotted the approaching trio, he straightened to attention and saluted. "King Dorian. I've mustered the garrison."
"Good work, Razig. We'll be joining the fight as soon as we're armored, myself included. Help me into my armor, if you could."
Instead of arguing, the old Orsimer just nodded; they needed every able bodied soldier they could muster. "As you command, your Highness. May Malacath give you strength for the battle to come."
Dorian, Vivian, and Roland proceeded to armor themselves, surrounded by the frenzied rush of troops. Roland went through the motions of putting on his gear in a daze - he was still struggling to come to terms with what was happening. More explosions rattled the walls. Vivian finished tightening the straps of her boiled leather armor before moving to help Dorian don his enchanted steel plate cuirass. Roland didn't have his own suit of plate, but he did have layered chainmail over a cloth gambeson.
Just as Dorian had finished armoring himself and slipping a Durand jupon over his cuirass, Razig handed him his sword belt with Durandal fastened to it. "I knew that a weapon like this could not sit idle forever."
"Indeed not." Dorian gripped the hilt of the sword and drew it. Enchanted light gleamed from the blade's killing edge, highlighting the grim determination on the king's face. "In the darkest of days in ages past, this weapon was the herald of a brighter future. May it serve me as faithfully now as it did my ancestors."
A Durand archer came running into the armory. "Arrows! We need more arrows!"
Vivian took up a few quivers full of arrows and handed them to the archer. "What's the situation outside, soldier?"
The man looked pale and sweaty under his helmet and gambeson. He gave a brisk shake of his head. "Not good. The portcullis was lowered, but it only slowed them down. They're breaking through the second gatehouse, and we're dealing with Nightblades on the western wall."
Dorian nodded to his companions. "Alright. We need to go now. It's time to make a sally."
Roland felt a strange mingling of fear and excitement. He drew his own sword and took up a shield. "May the Eight protect us all."
His father did not smile at him, but there was approval in his brooding blue eyes. "Let's go. Vivian, head up with the archers and help them deal with the Nightblades. Razig and Roland and I will join the main force in the yard."
"Aye, on it." Vivian gave a crisp salute before donning her helm and rushing off.
The remaining trio descended the stairs in tense silence, rushing for the front doors. Roland shoved his way through them and into the cold night air. Already, House Durand's garrison had assembled themselves in ranks before the main keep. Destructive magic lit up the night, filling the air with sparkling, multicolored light. Arrows and crossbow bolts hissed through the air.
King Dorian was bellowing orders as he stepped out into the yard. "Battlemages, ready a barrage! I want that gatehouse filled with fire as soon as they start pouring in!"
The huge oak doors of the gatehouse buckled inward once. House Durand battlemages took up positions at intervals between the ranks of footmen, destruction magic clenched in their hands and swirling around the heads of their staves.
A second explosion shook the gatehouse doors. At the sound of a horn, longbowmen on the walls began to fall back to the inner walls, training their sights on the second gatehouse, ready to meet the Blackthorns with a wall of arrows. Razig donned his tasseled helm, featuring a snarling demonic visage, and fastened his shield to his arm. Dorian lowered the visor on his helmet, and Roland followed suit. The smell of fear-sweat grew stronger, and his breathing resonated within the confines of his helmet.
The third explosion to rock the gatehouse made the oak doors burst outward with a mighty crack. Smoke filled the gateway in a thick screen. House Durand's mages held their fire for a moment before unleashing their arcane firestorm. A hail of lightning bolts filled the breach, and men fell dead and twitching out of the smoke cloud. The barrage continued for a few moments until they saw the shimmering wall of spell shields appear out of the smoke cloud.
One of the men in the Blackthorn assault force, standing tall amongst his fellows, uttered a furious bellow: "Kill them! Kill them alllll!"
Roland's father raised his clenched fist. A shimmering blue shield spell encased his plate-armored form. "Hold fast, men! For House Durand!"
The household troops echoed their lord. "Durand! Durand! Durand!"
A furious roar erupted from the Blackthorn attackers as they broke out into a full charge. Durand battlemages flung fireballs that broke upon the Blackthorn ward-wall and were answered by their Blackthorn counterparts. When the opposing ranks drew too close together, the Blackthorn troops gave a rousing cry and drove into the Durand ranks, weapons flashing in the moonlight.
The ranks came together in a resonating crash. Durand spearmen stabbed and jabbed from over the shieldwall at their foes, while the poleaxe men hacked and stabbed at the ranks of enemy soldiers. Blackthorn greatsword troops heaved their massive blades around and attempted to break the spearmen's formation as they'd been trained. Battlemages from both sides, unwilling to risk bombarding their own men, switched to direct fire spells. Archers and pavise crossbowmen traded shots, aiming for each other and the other side's mages in a vicious skirmishing battle.
King Dorian and his companions came to the fore of the battle when the center line buckled inward. A Blackthorn man-at-arms brought a two-handed mace around in a crushing swing. His heavy strike fell aside as King Dorian deflected with his shield, then countered with a thrust. Durandal pierced through chainmail, gambeson, flesh, and bone alike.
As the soldier fell back, another two took his place. Razig caught one man's sword on his shield before crushing his ribs with a blow from his mace. The other, Roland punched in the face with his shield's rim before driving the point of his sword up through his chin. He watched his victim's eyes grow wide and white as he choked on his blood and the sword's tip before collapsing.
My first kill. The thought flickered through Roland's mind. He was so shocked that he nearly took a spear to the throat. Razig came to his aid, shoved the point aside and let a fellow Durand soldier stab the offending spearman with his poleaxe. The Orc growled. "Keep your wits about you, boy!"
More men came screaming at them through the crush of bodies. Razig threw himself into the shieldwall with an echoing bellow. King Dorian fought by his side, and Durandal flashed with each piercing strike that carved through shields, leather, and chainmail alike. Roland mustered himself and joined his father's side, thinking about his home and family that were counting on him to keep them safe.
He found a Blackthorn man-at-arms bearing down upon him with a greatsword. The footman gave a mighty battle cry and swung at Roland. He shed the force of the blow with his shield and rushed forward. The footman backpedaled, struggling to bring his sword around in the tight quarters. This time, Roland caught the downswing on his shield and delivered a backhanded slash. His sword caught the man across the eyes, blinding him. He delivered a thrust at the screaming man's throat before ripping the blade out. Arterial spray flew in a wide arc and spattered Roland's helm, turning his world red with the man's lifeblood.
Ethenriel studied the ensuing battle from the back of the fight with a cold, calculating gaze. The battle still hung in the balance. Unfortunately, the advantage of Blackthorn numerical superiority was somewhat diminished in the forced narrow quarters of the inner courtyard where the battle was taking place. Moreover, the defenders had King Dorian and his magic sword on their side. She could see the flash of the enchanted blade even from where she surveyed the battle. William had better not try and challenge King Dorian to single combat.
A Blackthorn Nightblade appeared from out of the shadows. The man gave a short salute before issuing his report: "We cut down the archers as you requested until they drove us out. Stefan noticed Durand troops creeping around the outer wall before an archer got him, coming around the western side."
The Durand troops are attempting to pin the assaulting force from behind. A daring move. She gestured sharply to a nearby captain. "Send in the reserve troops to the western wall!"
"Yes, Dame!"
She turned back to the Nightblade. "Regroup with your men and have them join the intercepting troops. We can't let our men get pincered."
The Nightblade saluted and faded in a swirl of shadow magic. Ethenriel looked back at the embattled keep. Durandal flashed again, no doubt signaling the death of yet another Blackthorn trooper. And somewhere in there, Roland will no doubt be fighting alongside his lord father.
She bit her lip. With how the battle was going now, it wouldn't be long before the weight of the Blackthorn assault forced the defenders back into their keep for a final stand. When that happened, William would no doubt run wild. Few would be spared the young knight's wrath as he fought to claim the lion's share of glory in this victory.
The sounds of battle faded in her mind as she deliberated upon the circumstances and events that had led to this moment. Here she was, serving House Blackthorn in destroying their longtime rivals. They were here because she had helped in the betrayal. Now, a great many innocent lives would be claimed by the night's end. Among the dead would be the one man in House Durand that she'd grown fond of beyond simple respect, with whom she'd felt an ember of kindred spirit in their shared outcast status.
Can I save him? Can I save any of them? Roland does not deserve this. Nor does his father, or the Battlemaster, or any of the others.
Ethenriel did not know if she could save many lives. But she could not ignore her inner sense of honor that commanded her to try - even at the possible cost of her life.
She motioned for a nearby colonel to come to her side. "I'm putting you in command of the reserve forces."
The colonel looked taken aback. "What— but what of yourself, Dame?"
"I have another mission to undertake. Alone. Understand? Good man."
Before he could utter an objection, she took off for the eastern wall. That was where Roland's window was, she recalled. If luck is on my side, I will be able to get inside and lead at least some of them to safety.
Roland had taken wounds during the short course of the battle. King Dorian had not noticed how slow the lad was becoming or how heavily he'd been bleeding until his son had all but collapsed. At that point, he and Razig had dragged him between them back into the keep, where Cormac was tending to the wounded in the throne room. Durand household troops came to him, allowed the Reachman's restoration magic to hastily seal their wounds, and went back out to fight again.
Dorian dragged Roland before Cormac; the Reachman looked haggard and worn, but he placed his hands on the lad's chest and allowed golden restoration magic to mend his wounds. "There you are, laddie. Deep breaths. You've lost a bit of blood, but the cuts don't look too deep, thankfully."
As the young man recovered his breath, Razig turned to Dorian grimly. Half his shield was a splintered mess. "We are losing the battle, your Majesty. Our numbers were growing thin out there."
"They've slain our battlemages. Without magic to stem the tide, the Blackthorns will break through our line at any moment." Dorian bowed his head with dour acceptance. He was tired. Lines of stress stood out stark against his face. He was fifty years old but felt one hundred. A bone-deep lethargy gripped him as he stared down at his bloody sword and armor. All the fighting - was it for naught? What will become of my family?
Roland grunted and straightened slowly. A gruesome spray of blood stained the lad's face and body. The young man turned to his father - though his features were pale, they were set in an expression of steely determination. "We can make our stand here, father. Perhaps if we called back the troops, we could take up a position in this room…"
Dorian felt a pang of sorrow deep in his chest. In his son's determined hazel eyes, he saw his mother - and with it came the memory of the promise he'd made. I promised I would keep our boy safe, Amelie. And now here he is, about to fight and die next to me.
No. He would not let such a thing happen. He could not let the Blackthorns take his son. They would surely kill him, even if they kept the rest of his family alive. Dorian didn't care what happened to himself - he cared only for his family.
"I cannot let you die here, my son," he murmured. Dorian reached over to lay a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You still have a long life worth living for. I would not have you waste it dying in my name."
Roland frowned, scowling in confusion. "What would you have me do, father?"
Dorian turned to his battlemaster. "Razig, take Roland - and take Durandal. I want you to run, as far away from here as you can."
The Orsimer arched a bushy gray eyebrow. "Dorian—?"
"I can't let the Blackthorns have either of them." Dorian's face was hard and cold as he wiped Durandal clean of blood and slipped it back into its sheath. He unfastened the sheath and sword from his belt and offered it to Razig, and his features softened somewhat. "You are the only one I can trust for this task, my old friend. Protect the blade of our House, and protect my son. Please."
Razig studied his old comrade's face with a dour, brooding look. The Orsimer hesitated, then reached out to accept the blade. Roland gripped his father's arm. "Father… are you certain?"
"I am." Dorian smiled softly and turned to Roland, gripping his shoulders firmly. "Listen to me. These may be the last words we share in a long time, but I want you to know one thing: I am proud of you. I am proud of what you've become and proud to call you my son. I don't know what the future will hold for you, but I know that you will excel at whatever you strive for. But never question your worth. Not as a knight, and not as my son."
Tears brimmed in Roland's eyes. It was the first open show of warmth, love, and recognition that he'd received from his father in many years. Dorian felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks, too. The two embraced firmly, knowing that it might be their last.
Roland croaked. "Thank you."
Dorian nodded and released him from the embrace. "Go now. There's not much time left before the Blackthorns break through."
"We can escape through my bedroom window," Roland suggested, sobering quickly. "It should be an easy climb down, I've done it dozens of times."
"Where will we go?" Razig asked, fastening Durandal in a sling that went across his back. "I imagine the Blackthorns wouldn't have gone through all this trouble of attacking us here and not watch the exit points."
"I can answer that." They all turned to see Vivian return from the wall. Deep cuts and blood stained the former Venator's armor, and the slouch to her shoulders spoke of her exhaustion. "The Blackthorns seem to have their reserve troops mustered south and west of us. East looks pretty clear - you might have a fair chance of escaping that way."
Dorian nodded. "Then you should go to Markarth, through the Druadach Pass."
Cormac perked up as he healed another Durand trooper. "That would mean cutting through the Reach to enter Skyrim. It's treacherous, your Majesty. Especially with the Forsworn running rampant in the eastern Reach."
Razig looked thoughtful. "My old clan… The stronghold I came from, Dushnikh Yal, lies southeast of Markarth. I am still regarded as kin there, but don't know if they would accept a couple of refugees fleeing persecution. But the attempt may yield fruit."
Vivian added, "And if that should fail, you could go to Riften. I've got family over there… She says it's the best city in Skyrim to disappear for a while. Has a bit of a seedy reputation, though."
An explosion shook Durand Stronghold, making the chandeliers rattle. Dorian cursed. "Go! Your window for escape narrows with every passing moment!"
Razig snapped. "Come on, cub! With me!"
The Orc turned and took off up the stairs. Roland followed, shooting his father one last bewildered look over his shoulder before following the battlemaster. Dorian watched them disappear up the steps before turning back to Vivian. "Go to my wife and children. Get them to safety if you can. Do you have an alternate escape route?"
Vivian nodded. "There's some tunnels that go under the keep. Old smuggler's route that leads further up the Bjoulsae. We can escape to the city from there."
"Good. Take them with you."
"But what of yourself, Dorian?"
He gave her a dour smile. "The Blackthorns want me, I don't doubt. They can have me - if they're willing to work for it. So long as you keep my wife and children out of their clutches, they cannot use them against me when they take me prisoner."
Vivian frowned, dark brown eyes searching her friend's steely blue ones. At length, she nodded and saluted. "It's been an honor serving you, Dorian."
"And it's been an honor having you by my side, Viv." He watched the Imperial woman take off up the stairs. Once she was gone, the man turned, bellowing: "Someone, get me a gods-damned poleaxe!"
One was found for him in short order. It was a sturdy weapon, nearly seven feet long from end to end. A sharpened axe face, a crushing hammer face, and an eight-inch-long, armor-piercing top spike was all integrated into a single metal piece fastened to the end of a hardwood shaft. In short: a knight-killer.
The man shoved the keep's front doors open and brought a war horn to his lips. He blew a long, loud note that echoed into the night sky. Then he waved his men over. "Fall back! Everyone, back into the keep!"
His men obeyed as best they could. The household troops began to pull away from their foes and retreat into the keep. Blackthorn soldiers followed them, racing to reach the keep doors before they closed shut. A few of the enemy managed to wedge themselves into the door, but they were stabbed or shot dead and shoved aside. The keep doors clanged shut, and a wooden bar was laid across them; it would only serve to slow the assaulting force down until their mages came through, but it gave the Durand troops time to catch their breath and assemble.
Dorian looked over his men. They were a ragged bunch, bloodstained and sweaty. Many of them were wounded. Even now, completely drained of magicka, Cormac was using bandages to stem the worst of the bleeding where he could. King Dorian turned to his men and raised his voice to be heard. "I'm afraid that this is where we will make our final stand, men. I think you all know how Blackthorns treat their prisoners."
Grumbles rippled through the ranks. The men knew what poor treatment would await whoever was dragged away in chains.
The front doors of the keep buckled inward, making the men jump. King Dorian turned to the door and renewed his shield spell, enveloping his form in shimmering blue magic. "Hold fast, men. I will be with you until the very end - until my final breath. We are already doomed men. Let us see how many of them we can take with us! And before the night is over, these Blackthorns shall know the dragon's fury!"
A rousing battle cry erupted from the Durand household troops, echoing the roars of the rampart dragon on their torn, bloodstained, sky-blue jupons. "Durand! Durand! Durand!"
There was an earsplitting crack of shattering timbers as the mage's spell blasted the doors open. Out through the smoke cloud stepped a few Blackthorn knights, these ones clad in plate armor. The one who led them was built like a mountain and carried a mighty greatsword. His crimson cuirass was decorated with Bretonic triskelions. Dorian recognized him immediately. He snarled, hefting his poleaxe. "So, the young Prince William himself graces my hall with his vile presence? I should have known."
His foe barked a laugh and hoisted his greatsword up into a battle-ready stance. "Who else did you think would have the fortitude to lead Blackthorn men in this assault? Clearly not my father, long past his prime."
More Blackthorn troops began to pour into the breach, forming ranks behind William. The imposing Blackthorn knight looked Dorian over, then asked, "Where has your mighty blade gone? Might it have fallen from your grasp during the battle? And what of your royal bastard?"
William's gaze scanned the ranks of Durand household troops like a hunting hawk searching for a rabbit. "I don't see him at your side. Does the runt hide among the ranks like a common soldier? I'll find the craven and spit him on Shear's point until he squeals like a pig!"
Dorian's features twisted with rage. "He is beyond your reach, monster! And twice the man that you'll ever be!"
The Blackthorn knight barked a scornful laugh. "Touched on a nerve there, did I? I can't believe you decided to keep him. You cannot seriously believe a bastard-born could ever match a proper noble-born knight."
Dorian did not answer. He fell back into formation with his men, hefting his poleaxe. "Cease this idle chatter, young prince, we both know why you're here."
"Direct and to the point, eh?" William uttered a dark cackle. "I think I will take particular pleasure in beating you in your own keep, King Dorian. If you deny me the pleasure of gutting your bastard, then I'll slake my bloodlust on you. Have at them, men!"
The Blackthorn soldiers gave battle cries and charged, and William charged with them. King Dorian and his men answered with their own battle cries and braced for impact. As the wall of Blackthorn troops closed in, however, his thoughts only lingered on the fate of his family: of Josephine, Bernard, and Mirabelle, escaping with Vivian, and Razig escaping east with Durandal and Roland.
He'd done what he could for them. Now he only hoped that it would all be enough.
A/N: I like listening to music before writing to help get me in the right headspace for the scene or chapter. If you're curious what the theme I had in mind for this chapter was, it's "Duty and Honor II" from the soundtrack of Chivalry 2. Give it a listen!