Old Habits Die Hard Part Two, An old dog learns new tricks Options

[haute ecole rider]

Hi all,

To continue my story, I decided to break it up in more manageable chunks. The 200 post limit seems to be a reasonable number.

You can see Chapters 1-7 here:

Now begins Chapter 8.

Back on the road again, Julian catches up with a friend, and makes another, among the Legion riders. Riding along the Blue Road under the full moons is special. I hope I’ve managed to convey that feeling to all my readers.

This post is a little longer than my self-imposed limit, but it was hard to edit a much longer interlude down into something that was more manageable for the forums and still had the important stuff.

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Chapter 8.1 Bandits and Riders

Paint was eager to go. He chose to gallop around the Red Ring Road, only slowing down when we caught up to Marc Atellus between Sercen and Red Roxey Inn. Blowing and bouncing as he slowed down to match the Legion horse’s slow amble, Paint whickered at the other horse.

“Hello, Julian!” Atellus greeted me heartily. He slapped his left thigh. “Thanks to you, all healed now!”

“Good,” I mirrored his grin as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m glad to see you again, Atellus.”

“In these dark times, friends are more valuable than treasure,” the Legion rider commented as the two horses continued down the road at an easy pace. “Your horse looks well-rested this afternoon.”

“He should be, sir,” I responded, slapping the brown-and-white neck fondly. “He’s been loafing for the past two days, since I saw you last. He just galloped all the way from Weye.”

Atellus’s brows lifted beneath his helm. “All that way?” he whistled. “Paint must be feeling really good today!” He laughed as Paint tossed his head and bounced twice, as if in agreement. The Legion bay pinned his ears briefly at Paint, who subsided and became sedate again. “Shush, Bucky,” Atellus chided his mount quietly, with amusement in his voice. “Our horses may seem lazy,” he admitted to me, “but it’s because they go all day and all night, with little time for rest. They’re smart enough to conserve their energy.”

“I’ve noticed, sir,” I responded. “It’s a good thing when you have to ride long hours.”

“So, Julian, where are you and Paint headed on this fine afternoon?” Atellus asked.

“Cheydinhal, sir,” I answered. Ahead, in the shadows thrown by the westering sun, I saw a shabby little inn off to the north of the road, tucked beneath high mountains.

“That’s Roxey Inn,” Atellus pointed at it. “And we’re near the end of my patrol. You’ll run into Marius Tarquinius between here and Wellspring Cave, just past the Blue Road. Caelius Drusus patrols the Blue Road. He’s the youngest of us, and has never served in the provinces.”

“Is he the least experienced, sir?” I asked.

“Humph,” Atellus shook his head. “Actually, Drusus has done nothing but patrol,” he responded. “Started out as a forester, so he’s a pretty tough character.” He looked hard at me. “I mention him because he’s likely the least prejudiced of all of us riders.”

“Against Redguards, you mean, sir?” I asked, thinking of Adrian Remus, the rider I had encountered east of Skingrad. He had been cool, even suspicious, toward me, though he had maintained a professional demeanor. Atellus nodded, a little ruefully.

“And Dunmer,” he added. “That’s why he’s assigned to the Cheydinhal patrol route. That city’s half Dunmer as it is. He gets along very well with everyone there.” Atellus halted Bucky and threw me a half salute before turning the bay back westward. “Farewell, Julian!”

“Thanks for the company, sir,” I said. “Stay safe,” I called to his departing back. “And watch out for marauder archers!” His guffaw trailed behind him. Paint resumed his slow walk. Patting his neck again, I found it cool. “Out of energy, Paint?” I asked him. He tossed his head and bounced once, but resumed his walk immediately.

The night settled around as we turned onto the cobblestones of the Blue Road. The highway climbed steeply to the top of a ridge, and Paint marched resolutely up the slope. Near the top of the hill, I spotted the ruins of an old farmstead to the right of the road. When I saw movement within the ruins, I stopped Paint near an oak tree about twenty meters away. After I dismounted, I limped forward, the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand, my right hand near the hilt of my katana.

Two shadows detached themselves from the ruin, one carrying a hammer, the other a shortsword. They separated as they drew near. I recognized the tactic from my years in the service. They intended to attack me from opposite sides. I hobbled toward the swordsman, barely recognizable as a Redguard in the darkness, and ducked his blade, circling to get him between me and the hammer-wielding Khajiit. My katana picked up the starlight along its slender blade. My buckler blocked the sword strike from the Redguard, and I shoved him back into the Khajiit, sending both of them staggering.

Before the swordsman could recover, I brought the edge of my shield down on his sword arm, feeling the bones snap beneath the metal disc. With a groan, he hunched over his broken arm. In spite of his greater weight, I managed to knock him aside in time to backhand my katana against the man-feline. The tip of my blade sliced through the other’s upraised right arm.

The Khajiit spat as my blade caught on the edge of his leather cuirass. He pulled back, freeing my katana, and raised his hammer again with more difficulty. My sword slipped beneath his chin, twisting through his throat and tearing it out sideways.

As he fell back, a shout reminded me of the Redguard with the broken arm. As I hopped to my right and spun around to face him, I saw that a Legion rider had already engaged the bandit. Awkward with the sword in his left hand, the Redguard was no match for a fresh fighter, and a heavily armored one at that.

Kneeling stiffly to wipe my bloodied blade on the Khajiit’s sackcloth pants, I sheathed it as the rider strode up to me, his own weapon put away. “Caelius Drusus?” I asked, aware of his assessing gaze and the way his eyes lingered on the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand.

“Yes,” he answered, “and you must be Julian.”

“I see you’ve heard about me already,” I muttered. “Thanks for your help, sir.”

“Yes, I have heard about you,” Drusus remarked, amused. “Are you unhurt, I hope?”

“I’m fine, sir,” I answered. “Tired of battling bandits and marauders, though.”

“Well, if you’re going to Cheydinhal,” Drusus remarked, lighting the torch, “you’ll probably run into another bandit ambush about half a kilometer west of the city gates.” The torchlight illuminated the youth in the other’s face, as well as the experience in his level gaze. He shrugged. “They are never around when I ride by, but travelers have come to grief there. They’ve been particularly -” he paused, “bothersome lately.”

“Well, I’ll see when I get there, sir,” I commented. I turned back to look for Paint. “I left my horse back a ways.”

“I did, too,” Drusus admitted. “Tell you what, I’m weary of hearing about those invisible bandits. They’ll likely ambush you - with that white hair of yours they’ll think you’re easy game. I’ve got to ride on down to Fort Urasek,” he indicated the ruined fort on the lakeshore, past the end of the Blue Road, “then come back toward Cheydinhal. If you wait for me, maybe we can take care of those bandits once and for all.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll travel slow until you catch up to me.”

“Travel real slow,” his tone was dry. I couldn’t help smiling at his irony.

Masser and Secunda were just rising over the eastern horizon when Paint and I passed the ruined farmstead. He was all too happy to remain at a slow amble for now. The road floated along the shoulder of the foothills to the north, the lofty Jeralls just visible beyond. To the south, on my right, the land dropped away into an expansive plain, dotted with groves, small lakes, and a single Ayleid ruin.

I spotted an overgrown gateway and a faint dirt path heading north into the foothills just past the farmstead. Briefly I wondered what lay at the end of that path.

Deer spooked at us and ran off, quick shadows highlighted by the white undersides of their tails. A grey ghost paced us from the side of the road, but veered off when Paint turned his head and looked directly at him without faltering in his stride. That wolf’s not hungry tonight. Bet those bandits up ahead are. I followed the wraithlike form with my gaze as the canine ran up a bank to the shore of a highland lake, just north of the road, its waterfall argent in the growing moonlight.

Ahead, the trees became thicker as the road began to rise into the foothills of the Valus Mountains to the east. A crenellated silhouette of a wall nearly blended into the treetops, only the right angles along the top of the barrier giving away its manmade origins. I slowed Paint even more and waited until I could hear the clopping of Drusus’s mount behind us. At the bottom of the slope, I stopped and dismounted from Paint. As I limped forward, I strained my eyes into the shadows on either side of the road, where thick trees and boulders crowded close.

Perfect place for an ambush. No wonder Drusus never saw anyone here - plenty of places to hide close to the road. Shaking my shield into my left hand, I drew my katana. A bird whistle - birdcalls in the middle of the night? - prompted me to raise my buckler as the thwap! of a snapping bowstring followed. The broadhead arrow smacked into the light iron, staggering me to the right. Booted footsteps on my right drew my head and katana around in time to catch the wrist of a mace-wielding woman. I kept my shield to the north side of the road, where I knew the bowman hid, and elbowed the female Redguard hard, freeing my blade from the bones of her wrist and kicking her legs from beneath her.

Drusus’s footfalls and clanking armor reached me. Still focused on the Redguard woman at my feet, I shouted at him, “Archer, in the trees on the left!” Drusus changed direction, and his footfalls went silent as he left the cobblestones of the road.

The woman regained her feet with an agility that surprised even me. She proved to be ambidextrous, just as adept with the mace in her left hand as in her right. She charged me, and before I could back away, she was inside my guard and swinging that mace low. The heavy iron head smashed into my right hip. With a groan, I danced left, chopping downwards with my katana to catch her left elbow. The blade bit into bone before skittering away, tearing muscle and tendon with it.

Effectively neutralized, the bandit dropped back, her mace striking sparks as it landed on the cobblestones and rolled away. Shouts in the trees across the road told me that Drusus had found the archer. Lifting the tip of my blade, I pointed it at the Redguard’s throat. “Are there more of you?” I demanded.

Her jaw clenched in defiance, the bandit used her right forearm to knock my katana away. Her left foot came up and slammed me in my belly, knocking the wind out of me. I managed to recover before she could follow through, and stabbed the katana into her lower abdomen. As I sliced the tip of my blade sideways, I heard her gasp, and stepped back as she shuddered to the cobblestones, blood appearing black beneath her body in the moonlight.

Short of breath, I looked around as the shouting fell into immense silence. Turning towards the trees where Drusus had disappeared, I limped across the road, my right hip stabbing with each step. The Legion rider reappeared out of the forest, sheathing his sword. A couple of arrows protruded from his chest plate, a couple more in his shield.

“There,” he said, catching his breath, and walking up to me. He yanked the two arrows out of his armor and looked at me, “That went rather well, I may say so.” His gaze sharpened on my face. “Are you hurt, Julian?”

“Ach,” I groaned as my hip twinged. “She managed to hit me once or twice, sir.” Together, we pulled the bandit’s body off the road, placing the corpse behind a clump of azaleas. I turned down the slope and started limping back to the horses. “It’ll heal,” I added, casting my healing as I spoke.

“I see Atellus is right,” Drusus said, an approving note in his voice. “You do know how to fight.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m as good as I used to be, sir,” I answered. “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll come back,” Drusus assured me as we reached the horses. My hip protested at the thought of mounting up, so I picked up Paint’s rein and started trudging for Cheydinhal. Drusus fell into step beside me, his bay trailing behind.

“I do hope I get it back, sir,” I muttered. “It would seem my work is far from done.”

“There are days when it seems like it never ends, huh?” Drusus commented. I nodded at the wisdom of his words. He may be young, as Atellus said, but experienced beyond his years. At the top of the slope, the closed gates of Cheydinhal visible less than a hundred meters away, Drusus stopped and mounted his mare.

“Thanks for your help, Julian.” He pointed out the stables to the left of the road. “There’s Black Waterside Stables. If you leave your horse in the corral, they’ll take care of him. You can pay them later.” He considered me a moment longer. “Get a bed at the Newlands Lodge. The innkeeper is a Dunmer, but it’s warm, cheap and comfortable. You’ll do well to stay there. There is the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn, but it’s more expensive.”

“All right, Drusus, thanks,” I said, leading Paint towards the stable corral. “I’ll see you again, sir.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: May 26 2010, 11:37 PM

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: When I'm horseback riding, I literally put my trust in the horse under me. Most horses will live up to that trust. That is the one amazing thing about these creatures. I'm glad that you've noticed Julian regards Paint as her partner in her travels. The Scooby Gang, indeed!

@Olen: I've always felt that fanatic leaders are very selective regarding what their fanatic followers know about. With everything necessary being provided by the Master, why should a novice head outside a cold, damp cave?

@Destri: Jauffre is a bit single minded, isn't he? Your rant made me laugh. I don't think it bothers Julian as much as it bothers you. After all, she's accustomed to the bumblings of higher-ups from her years in the Legion. As for my new avatar, the ouroboros and the yin-yang symbols are two of my favorite symbols through the years. I first learned of the ouroboros in Organic Chemistry, of all places. It's the one thing I remember well (along with the boat and chair) from that class! But I can post something equine if you prefer!

Now starts Chapter Ten, and Julian's first visit to Bruma. mALX, her first encounter with a Mythic Dawn agent is in this chapter, so stay tuned!

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Chapter 10.1 What is a Spy?

Again, I met the sunrise on the plaza, next to the western brazier. Fortis and Pelagius were already on the practice sands. As Cyrus watched in silent approval, I moved through the Way of the Crane that Jelin had taught - no, pounded into me - all those years ago. Pleased that the movements felt less awkward, I noticed that my knee didn’t hamper them as much.

“Much better this morning, Julian,” Cyrus greeted me as I walked up to the Hall doors.

“Good morning, Cyrus,” I answered. “Felt better too,” I added. “Though that brazier felt good starting out.”

“The movements help get you warm, though,” Cyrus observed. He nodded at the lightweight green shirt I wore. “Go see Jena,” he suggested. “She may have something more suitable for this cold weather than that.”

Cyrus was right, Jena did have something more appropriate for the high Jeralls. While I ate breakfast, she brought me a long-sleeved woolen blouse with a quilted doublet, and a heavy dark green flannel skirt. Since we were the only ones in the dining hall at the moment, she helped me try them on.

The flannel skirt was heavier and bulkier than the light tan skirt I had worn in the Imperial City, and tangled around my ankles more readily. Jena instructed me how to kick the skirt out of the way as I walked, so I wouldn’t trip on them. Swishing the heavy fabric thoughtfully around my legs, I looked up at Jena. “I haven’t worn skirts in such a long time, and certainly not long and heavy ones like this.”

“I’m certain not since you started soldiering, Julian,” Jena responded, adjusting the doublet on my shoulders. “Oh, but I think this outfit suits you rather well. It’s perfect if you don’t want people to mistake you for a Blade.”

“Thanks, Jena,” I responded, smiling at her. “I appreciate the help.” Just then, Jauffre entered the dining hall, halting as his gaze fell on us. Jena and I exchanged amused glances, then I walked up to the Grandmaster, stifling a giggle at the look on his face. Enough. I’m too old for that girly stuff. “Good morning, Grandmaster,” I said when I stopped in front of him. “Jena thinks I won’t be mistaken as a Blade in this.”

“Ahem,” Jauffre cleared his throat. “It would seem so,” he remarked. Giving me one last look up and down, he met my gaze. “I’ve got a new task for you, if you’re ready.”

“What is it, sir?” I asked as Jauffre moved to the sideboard and started gathering victuals for his breakfast. Pouring him a cup of klah, I sat down across from him when he took his seat.

“The gate guards have reported seeing strangers on the road for the past several nights.” He looked pointedly at me. “I cannot leave Cloud Ruler Temple undefended while I have men combing the mountainside for these spies, but they must be eliminated.”

“If they are spies, sir,” I countered cautiously.

“Aye, if they are spies,” Jauffre agreed impatiently. “Talk to Captain Steffan, he can tell you where he has seen them. Also, Captain Burd of the City Guard in Bruma may be able to help. I’ve asked the Countess to have the guard keep an eye out for strangers.” His eyes hardened. “Track down these spies,” he held up his hand when I opened my mouth in protest, “if indeed they are spies. Find out what they know, and what they are planning, if possible.”

Torture? I thought to myself. During my years in the Legion, I had seen enough torture to know the techniques, but I had never participated in such matters myself. One gets more flies with honey than with crap. Persuasion, maybe. I knew a thing or two about persuasion. “If they are spies, Grandmaster,” I said quietly. Looking down at my new clothes, I caught his gaze.

“Should I go as a Blade, or as an agent, sir?” I wanted to know.

“This isn’t strictly undercover work,” he responded. “But the fewer that know you’re one of us, the better.”

“All right, sir,” I said, thinking of my storage chest in the armory. “I’ve got a few items that I’d like to sell in town. I’ll ask around and see what I find out.”

“I’m counting on you to find those spies,” Jauffre’s tone remained implacable. “We can’t afford to have the Mythic Dawn operate out of Bruma with impunity.”

I had to agree. “No, sir, we can’t.”

Jauffre’s expression became worried, as he finished the last bite of his breakfast. “I hope Emperor Martin knows what he is doing with that evil book,” he muttered. “I fear what it can do to him if he’s not careful.”

“The Mysterium Xarxes?” I answered. “Somehow, I think he’s well-equipped to handle it, sir. Not too much knowledge to be over-confident, but just enough to understand the precautions he needs to take.”

“Yes, but I think he is pushing himself too hard,” Jauffre responded, his tone still concerned. “He’s barely slept or eaten since Baurus returned from the Imperial City. All he’s done is study, study, study.”

“He does have a lot to learn, sir, if he is to be Emperor,” I commented. “Haven’t you tried getting him to stop and take a break?”

“Hmmph,” Jauffre scoffed wordlessly. “Me order the Emperor to eat or sleep? Rather like you telling the sun to stop coming up in the morning.”

“But the sun goes down every night,” I responded. “Why would I want to tell it to stop coming up?”

Jauffre stared at me incredulously. “Julian, you are proving more and more to be well-named,” he finally said with a short laugh. “Look, your arrival got him to eat something last night. If you can get him to do it again, and even sleep a bit, I would be much grateful to you.”

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Captain Steffan was out on his patrol of the walls when I found him. “Captain Steffan, sir, may I have a moment of your time?” I asked, falling into step beside him. Once he got over his initial surprise at my feminine garb, he nodded. “Jauffre told me you saw some strangers on the road?”

“Jauffre thinks they may be spies,” Steffan responded neutrally. “We always see them near the runestone at dusk.” He shook his head in disgust. “They aren’t very woodscrafty, but Grandmaster Jauffre has forbidden us to range too far from these walls.”

“Those are my orders, sir,” I responded. “I’m to find those strangers and see what they are up to.” Looking over the edge of the wall, I caught my breath at the vista spread out below. “Can you show me the runestone?”

We reached the easternmost of the two watchtowers overlooking the gate and the road below. The Blade standing watch, one I had not yet met, turned at our approach and nodded at Steffan. The Captain led me to the front parapet and pointed down at the curve in the road where it turned south. Only by squinting could I just barely make out the rough shape of the menhir, surrounded by smaller standing stones. The whole complex stood on a small hillock just west of the bend in the road. “You can see that?” I exclaimed softly.

“Actually,” Steffan jerked a thumb at the Blade standing next to us. “Achille can. He’s got eyes like a hawk.” Achille smiled briefly at us when we left the watchtower, returning to his scanning of the vista below.

As Steffan and I walked back to the plaza, I glanced at the tall Imperial next to me. “What do you know of Captain Burd, sir?”

“Captain Burd?” Steffan repeated. “He’s ex-Legion, like you,” he continued after a moment, stopping near the practice sands to watch Fortis and Pelagius. “Nord through and through, but gets along all right with the southerners in town.” He glanced sidelong at me. “Something you need to know about Bruma,” he added. “Many of the Nords there are Skyrim born and bred, and don’t hold well with Chapel teachings and Nibenese habits. There’s always an undercurrent of tension there. Things look pretty peaceful on the surface, and I think it’s because Burd works hard to keep it that way.”

“Not all of them feel the way he does, then?” I asked quietly, remembering the Nords of Skyrim. Steffan shook his head. “Well, sir, I was posted for a few years in Skyrim. Learned how to stay out of trouble there, sir.”

“Not easy for a Redguard,” Steffan agreed. He spoke true, I knew. Redguards and Nords have been fighting over territory on the borders between Skyrim and Hammerfell. Not always the best of friends. Now he turned to face me. “I know you’re pretty capable, Julian, so don’t be offended when I say be careful. If those strangers are spies, they may try to kill you.”

“I’m not offended, sir,” I answered, matching his serious tone. “And yes, I’ll be careful. I haven’t lasted as long as I have in the Legion by being careless, sir.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 11 2010, 02:19 AM