I wonder if eating the heart will make your voice sound like stones tumbling down a mountainside? That would be attractive on Julian, I’m sure. This chapter was fun to read the first time, and time has not eroded the effect. Unfortunately, I got caught making faces at the screen this time . . . so thank you for that!

@mALX: Dang, I knew I needed that Surgeon General's warning label on this one. Not that it works - people still smoke!

@Olen: Because of my line of work (veterinarian), I have to keep reminding myself that not everyone has the stomach for gore that I do. Likewise, not everyone understands the implications of different approaches to the same place as I do. I hope I have explained Julian's approach adequately for you.

@SubRosa: In view of the absence of clocks in Oblivion, the terms clockwise and counterclockwise still bug me. I have known widdershins as the term for counterclockwise, but I have long forgotten the alternate term for clockwise. I hope I remember it before I need to use it! I'm glad you noticed some of my favorite parts in this chapter.

@D.Foxy: Thanks for the German (Afrikaans? Dutch?) accent! Made me smile!

@W. Wolf: Paint says Heyyy, Adoring Fan! Julian says thanks for the vote of confidence!

@Destri: Sorry you got caught making faces at the screen this time!

The pace will slow down over the next couple of chapters, so catch your breath, put your feet up, and grab some drink of your choice while you can. After that, we'll be off hobbling into combat again.

**************
Chapter 4.3 Recovery

Landing on my knees with a grunt, I hunched over the pain flaring in my right leg and left hip. Lowering the sigil stone, hissing and crackling in the cold rain, I braced myself on my left arm. My scorched breath steamed in the damp night air, the rain hissing into vapor as soon as it hit my heated cuirass. Lifting my head against the pain in my back, I let the cold drops stream onto my burned face. Oblivion was gone, Nirn had replaced it. A normal thunderstorm roared above my head. Before me, the twisted and ruined metal gates of Kvatch rose from shattered walls. A circle of steaming ashes and charred struts were the only evidence of the Oblivion Gate’s erstwhile existence.

Goneld! He’s still back there! The realization hit me hard. Warm tears mingled with the cold rain on my face. Not wanting to imagine his fate, I shivered suddenly. Bringing my eyes back down to the world around me, I could see the barricade behind me, barely visible in the downpour. Two shadows moved cautiously toward me, weapons drawn.

“Julian?” one of them called. “Is that you, ma’am?”

Not recognizing the voice, I sheathed my sword and struggled to my feet, turing to face the pair. The tall archer hung back as the other walked up to me. “It’s me, sir,” I said, my voice harsh in my parched throat. “Where is Matius?”

“Down in the encampment,” the Imperial answered. “I’m Jesan Rilian,” his gaze moved past my shoulder towards the remnant of Oblivion behind me. “You did it,” he exclaimed softly. “You really did it! Akatosh be thanked!”

The Altmer had lowered his bow, returning his arrow to his quiver. “I’m Merandil,” he said to me, looking me up and down. “You’re hurt.” Oh, no kidding. “Matius is resting at the moment,” he added. “He’s been on the barricades nonstop for almost twenty-four hours. He will be glad to see you again.”

“Vonius?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

“He’s fine,” Rilian volunteered. “Matius made him go down and rest right away, he should be coming back to relieve us.”

“You should head down yourself, too,” Merandil advised. “You look like you need rest as well.”

************************
At the bottom of the mesa, Boldon greeted me. “Julian!” he exclaimed. “What happened up there?”

Meeting his gaze, I tried to think. Well, there was this Oblivion Gate that was blocking the way into Kvatch - my mind couldn’t focus on his question.

“Julian,” Boldon tried again, gripping my right elbow when I wavered. “Paint’s been restless, pacing all yesterday and for much of the night. But look!” he pointed at the small grazing area where he had turned the horse loose. Paint’s brown and white splotched coat was barely visible in the rain, but I could see him standing three-legged, characteristic of horses at ease. “He’s been like that for just the last half-hour.”

When I closed the Gate, my eyes widened. “Well, Boldon, that Oblivion Gate is gone now,” I said.

The Redguard stared at me. “That thing is closed? You closed it?” he looked me up and down, taking in the gash across my cuirass, the scorch marks on my right shoulder and my shield. “By Akatosh, you really did it?” He led me to a nearby campfire, where a big Orsimer sat slumped by an anvil. “Batul!”

She lifted her head to look at us, rising to her full height. “What?” she growled.

“This is Julian, from Anvil,” Boldon ignored her tone. “She has need of you.”

“Me?” the Orsimer snapped. “Look at this!” she whipped her hand around the fire, at the anvil, the few repair hammers next to it. “I lost everything! Everything!”

Boldon turned to me. “This is Batul gra-Sharob. She is our best smith.” Now he faced the angry Orc again. “Mind your manners, Batul,” he said mildly. “Julian just closed the Oblivion Gate. Can’t you hear it? The silence?”

Gra-Sharob eyed me thoughtfully. Returning her gaze, I drew my longsword. She tensed, as did Boldon, but I took the sword by the blade and held it out to her, hilt first. “How much to sharpen this blade?” She eyed the blade, then snapped her eyes at me. “I see you have your anvil, a fire, and some hammers,” I continued, keeping my tone bland. “I’m assuming you still have your skill, ma’am.”

The big mer narrowed her eyes at me. I held my breath - Orcs are hard to stop once they get going, especially angry ones. She exhaled suddenly, and her pointed teeth gleamed in the firelight. Taking the sword from me, she examined it expertly. “Two drakes,” she answered, after casting that same expert eye at my armor. “Throw in your bow, shield and armor, and I’ll repair the lot for four drakes total.”

Looking down at myself, I considered gra-Shrob’s offer. Nodding, I thanked her. She gestured for me to lay my weapons down next to the anvil.

“Julian,” Sigrid greeted me, waving at me from the next fire. “Come with me, you can use my tent to change.” Following the tall Nord, I was struck again by her regal bearing in spite of her disheveled appearance. “Thanks for the mortar and pestle,” she said to me over her shoulder as she drew back the flap of a pavilion. “I’ve been making healing potions as fast as I can get the ingredients.”

The daedra heart. I drew out the bloody package from my belt pouch. “My mother used this in her strongest potions,” I said, handing it to Sigrid. “Sorry about the mess.”

Taking the object, she gasped when she had unwrapped it. “A daedra heart!” her eyes shot up at me. “Then it’s true, you closed the Oblivion Gate, didn’t you?”

Already unbuckling the cuirass, I only grunted. Easing it off over my shoulder, I looked down at the linen tunic. Other than being stained with sweat, it was fine. Dropping the cuirass onto the floor, I sat down to peel off the greaves. Sigrid bent down to touch the scar tissue covering the outside of my right knee. The knee itself was badly swollen, already turning black and blue. The wound over my left hip hadn’t broken open, but the flesh around it was severely bruised. Sigrid looked at me wide-eyed, handing me a blue woolen robe. Stripped down to my undergarments, I wrapped myself in the soft fabric.

“You need to sleep, Julian,” she said finally, picking up my leathers and tossing them outside the tent. “No amount of healing spells or potions are going to heal these,” she pointed out my various bruises, muttering under her breath.

“I need to see Matius,” I gritted my teeth against the weariness overwhelming me. Sigrid shook her head.

“He’s finally asleep,” she answered. “I’m not going to let you wake him. He needs his rest, too.” She pointed me to the bedroll behind me.

Obeying her unspoken command, I lay down gingerly on the thin mattress. “Then let me know when he wakes,” I mumbled as Sigrid left the tent.

“I see you have your anvil, a fire, and some hammers,” I continued, keeping my tone bland. “I’m assuming you still have your skill, ma’am.”
Julian rolls the dice here and wins!!
This moment could have got nasty real fast. And I don't think our Redguard had another fight left in her.
Now where is that mattress....

Ahhhh, Sigrid!! (said like a sneeze)


http://www.uesp.net/w/images/images.new/th...-npc-Sigrid.jpg



If Matias had used her bra as a slingshot he may have been able to beat the Daedra single-handedly.

But Matius is too chivalric to ask Sigrid for her brassiere!

It looks like it may burst off of its own accord though, lol. Then he could just pick it up. That is my fave pic of Sigrid! I about made Acadian die of embarrassment with that pic when he brought Buffy to Kvatch, lol.

This post has been edited by mALX: Apr 7 2010, 09:11 PM

The opposite of widdershins is deosil (or sun-wise). It is the direction traveled when creating a circle. While widdershins is the way you go to remove it.

Goneld being left behind was something I rather liked in the game. It told me that this was not a nice, neat conflict where the good guys always won in the end. But rather one where sacrifice was not only common, but necessary. I sometimes wonder what happened to Goneld afterward. Was he simply tortured to death as we might imagine. Or was there perhaps a worse fate in store for him. Perhaps rather than killing him, Mehrunes Dagon instead fashioned him into a weapon, brain-washing him and sending him back to Mundus to wreak some form of havoc? That would make for an interesting story for a writer willing to go to some very dark places...

Hmm, don't tempt me!

Sigrid has a face?

Oh....YEAH.

I only just noticed!!!

Julian closes an Oblivion Gate and still has enough chutzpah left to stare down an orc! I’ve got twenty septims on the limping ex-legionnaire.

You caught the feeling of tiredness there, both mental and physical, from the gate. Good stuff with her returning to the camp and it not seeming nearly as bad as it had first time, it highlights how tired she is and how bad the gate was.

I agree that Goneld being left there was a nice touch. It gave the game at least some darkness which was otherwise rather lacking (compared to morrowind anyway).

I'm looking forward to more.

@all: I see that Sigrid is fast becoming the favorite character of many. Not only is she well-endowed, but she is also well-liked. I have plans for her future.

I'm also glad to see that I'm not the only one who felt bad about leaving Goneld behind. And SubRosa, I have a tendency to write dark stories, so please don't distract me from this one! I've got a lot to finish first!

And Destri, this won't be the last orc Julian faces down. Gra-Sharob is actually the best friend (except for Mazoga) that any warrior or soldier could ask for. Thanks for the PM. I put your advice to work starting with this chapter. Let me know if it works better for you.

Thanks, Olen. I was exhausted when I finished that Gate for the first time! I'm glad I could convey that feeling as effectively as you say.

This next chapter is one of my little favorites of the quiet interludes.

*****************
Chapter 4.4 Request for Help

After a dreamless slumber, I lay for a few moments, disoriented. After a while, memory came back, and I sat up suddenly. My burned right shoulder had healed, and so had the top of my back where that churl had slammed me with his fist. The bruising over my left hip had faded to an ochre tinge against my dark skin. Raising my right arm brought no pain.

My leather gear lay neatly folded, beside the bedroll. Shaking out the greaves, I found them not only cleaned and repaired, but also conditioned. The tough leather was now supple, and pulled on easily. As I laced them up, I found them soft and light over the wound on my left hip. The padded tunic had been washed as well, and lay softly against my skin. The boots had been resoled with the softest buttery leather that embraced my still-tender feet.

The patch across the front of my cuirass was cleverly worked to follow the original stitching. It was much easier to shrug it on, not only because my aches and pains had mostly healed with only an occasional twinge, but also because the stiff leather was broken in at all the right places. Buckling it on, I took a deep breath. It moved over my body like a second skin.

This gra-Sharob is a truly talented smith, I smiled to myself. Four drakes? The work on this cuirass alone is worth oh so much more! Fingering the patch on my breast, I shook my head to myself. Who would have thunk an old Legion pilus like me would prefer light armor to the old plate? It was true that after my experiences over the past several days, I found the leather armor to be better suited to this new way of fighting. I couldn’t hide in the shadows clanking around in a tin suit. Uh-huh, no way. My smile faded, as memories of my century surfaced, the young tironii so eager to prove themselves, anxious to blood their weapons. The same tironii laying scattered around the battlefield, their armor and weapons broken, their bodies bleeding into the hard ground. The hope of glory gone from their dead eyes.

Fleeing those memories, I stepped out into bright sunlight. The air smelled clean and fresh after the rain. The campfire before me was warm and friendly. The bareheaded soldier, sitting hunched over a plate of polenta, looked around at me and rose to his feet. It was Matius. Hastily swallowing the grub in his mouth, he gestured me to a nearby stool.

“Hello, Julian,” he greeted me, remaining on his feet as I returned his gaze. “I’m sorry I was such a pain in the heinie to you before.” He still looked tired, but his eyes were sharper, his boyish face less strained.

He seems to be in a better mood this morning. “Sigrid wouldn’t let me wake you when I got back,” I said after a few moments, taking the proffered seat. “She said you had finally gone to sleep.”

Matius reached one-handed towards the fire, handed me another plate, then plopped a ladleful of polenta onto the metal disc from the pot simmering beside the fire. Sticking a spoon in the thick gruel, he handed me an empty pewter cup. He poured klah into my cup, still balancing his own plate of half-eaten grub.

Staring at the meal in my hands, I stifled a chuckle at his brisk style of hospitality. Just like the mess line in the Legion. Take your plate, here’s your grub, no complaints now, move along soldier!

Matius hesitated as he sat back down, glancing at me. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he murmured. “That was rude of me. I can try to find something else to eat -”

I looked at him. “Sit down and eat, sir,” I told him, taking a sip of the hot klah. The weakness of the brew made me wince. I set it down on the ground, next to my boot, and picked up the spoon. “I asked Sigrid to wake me when you were up, sir,” I added, before taking that first bite. The taste of the bland polenta took me back several years.

Relaxing a little, Matius sat down and refilled his spoon. “She wouldn’t let me wake you up when I found out you had returned.” His tone was dry.

“What time is it, sir?” I asked. Judging by the angle of the eastern sun, it was still fairly early in the morning, but my body insisted I had slept more than a few hours.

“Seven bells in the morning,” Matius shot me a glance. “You slept the day through yesterday.”

I choked down the polenta. “I slept over twenty-four hours, sir?”

“Akatosh knows you deserved it,” Matius smiled crookedly at me. “I gather you closed that Gate after all, ma’am.”

“I found Menien Goneld, but I couldn’t get him out of that place,” I looked away from his gaze, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“We have lost many of the guard here,” he matched my tone. “Goneld will be counted among the fallen.”

We ate in silence, while the camp woke from the long night. A couple of children appeared just beyond the small circle of tents, watching us hungrily. Matius, finishing off the last of the polenta, looked up and saw them. With a gesture, he waved them to the fire. Refilling his plate, he held it out to the pair. They looked at him hesitantly, but he did not meet their looks, only picking up his klah with his other hand and taking a long gulp. He did waggle the dish slightly.

Finally the older boy, a Redguard, took the plate from Matius. He turned to lead the little Bosmer girl away, but Matius stopped them with a wave. He pointed at a bench on the opposite side of the campfire from me. Hiding my smile behind my cup, I sipped at the klah as the two children took the seat and dove into the food together.

“Well, Julian,” Matius turned to me. “I may be presumptuous, but there’s still work to be done, and I’m still short good soldiers.” He cast a glance up and down me, as he had before. “We need to clear Kvatch of daedra, and get to any remaining survivors. The Count is still in the castle, we must get him to safety.” He held my gaze as I put the spoon down on my dish. “Obviously you’ve got more experience than my guard - what’s left of them. I could use your help.”

Across the fire, the children watched me, wide-eyed. I must seem old - no, ancient, to them. I certainly feel it, after that Gate. “Well, I came here looking for Martin,” I said slowly. But I can’t turn my back on these people. If Martin is alive, and if he really is his father’s son, he won’t, either. “I’ll do it.” I saw a flicker of relief in his blue-grey eyes. “Don’t know how much good I’ll be, but I’ll help.”

He clapped his hands on his thighs, rising to his feet. “Good!” He nodded at the next campfire behind me. “I believe gra-Sharob has finished with your weapons.” Giving the children a wordless glance, he picked up his sword and shield. “I’ll meet you at the barricades, whenever you’re ready, ma’am.”

I see the polenta has reared its ugly head.

A nice quite piece that gives us time to catch our breath after the rush of action in the Deadlands. Matius is also more manageable too, given time to sleep and closed oblivion gate. Now time for the real fight!

Your writing has inspired me to begin the MQ with a new character (my avatar), waiting to start it until she was level 17. Wow is it a challenge with Spider Daedra, Frost Atronachs and Daedroths all over the place! Clearing Kvatch was far worse than the closing the Gate outside of it.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 10 2010, 01:12 AM

Julian and the children, I like the way she is with children!!

Your writing always flows smoothly, and this chapter is no exception. I did a side by side comparison of this version and your last so that I could see for myself the changes that were made (yes, it involved me going back over to the un-named board). Starting with the very first line, every change that you made makes the story flow even better than it already did. Congratulations! You have done something that every writer strives for. You have taken something good, and made it great through diligent rewriting.

Have some placenta polenta, you have most definitely earned it.

Hmmm, I was looking for more pudenda, myself...


*crosses fingers and prays the mods will not know Latin*

A beautiful quiet chapter before the coming storm. Horses and kids sing within your hands.


Dont forget to use heaps of shock weapon enchantment and shock spells SubRosa.
It is a nightmare without it....
Invisibility wouldnt go astray either.

This is even better the second time around (referring to your old thread on the other forum). I'm so glad you are taking your time so it can be savored!

I agree about that being one of the best quiet interludes which is saying something becasue you write them very well. They have every bit as much meat to them as the action with no filling bits.

Have some polenta - I'm just glad I'm not sharing a tent with her...

buttery leather - excellent metaphor, really brought the feel of it to mind for me

pain in the heinie - I found heinie a bit jarring. To me it's a (rather archaic) disparaging term for a German so I had to look it up, that could just be because of my accent but it's not a common bit of slang. Possibly just 'being a pain' or 'pain in the back side' seeing as the filter would eat the obvious word choice.

@SubRosa: If you think the Battle for Kvatch is hard, wait until you get to the Battle for Bruma! Talk about impossible tasks (keeping your friends alive)! I tried it once at Level Eleven and kept losing the darn Emperor! And I hate those Spider Daedra and their darned mini-me's!

@mALX1: I guess her manner with children comes from the fact that she has none of her own - she can always give them back!

@Destri: Thanks! - both for the critique and for the reminder of your confusion over the word polenta on the other board!

@D.Foxy: He he. I do know some Latin meself!

@Winter Wolf: Oh I agree - at higher levels shock and chameleon are the best friends you can have!

@Acadian: Thanks for sticking with this the second time around!

@Olen: I see you share Destri's distaste for polenta. Just remember, the Roman Empire conquered the world on polenta. Respect the polenta! As for the use of heinie, you're not the first to comment on that. I wanted something that would demonstrate Matius's self-awareness of his earlier behavior in a manner that shows his ability to be self-derogatory, and still get past the filter. There's not many one-syllable terms that do.

Back to some combat:

***********
Chapter 4.5 Securing the Chapel

My sword repaired, my shield functional, and my belt pouch restocked with Sigrid’s healing potions, I limped up the steep road yet again. Vonius paced at my side, silent. He’s thinking about the battle ahead. He had thanked me for finding Goneld, even though I could not rescue him after all. Behind us, a couple more young guardsmen, recovered from their wounds two, no, three - nights ago, trailed along.

Matius turned from the barricades as we approached. Jesan Rilian and Merandil stood next to him, and I returned their nods. Then all of us gathered around Matius at his signal. “All right, listen up!” he addressed all of us, raising his voice to be heard over the wind whipping the mesa. “This is Julian from Anvil,” he pointed at me. “She risked much to close that Oblivion Gate. Thanks to her, now we can take Kvatch back.” He looked from one soldier to another, assessing each man’s courage and determination.

“Merandil spent a good part of the day yesterday reconnoitering the lower town,” he continued, with a nod at the Altmer archer. “There are daedra swarming in there, and we’ve got to clear them out.”

Now he knelt in the mud, sketching out a rough circle. He’s mapping out the town for my benefit, I realized. “This is the chapel,” he marked it off within the circle, just north of the gates. “That’s our first goal. I believe there are some civilians and more of the Guard holed up in there. Once we get the gate plaza cleared, they can leave safely and head down to the encampment.”

Listening to Matius, I caught myself nodding. That’s what I would do. He glanced at me thoughtfully. While I silently returned his gaze, I waited for him to continue. He made a circle within the northwest arc of the larger oval representing the city walls. “This is the castle. Once we secure the chapel, we can run over here and retake the castle. The Count and some of the Castle Guard are probably still in there. Merandil was not able to get close enough to the castle to see.” Again, he looked at each of us, making sure we understood. He held my gaze longest. “With both the chapel and the castle in our hands, we’ll be able to mop up the rest of the daedra.” He rested his right forearm on his knee. “Any questions?”

“Julian,” Vonius turned to me. “We know scamps run out of magicka and switch to melee attacks. But are there other kinds of daedra we need to know about?”

“You haven’t encountered any other than scamps?” I looked around the huddle. Everyone shook their heads. “There’s a couple of other ones,” I thought back to my time in the Oblivion Gate. “Both dremora, you’ve heard of those, right?” This time I received nods. “The churls are really big, and heavily armored. They carry maces. The only way I’ve been able to bring them down is to get my weapon, sword or arrow,” I glanced at Merandil, who nodded his comprehension, “between the pieces of their plate armor.” Shaking my head against the remembered bruises and broken ribs, I looked at each soldier. “Much easier said than done. Try to cripple them first - hamstring them from behind.”

After a moment’s thought, I rocked back onto my heels. “There’s another kind of dremora - a mage. He won’t be wearing armor, but I think he’s worse than the big churls.”

“Mages are squishy,” one of the guardsmen commented. “What’s so bad about them?”

“Summons,” I replied. “Summons, and drain health spells. Shock spells, and burden.” I shook my head again and met the guardsman’s gaze. “The summons are the worst. If you see a lot of scamps coming from the same place, chances are there’s a mage hiding back there, calling them as fast as you can kill them.” With a glance at Matius, then at each man in turn, I continued, “If you see a mage, ignore the little guys. Go for him first. Otherwise he’ll wear you down.”

Matius looked around the huddle again. “Any other questions?” Silence. “All right!” he rose to his feet, drawing his sword and shaking his shield into his hand. “Let’s go!” We followed suit as he ran for the gates, yelling back, “For Kvatch!”

“For Kvatch!” the others shouted, hard on his heels. I brought up the rear, my bum knee holding me back. For once, I didn’t mind. These guys are younger, stronger than me. Let them be the heroes.

We filtered through the shattered gates, squeezing between the broken panels. On Merandil’s heels, I paused next to him to take in the carnage within. A large chapel stood at the far side of the plaza, its bell steeple laying in the street leading back into the city. Two large buildings, their wooden upper floors collapsed, lined the west side of the plaza. The east side consisted of an impassable mass of burning and charred rubble. Smoke drifted heavily across the scene, making it hard to see clearly.

At my side, Merandil’s bow twanged in a rapid rhythm. Below the wide steps to the plaza, several scamps engaged the guardsmen. Vonius and Matius ran toward the chapel, crossing half the plaza before they were swarmed. The two young guardsmen who had joined us ducked fireballs, trying to get near their assailants without much luck. To the left, Rilian struggled on his own to reach the large buildings on the west side.

Past him, movement drew my eyes to the second floor of one of the ruined structures. Scamps appeared out of the same place. Moving sideways to stay out of Merandil’s field of fire, I hopped down the stairs and hobbled towards Rilian. Three scamps converged on him while two more hung back, firing flares at him.

My sword moved through the figures of the Sunbird Dance as I reached the young Imperial’s side. Two of the scamps lay twitching on the cobblestones, but we had no time to congratulate each other, for more were coming.

“In the Fighters Guild,” Rilian panted, stabbing his sword towards one of the large buildings. “I thought I saw a dremora mage in there.”

I moved away from him to take down another of the annoying creatures, then limped back to him. “There is a mage in there. Can you cover me?”

“Yes, I’ve got your back!” he shouted, falling behind me. “Let’s go!”

A beam, one end on the ground, the other still attached to the second floor, appeared out of the murk as I hobbled for the building. Rilian stayed close to me, his light iron shield easily blocking the fire spells from the scamps. The makeshift ramp gave me access to the second floor. I hopped onto the floorboards above to find a tall dremora mage at the far end of the building, his hand raised in a summons.

Without regard for the sulfurous swirls around me, I headed for the mage as swiftly as I could. He unlooped his mace and used it to block my sword. As he deflected my blade to the side, he swung his left hand against my cuirass. A bolt of energy slammed into me, more powerful than any punch, and flung me onto my back. My nerves tingling and my muscles numb, I looked up to see the - goblin shaman raise her totem staff, no - dremora mage raise his mace for the death blow.

A steel blade flashed brightly over me, stabbing the mage in the abdomen before he could bring the mace down. I rolled away, catching a glimpse of the dremora’s left hand glowing white with another spell.

“Don’t let him touch you!” I shouted at Rilian, but he pulled back, out of reach of the wounded mage. His shield protecting his body, the young Imperial sidestepped the flung spell and leaped to close with the spellcaster. Another flash of the steel blade, and the mage crumpled to the floor.

Out in the plaza, about half of the scamps melted into sulfur wisps. Rilian reached a hand down to me. Thanks to his strong grip, I scrambled to my feet, and we returned to the ground looking for more enemies. The remaining scamps fell quickly before the swordsmen and Merandil’s accurate archery.

At the foot of the chapel steps, Matius scanned the plaza. He saluted me with his sword before sheathing it. The other guardsmen joined him. As Rilian and I walked across the square, the young guardsman nearly sent me flying with a hearty clap on my shoulder.

“Good fighting, friend,” he commented, still a little out of breath. He looked tired, and there was blood on the side of his neck, but his hazel eyes smiled at me. “Let’s go see what Matius has to say.”

“Good work, everyone,” Matius greeted us, smiling grimly through a bloodied visage. “Let’s go in the chapel and see what we find.”

The other guardsmen and I followed him within the chapel. Matius paused, scanning the dark interior. A Redguard woman wearing the Kvatch Wolf came up to him.

“Thank Akatosh you’ve arrived!” she exclaimed, her voice rough with tension. “We weren’t sure how much longer we could hold out, sir.”

“Tierra, what’s the status?” Matius got to the point, the brusque soldier still evident.

Tierra straightened up. “Sir, there’s two of us, Berich Inian and I, and four civilians here.”

Matius’s face fell. “Everyone else is dead?” he sounded discouraged.

“Sir,” Tierra responded, “we’ve been cut off from the castle. I have no idea how many survivors remain there.”

“Very well,” Matius sighed. “What’s done is done. Inian, stand watch here. Tierra, take the civilians down to the camp, make sure they’re safe.”

“But sir, I want to fight!” Tierra burst out. Glancing at her, I was reminded of myself when I was her age, looking for blood and glory. Matius cut her off with a sharp gesture.

“You’ll get the chance soon enough,” he stated flatly. “It’s more important to get these civilians out of here. Kvatch isn’t yet safe for them. Get them to the camp, then return as quickly as possible. I need your blade here, and soon.”

I looked at the four refugees. They looked frightened, exhausted, and dirty. Is one of them Martin? Rilian leaned to me to whisper in my ear, “That brown-haired Imperial, in the blue robes, that’s Martin the priest.”

As Tierra gathered the refugees to her, I studied him thoughtfully. Before I could call his name, they filed out of the chapel, the priest supporting a limping Breton man.

Still twitchy after that shock spell, I hobbled down to the altar at the head of the nave. With my sword hand on the stone pedestal, I breathed deeply as the healing energy swirled around me. Matius joined me and took some of the healing for himself. Feeling more like myself, I waited for him to step back.

“Sir, do you still need me?” I asked him. His eyes grim, Matius wiped the blood off of his face.

“I can still use you,” he responded quietly. “There is still the castle to secure. We’ve got to recover the Count. Are you able to continue on?”

“Yes, sir, and I’m ready whenever you are.” I matched his tone.

“You are truly a friend, Julian,” he said, relief in his voice. “Not many would walk in off the road and help strangers.”

“If strangers don’t help each other,” I countered softly, “the world would be a cruel place, indeed.” He nodded agreement.

“Well, then,” Matius cast an assessing glance at the other guardsmen. “Inian, when Tierra comes back, both of you join us at the castle.” He strode for the northern doors. “The rest of you, follow me!”