@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.
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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.