Old Habits Die Hard, Can an old dog learn new tricks? Options

[haute ecole rider]

This is the story I have been posting on the Unnamed Forum. I'm in the process of moving it over here for those who have not yet seen it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1.1a Escape

Waking up vomiting nothing but a small amount of bile, I gagged on the burning in the back of my throat. Coughing the last of it from my mouth, I curled on my right side on the foul cot, knees drawn to my chest. The rough wood of the cot’s frame pressed into my cheek. The smith’s hammer pounding on the inside of my skull sent stars shooting across the backs of my eyes. Grinding the heels of my hands into my closed lids in an attempt to drive the lights away only made the damn hammer pound even harder. Groaning, I turned until I lay on my back, opening my eyes.

Ignoring the taste of moldy stones on my tongue, I gulped down deep breaths of the damp air. The stars subsided as I stared at the stone blocks rising into the gloom above my head. The hammering slowed to once every shaky breath. Raising my thin wrists, I looked at the iron shackles encircling their ache. The prominent veins in the backs of my hands disappeared as the blood drained from them. Turning them so their palms faced me, I studied the ghosts of rough calluses, dark skin pale in the dim light of the window above my head.

Shouting. Clashing of steel on steel. A dark room spinning around me. Pitchers breaking, fluid flying everywhere. The helmed face of the Legion rider before me, his gauntleted hand holding my shoulder in an implacable grip, shouting something at me. My empty hands between us, palms facing the rider, my voice drowned by the chaos around us. Then the cold night air, my bare feet cringing from the rough cobblestones. Falling through the paving into darkness.

“Ach, what happened?” I muttered softly to myself. In spite of my whisper, the smith’s hammer pounded hard for a couple of heartbeats before slowing down again. Struggling to a seated position, I ignored the familiar stabbing pain in my left side, the hard throbbing in my right knee. Scooting my rump along the cot, I reached the pitcher sitting on the rickety table at the foot of the cot. Looking into the mug next to it, I grimaced at the dirty fluid inside. Picking up the pitcher, I raised it to my lips. Trying to avoid tasting it, I gulped the stale water hurriedly. Taking another mouthful and setting the pitcher down, I rinsed my furry teeth with it. Rising to my feet and leaning my right hand on the wall, I limped to the privy at the rear of the cell, spitting the foul water out.

“Awake now, are you, pretty Redguard?” the sarcastic, biting voice sounded behind me. Shooting a glare over my shoulder, I took in the barred door, the Dunmer in his cell across the way. “How do you like your cell?” he continued, his voice still mocking. Pretty, am I? Disheveled, filthy, thin and weak - no, pretty would be the last word I’d use to describe myself.

Turning around, I took a limping step through the trickle of faint moonlight falling from a window too small to show stars. Another limp took me past the table, its pathetic candle shedding little additional light. One more step brought me to the cell door.

“Roomy enough for you?” the mocking continued as I studied the Dunmer. He looked as unhealthy as I felt. Turning away from him, I limped around the small room, hunched against the sharp pain in my left side. Nausea roiled in my stomach, and my muscles quivered uncontrollably, their former strength forgotten. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you,” the other’s voice followed me on my limited perambulation. “No more sunshine, no more open seas. Just a box and a dirty sunbeam for the rest of your sorry life. Bet you’re glad it won’t last long, eh?”

“What?” I returned to the barred door, squinting at the Dunmer across the way. “I won’t be here long?” my voice cracked, weak in my still-burning throat. My dry lips split as I spoke.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” The Dunmer’s voice turned bitter along with his faded red eyes. “They put you here to forget about you. They don’t care if you die, Redguard.” His sharp-edged voice grated on my already raw nerves. The sound of a bolt being drawn back, a heavy door creaking open somewhere down the passage reached us. “Hear that Redguard?” the Dunmer’s tone became strident. “They’re coming for you!” He drew back into the shadows of his cell as I heard voices.

“Tell me what happened to my sons,” an old man’s voice reached me, heavy with grief.

“Sire, all we know is that they were attacked,” a woman’s voice, clipped with authority and respect, responded as booted steps drew nearer the cells. “We must hurry, Sire, we need to get you to safety.” I heard the slightest undertone of anxiety in her voice.

A tall figure, clad in steel armor with blue enamel and brass trim marking him as one of the Blades, lifted his torch at me. He stopped outside my cell, his Redguard features scowling at me in the guttering light. The woman, a little shorter than I and clad in the same armor, paused at the sight of me. Her blue eyes sparked angrily beneath the helm. “This cell was supposed to be empty!” she exclaimed softly under her breath.

“I don’t know, Captain,” the tall Redguard shrugged, keeping his cold black eyes on me. “Some mix-up with the City Watch.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the captain responded. Beyond her, another armored figure and an old Imperial man in royal purple robes appeared. The third Blade matched my height, and like me, turned out to be Redguard as well.

“Prisoner!” the captain’s voice crackled between the stone walls. My back straightened involuntarily, painfully, at the unmistakable command in the woman’s voice. “Stand back beneath the window!”

Although I had been out of the Legion for four years, old habits die hard. Complying with her order, I limped to the back of the cell, behind the moonbeam. The captain unlocked my cell door while I squinted through the grey light. Opening the door, she stepped back to let the other two Blades enter. The tall one advanced to stand between me and the others. Sensing his dislike of me, thick as molasses in a Skyrim winter, I accepted it, as I accepted the captain’s authority, since I could do nothing else.

“Watch the prisoner, Glenroy,” the captain ordered, moving to the side wall opposite my cot.

The slim sword whickered as Glenroy drew it. “Aye, Captain,” he growled, turning the blade so it shimmered in the moonlight between us. “You stay where you are,” he snarled at me. “Don’t even breathe.” Breathing slowly and shallowly, I stayed put. Looking past him, I regarded the other Redguard. Standing at ease near the door, his impassive expression scared me in its implacability. Years of combat in the Legion had taught me that the most deadly enemies are the ones you can’t read.

The captain started muttering under her breath, and I felt the unmistakable tingle of magicka shimmer over the plain rock face. Catching my breath, I realized the captain was a Breton, with high innate magicka. Probably trained as a battlemage.

The old man, his dark fur-lined robe a shadow in the shadows of the cell, stepped past the impassive soldier and peered at me, his sad eyes puzzled. “Come closer,” his voice smoothing from a grieved coarseness to a commanding tone.

Glancing at Glenroy, I hesitated, but he fell back to stand beside the old man, keeping his blade between me and the other. Acutely aware of the shimmering sword, I stepped forward into the light.

The old man’s eyes widened. “Ah, yes, I’ve seen you before.” His dark gaze held mine, once again becoming sad and resigned. “That means today is the day, and the hour is near.” Suddenly aware that the smith’s hammer had stopped pounding in my head, I stared at the old man.

Licking my dry lips, I remembered how the captain had addressed him. “Pardon me, Sire?” He can’t be - no, not the Emperor, not here, not in my cell! My eye fell on the large red amulet on his brocaded chest. The Amulet of Kings? The Emperor! Stiffly against the pain in my left side, I bowed. “How may I serve you, Sire?” Old habits die hard, very hard, indeed. Looking up, I saw a faint smile touch Uriel Septim’s eyes.

“I have served Tamriel all my life,” he answered. “You too, shall serve Tamriel in your own way. But you have your own path to follow.” His eyes grew even darker. “Be warned, though. There will be blood and death before the end.”

“Blood and death are not new to me, Sire,” I spoke softly, surprised by the weariness I heard in my cracking voice.

The wall of my cell crumbled beneath the captain’s hands, falling away in a cloud of dry, choking dust. A passageway appeared beyond. “Sire,” her voice cut between us. “We must go now, there is little time.” She disappeared into the darkness beyond the jagged stone edges.

Glenroy turned the top of the slender blade toward me as the Emperor started toward the opening. “What of the prisoner, Sire?”

“Leave her be,” the command voice was quietly unmistakable as Uriel Septim stepped through the opening, following the captain. “Her path may yet lie with ours.” Glenroy gave me one last glare, sheathing his sword and following the Emperor. The third Blade turned his back on me and brought up the rear.

Listening to the sound of their booted feet fading away, I glanced around the cell again. Something coiled in my belly, just below the breastbone. On my discharge from the Legion, I had once hoped to find peace and health after decades of blood and death. Peace and health had avoided me, and now a mere hint of blood and death had found me.

[haute ecole rider]

Chapter 1.1b Escape

Looking down at myself, I saw the pathetic sacking I wore. The thin pants, the flimsy shirt, the sandals with the rotten strings. No, I can’t do this. I’m too old, broken down, sick. My knee hurts, my hip hurts. Unconsciously my hand dropped to my left flank, over the debilitating wound that had led to my discharge from the Legion. It had festered in the years since my discharge, pulling me down to my left when I was tired, or when the weather turned cold and damp, much like the air in my cell.

Again, something shifted in my belly, suddenly making me claustrophobic in the narrow confines of the cell. The hammer tapped softly in my skull. The headaches had begun when I sickened from the wounds in my left side and right knee, only worsening the longer I lived out of the Legion. Silencing that hammer had become the sole focus of my existence since then, but led to my downfall.

Involuntarily, I moved to the passage, coughing against the rock dust still swirling in the air. Peering into its shadows, I caught a glimmer of an open space beyond, below the level of the cell floor.

Limping between the falling stones, wincing when my right foot slipped on unstable footing, I made my way down the rough-hewn corridor. Soon I reached an ancient stairhall, dust thick on every horizontal surface, undisturbed except for the boot prints on the floor. Following those tracks, I soon spotted the flicker of torch light ahead. Moving quicker to catch up, I soon reached the Blade bringing up the rear.

He turned his head to his left shoulder, still walking forward. “Careful, prisoner,” he warned me. “Stay out of our way.” His matter-of-fact tone was as impassive as his face. It reminded me of my pilus prior many, many years ago when I was a raw recruit, a tiro, in the Ninth.

Ahead in the dusty, ancient passageway, I could see the captain, torch high in her right hand. It guttered when she started at an attacking shadow and dropped the torch to draw her sword. The red and black figure towered over her and swung something at her head. She went down before she could bring her shield to bear. Glenroy and the other Blade leaped forward, their swords clanging as they attacked the shadow.

As the assailant disappeared in a red and yellow haze, I moved to stand beside the Emperor. The old man had drawn a silver shortsword, ready to defend himself. Clenching my empty hands - oh, for a weapon! - I spotted movement on the other side of the room.

“To your right!” I shouted. The pain in my knee and side forgotten, I moved between the Emperor and this new threat. As one, Glenroy and the impassive Blade dashed to the other side, moving into the darkness that pooled there.

Only the flashing of blades, the sparks flying in faint sprays as metal clashed on metal, could be discerned. The fight was over nearly as quickly as it began, the two Blades the only figures left standing. I could see their helms moving around as they scanned the lower part of the chamber, the soft snicks of their swords returning to their sheaths.

“Captain Renault?” the Emperor spoke behind me as Glenroy moved to kneel beside the fallen Breton.

“She’s dead, Sire,” he spoke curtly, anger simmering in his voice. “Let’s go, we have no time. There may be more.” Rising to his feet, he moved to the brass gate at the far side of the dimly lit chamber. Uriel Septim walked past me, his shortsword already sheathed, and weaved his way past red-robed bodies. The other Blade shot me a warning glance that froze my feet to the floor as he fell in behind the Emperor.

Moving quickly to the red-robed bodies, I searched through the thick folds of fabric. Weapons. I need a weapon. Something! The gate snicked shut behind the Blades. Dimly aware of a collapsed section of wall to my right, I hobbled toward the gate and tried to open it. Damn. Locked! Now what? My mind started chattering as I looked back at the bodies. Find weapons. That combat sense that warned me of danger was tingling crazily now.

A scuffling sound from the collapsed section of the wall warned me. Raising my left arm reflexively, though I held no shield, I whirled in time to see a large rat leaping toward me. Its teeth clattered on the iron shackle still on my wrist. Shoving it away, I felt another one slam into my right thigh just above my knee. Sharp pain told me the damned creature had bit me.

Swinging my right fist down hard on top of the second rat, I heard it exhale in surprise as it let go. Sliding back, it shook its head, momentarily stunned. Turning in time to catch the first rat scrambling toward me again, I seized it around its chest and slammed it against the wall, feeling bones crunch within my grip. Its collapse told me I had killed the creature. Limping to the stunned rat, I stomped hard on its neck with my left foot, twisting my heel until I felt its spine snap.

A quick look around revealed no more live enemies, two-legged or four. All the energy of the fight suddenly dropped out of my limbs. I fell rather than sat onto my haunches next to one of the dead assassins, fighting for breath. Shaking, I looked at my thigh, where the sacking cloth had torn from the second rat’s attack. Blood seeped from the gash made by the creature’s sharp teeth. Closing my eyes, I wished for a healing potion.

Crying, I ran to my mother, holding my right elbow in my left hand. Blood seeped through my fingers. She turned in time to catch me, kneeling to bring her black eyes level with mine. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“Cieran pushed me!” I exclaimed, holding my scraped elbow up, blood running down my raised arm. “See what he did to me!”

My older brother ran up. “I didn’t mean to push so hard, Mother,” he panted, his tone defensive and scared. Our mother took my arm in her strong hands, wiping away the blood to see the wound better.

“It’s only a scrape, Julian,” her warm voice soothed me. “Here, let me teach you how to heal it.” She wiped the blood from her left hand, then cupped my face in her long fingers. “Close your eyes, honey. Feel the pain. Now wish it away.”

“How?” I asked, nevertheless obeying her soft command.

“Take it in your hand, hold it tight until you can’t hold it any more, then let it go,” she said.

As hard as my six-year-old fingers could grip, I clenched my left hand until the joints in my fingers hurt. Pressure built up in my palm, while my mother’s voice encouraged me, and my brother gave a startled gasp. I gasped too, when I realized the pain in my right elbow was gone! Opening my eyes and my left fist at the same time, I caught a pure white glimmer rising from my left palm to swirl gently around me before disappearing.

“See?” my mother smiled, sitting back on her heels. Looking down at my elbow, I saw new skin covering the area where an ugly scrape had bloomed just seconds ago. “That’s how you can heal yourself. Next time an accident like this happens, just take the pain in your hand and hold onto it. The tighter you hold the pain, the more of it you can cast away,” she raised her left hand above her head dramatically. Looking at Cieran, I saw his stunned gaze still on my right elbow.

Somehow my left hand rose in the air, somehow I managed to hold on to the pain, until my fingers ached with it. When white light glowed between my clenched fingers, the pain in my thigh disappeared. Opening my hand, I let the healing spell free. It left me weaker than before, but the gash had closed, leaving a fresh pink scar. Leaning back, I gulped deep breaths until my shaking stopped.

The debilitating wound in my left side and my bum knee felt better. Trying again with the childhood spell, I felt the pain fade further, warmth replacing it. This time, I felt even weaker than before, and did not try again.

Looking at the body next to me, I fingered the red woolen robe thoughtfully. The gash in the front of the garment was small, testament to the deadly skill of the impassive Blade. This one is bigger than me. He won’t miss this robe.

Stripping the body, I shrugged into the woolen robe, folding the front of it to cover the gash and the bloodstains that were nearly invisible in the red color. Wrapping it around me, I rolled the sleeves and pulled the robe up through the belt so its hem wouldn’t drag on the floor.

Feeling something in one of the pockets, I reached in to find a metal disk. Pulling it out, I considered the single drake thoughtfully. He won’t be needing drakes, or septims, anymore. Replacing the coin in the pocket, I fruitlessly searched the other assassin, craving a weapon of some kind.

Puzzled, I searched the bare floor. Then it hit me. Bound weapons, bound armor. Conjuration. I shook my head. Give me something more permanent. Struggling to my feet, I moved to the other side of the room. Kneeling stiffly beside the remaining assassin, I found little more of value, only a belt pouch with another drake in it. Taking the belt pouch and adding it to my waist, I studied the dead Blades captain nearby.

Renault, the Emperor called her. She died in the line of duty. Eyeing her armor almost enviously, I briefly considered taking it. No, it won’t fit me. Besides, that would be disrespectful of a fallen soldier. Finding a steel shortsword at her back, I took it, unsheathing it and hefting its weight in my right hand. Good quality, well balanced. Little used. She kept this as her backup weapon.

Re-sheathing the sword, I secured it my belt. Glancing around on last time, my eye fell on Renault’s longsword laying just a short distance from her out-flung right hand. Its blade rang softly when I picked it up.

The long slender blade glimmered in the dim light, its balance exquisite, almost musical, in my hand. The finely wrought blue enamel and brass that formed the guard fitted seamlessly into the steel blade. The long grip, wrapped in butter-soft yellow leather interlaced around the shaft, easily kissed the old calluses in my right hand. The pommel, a small brass ball set into the end of the handle, provided the perfect balance to the long one-sided blade. An Akaviri katana!

No, I can’t keep it, shaking myself out of my trance, I found the sheath for it and removed it from the captain’s belt. But if I can somehow return it to the Blades, they may know best how to honor her. With an apology the dead woman could not hear, I strapped the katana to my back. Rising to my feet, I noticed that my wounds hurt less than before, thanks to the healing spells.

Now what? Looking around, I considered the passageway that led back to the cell. No, not that way. But the gate is locked. I looked at the collapsed section of the wall. The rats came from there. There’s got to be more. Maybe it will lead me out of the prison. After that, who knows?

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 17 2010, 04:19 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Chapter 1.2 - The Tunnels

Akatosh must be sitting on my shoulder. Almost immediately upon entering that dark space beyond the collapsed wall, I discovered shabby leather armor - a cuirass, greaves, boots, and best of all, a leather shield that was light enough for my weakened condition. A serviceable iron bow and a few arrows were nearby.

What followed was a maze of dark tunnels, musty chambers, and mostly rats. Soon I was lost. Still I crept along, my hands shaking and my heart in my mouth. Being alone in strange surroundings made me very jittery, as accustomed as I was to being part of a group for twenty-five years. My back became sore from the constant anticipation of a rear strike.

I had been tiptoeing along for some time, my smith friend tap-tap-tapping softly in my head, when I heard a creaking, groaning noise that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Zombie! I hate the things. Recalling the characteristic stench that made that cot back in my cell smell like roses, I found an alcove to hide in. Zombies were disgusting to fight. Their rotting flesh never quite seemed to feel the bite of a sharp blade. Worse, they left behind moldy, slimy fluid that was nearly impossible to remove from weapons and armor.

The undead being lumbered past my hiding place, after two rats that were trying to escape it. Stepping carefully in my oversized boots, I limped out of my hiding place behind the zombie and stabbed it, just to the right of the spinal groove, into where the kidney would be in a man or elf. Turning the blade sideways, I yanked it out of the creature’s flank. A chunk of rotting flesh pulled out with a sickening moist sound. As part of the creature fell wetly at my feet, the zombie staggered around, its half-rotted arms raising to clobber me.

Swinging the sword sideways, I felt it thunk through soft meat into the spinal bones. Heavy blows landed on my shield, staggering me. Managing to recover my blade, I hobbled backwards as the undead being collapsed, falling in several pieces.

After that encounter, it took several minutes for my frayed nerves to knit back together. They almost unraveled again when I skirmished with goblins later in the maze. The first two were lightly armed peons, each alone, each easily taken down by sniping from the shadows. Still, the combat left me shaking badly. Here, I found a mortar and pestle, as I had wished for not so long ago as I picked cairn bolete and wisp stalks. This raised my spirits a little.

Approaching a stack of logs precariously balanced at the top of a slope, I peered around the corner to see two goblins, one a melee fighter, the other an archer. They stared back at me, starting when they obviously realized that I wasn’t one of them. Hobbling for the logs, I kicked at them. Unfortunately I used my left leg, causing my right knee to scream in protest. Nearly falling to my bad knee, I looked up to see the logs tumbling down the slope, sweeping away the two goblins.

A more heavily armed goblin ran out a side passage at the bottom of the slope. His bulkier form made my eyes widen. A berserker! Remaining crouched behind the one log that didn’t roll away, I drew two arrows, sticking one into the dirt by my boot. Restringing my bow, I nocked the other arrow and sighted on him. Akatosh, may my arrow fly true. The bow hadn’t been my primary weapon during my service in the Legion, so my skills were very rusty.

Remember sis, don’t draw it full,” Cieran’s voice whispered in my ear. Sighting down the arrow, I squinted at the silver-barked sapling ten meters down the hill. “Now take a breath, let half of it out,” Cieran continued instructing me. Feeling his presence at my back, sighting over my shoulder, I did as he said. “Feel good?” he asked me.

“Hmm-hmm,” I answered.

“Now pull the string the rest of the way and release, smoothly,” his whisper coached me.

The berserker saw my movement and started for me, raising his war axe. I released the arrow, which smacked him in the chest, embedding itself in the bone breastplate he wore. The impact only staggered him, and he recovered quickly. I forgot Cieran’s lesson and released the second arrow in a panic. Naturally, the arrow flew wide, and now the berserker was almost on top of me.

Backpedaling as fast as I could with the cursed bum knee, I dropped the bow and drew my sword. Managing to raise my shield in time to deflect the blow from that axe, I fell to the ground under the impact. Rolling to clear my sword arm, I looked up to see the berserker raise his axe overhead for the killing blow. Somehow I managed to drive my shortsword into his belly, slipping it beneath the edge of his bone cuirass and angling the tip up into his rib cage. Black blood cascaded down the blade as I twisted it to create more internal damage before withdrawing it.

Scrambling back on my rump, I managed to avoid having the large goblin land on me like a felled tree. Damn, that was too close. I much preferred the longsword - I liked keeping my enemies at a distance from me. But using the captain’s katana felt sacrilegious to me - I had not earned the honor of handling an Akaviri blade. Akatosh, I need a longsword, and fast!

Gasping for breath, I stared at the dead berserker. Fighting him had brought back far too many unwelcome memories.

Laying crumpled against the wall, stripped of my armor and weapons, I watched the goblins dancing around their gesticulating shaman. Every so often, one of them would approach me and hammer on my battered body with his fists. The shaman would lower her totem staff in my direction, and send debilitating bolts into my chest, my back, my belly. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to lie still. It hurt to move. My nose was broken for the third time. My right knee lay useless, ligaments severed by a wicked slash from an iron shortsword. Blood flowed slowly out of the gash in my left side. That wound would have killed me had it landed a finger’s width higher, above the arc of my hipbone. A couple of broken ribs jabbed my back whenever I inhaled.

Though the fire was only a couple of meters away from me, I felt cold, my fingers and toes growing numb. Blood loss, I knew. Just a matter of time. Akatosh, don’t let me die alone.

Voices, screeching, the sound of metal on metal. Goblins running towards the passage leading up to the surface. Only the shaman remained. She walked over to me, aiming that cursed totem staff at me. The sounds of combat drew nearer, then a shout I recognized. Florio! My optio! Though it hurt, I turned my gaze up at the shaman. “Today, you die,” I whispered at her. The totem staff flared, and I fell away in a wash of blinding pain.

After what seemed like an interminable period of time, my shaking eased enough that I could focus a couple of healing spells on myself. When the pain and terror eased, I struggled slowly to my feet, recovered my bow, and limped cautiously down the slope, staying close to the wall.

Entering a large cavern, I grounded my good left knee in the shadows to one side of the entrance. Scanning the place, I picked out more goblins. A peon next to a cooking fire to my right. Another peon poking idly at penned rats in the central pit. A shaman pacing beside some chests at the far end of the cavern, over twenty meters away. Power flared around the wizened head of the goblin staff she carried, pounding its butt into the ground with every step.

Which one first? That shaman is probably the most deadly, with that totem staff. She can kill me ten times over before I even get within blade-range. I tested the bowstring. Loose. I tightened it, eyeing the goblins. Those two peons are fairly close to me. I’m in the shadows right here. Good place for sniping.

Slipping the shield straps onto my forearm, I sheathed the shortsword and pulled four arrows from my quiver. Not liking the pit goblin’s idea of entertainment, I sent a single arrow into his unarmored chest. The impact flung him onto his back. Nocking another broadhead to my bowstring, I turned to the peon sitting by the cooking fire.

His back was to me as he sliced meat off the roasting rat spitted over the flames. Using Cieran’s technique, I sighted on his hunched figure and released the arrow. Picking up a third shaft, I looked back to see the goblin stagger into the fire, screeching from the arrow in his left shoulder. Time seemed to stretch out as I forced myself to follow my brother’s teachings, flowing through the half-drawing the bow, taking half a breath, then sighting, tautening the string and releasing with a soft exhalation. It took an eternity to cross the distance between me and the wounded goblin, but the arrow sank into his chest with satisfying results.

In the corner of my eye, I sensed the shaman pause in her pacing, looking over her shoulder at the cooking fire. I swept the last arrow into my hand and limped backwards, deeper yet into the shadows behind other boulders. Sighting on the shaman, I considered the distance. The range was great enough I worried that my arrows would drop before they reached the shaman. I had never shot an arrow so far before.

“If you ever have to shoot further, Julian, remember to raise your aim point higher,” Cieran’s voice reached me from the far side of the campfire. He lay stretched on his back, arms crossed behind his head. “The farther your target, the higher the arrow has to fly to drop into that sweet spot.”

Raising my aim, I paused when the arrow tip hovered above the shaman’s head, level with the top of her totem staff as she slammed it into the dirt, power flickering around that disembodied skull. As the goblin glared around the cavern, her voice crackling across the pit, I let the shaft fly. She bent forward abruptly as I pulled another arrow from my quiver, the one I had released protruding from her lower abdomen. Her free hand reached up to it as I repeated Cieran’s technique, adjusting the aim point to compensate for her shortened silhouette. The shaman’s head raised and her eyes met mine as the arrow sped across the pit, the totem staff beginning to drop its skull in my direction.

Shrugging the shield onto my wrist, I ran no, limped as quickly as I could around the pit, unsheathing my shortsword. My precaution was unnecessary, however, for the goblin fell, her totem staff clattering off to the side harmlessly. Her bleeding body did not move as I approached warily.

Now that the situation no longer called for it, panic swept over me. I sat shakily down beside the shaman, panting for air. Remembered pain rose up again, and the pounding in my head increased for a couple of breaths, then subsided. As quickly as the panic had overwhelmed me, it ebbed away, leaving me shaking and breathless.

Again, casting a couple of healing spells gave me strength and stilled the smith’s hammer. A quick search of the chests netted me the one thing I had prayed for just moments ago, an iron longsword. Straight-edged and keen, it was of decent quality and snugged itself into my right palm as if it belonged there.

Did you hear me, Akatosh? I wondered. I had served him for twenty-five years in the Legion, but had never given him much thought. But now, every time I thought I needed something - If you’re listening, Akatosh, thank you.

[haute ecole rider]

Chapter 1.3a - The Assassination



Slipping through yet another door, I found myself surrounded by familiar architecture - the dressed stone and columns of the buried city. I moved forward, finding the smoother floor easier to navigate.



Voices reached me around a bend in the corridor, voices that I recognized. Glenroy’s tones rang strained, angry. The other Blade sounded as impassive as my memory of his visage. The Emperor’s voice was absent. Is he still with them? My heart beat faster for a moment. Is he dead? Did the Blades fail? But they wouldn’t still be alive, then, I reassured myself unconvincingly.



They moved away from me, compelling me to hurry down the hallway. Rounding the corner, I found myself on a ledge overlooking a large chamber, its interior crisscrossed by shadows and deeper shadows. My night vision remained good enough for me to see the footprints in the fine powder below. Three sets. Good, the Emperor is still alive! My heart sank, however, when the prints diverged to the deep shadows on the opposite sides of the room, where swirled traces in the thick dust indicated skirmishes. 



Carefully letting myself down from the ledge, I kept close to the near wall, the dark blade of my new-found longsword nearly invisible in the shadows. Nearly tripping over a red-robed corpse, I found the body still warm. Good, I’m not far behind them. I paused long enough to search the assassin’s purse, collecting the two drakes I found there, before progressing on. 



Before much longer, I heard again the clash of weapons on armor. Knowing my condition was still weak, even with repeated applications of that old healing spell, I resisted the impulse to run pell mell towards the sounds of combat. Instead, I settled for hobbling a little faster, while scanning the shadows for ambushes.


Reaching the far side of the chamber, their trail entered another narrow corridor. Judging by the sound of the skirmish ahead, they were just around the corner a couple of meters in front of me. Close quarters - no, really close quarters. That means one on one fighting.



Rounding the corner, I nearly bumped into the purple robes of Uriel Septim. He stood well back of the ruckus up ahead, his own shortsword drawn. 



“Excuse me, Sire,” I said quietly to avoid alarm. I didn’t like the way that sword flickered in the guttering torchlight. The last thing I needed was for my own Emperor to stab me just because he was as jumpy as I was. 



Uriel Septim did start a little, but only looked at me over his shoulder. Because of the way the shadows fell, I could not read his expression, but I could feel tension emanating off his form. Without a word, he stepped against the wall so I could move past him. Ahead, the broad shoulders of the impassive Blade blocked my view of the skirmish in front of him. Catching only fragments of the frenzied activity another meter away, I could make out the end of the corridor, the floating dust stirred up by Glenroy and the attacking assassin, and the heavy breathing of the two opponents. 



Glenroy’s better training gained the upper hand, however, and he moved out quickly into the chamber beyond, advancing right on a diagonal from the archway. The implacable Redguard stepped over the slumped assassin and glided to the left. I stopped at the end of the corridor and waited, the Emperor behind me. 



The two Blades scanned the room, then sheathed their katanas. Taking it as a signal that the room was clear, I stepped aside to let the Emperor by, and knelt to search the dead assassin’s purse. 



“Dammit!” Glenroy’s explosion brought my head up in time to see him stalking towards me, his katana drawn. My pathetic attempt to rise to my feet resulted in my tripping over the dead assassin and falling backwards against the wall. “That prisoner’s one of them!”



A swirl of purple robes and an upraised hand stopped Glenroy in his tracks, his black gaze glaring at me. “Stop,” the Emperor’s voice again held that unmistakable authority. “She is helping us.” Standing next to Glenroy, Uriel Septim turned to look at me, where I lay shaking against the wall. “She must continue helping us.”



“As you command, Sire,” Glenroy muttered, still glowering at me. The Emperor moved forward into the room, where the stern Blade waited near another doorway at the far side. Under Glenroy’s hostile stare, I struggled to my feet, my knee complaining, the pain in my left side pulling me off balance. Straightening my back to meet the Blade’s angry look took every ounce of courage I had. “Don’t try anything funny,” he warned me.



“Sir,” I spoke quietly, fighting to keep my voice even, “I’m too old and sick right now. The Emperor could kill me easily if he wanted to.”



Glenroy’s eyes narrowed at me under the ornate helm. Moving his katana to the side, he stepped up until we stood toe to toe, Glenroy stooping slightly so we were nose to nose. “You made it this far, prisoner,” he growled, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “And you’ve managed to arm yourself. If that doesn’t make you one of them -” he spat the word, “then I was born yesterday!”



“Glenroy!” the Emperor’s voice, still smooth as velvet, somehow had the effect of a cracking whip. “Let the prisoner come to me.”



Still glaring at me, the tall Blade stepped aside, gesturing with that fine blade for me to move, and move quickly. Uriel Septim showed more patience as I limped towards him, towards the pool of cold light he stood in. My shoulder blades tensed as Glenroy shadowed me, his katana throwing flickers of light from its blade around the room.



“Baurus,” Glenroy said when I stopped in front of the Emperor, “keep an eye on the prisoner. I’m going to check the room again.” Beyond the Emperor’s shoulder, I saw the impassive Blade nod in acknowledgement. He remained standing at ease, his katana still sheathed. Even so, I found his implacable gaze even more unsettling than Glenroy’s overt hostility.



“Please excuse my Blades,” Uriel Septim’s voice drew me back to him. He smiled, his eyes remaining sad. “It has been an - ah, eventful night for all of us, with many twists and surprises. If I hadn’t seen what I have seen, I would be suspicious of you as well. It can be so hard to tell friend from foe under these circumstances.”



“Sire,” I responded, “These Blades are sworn to you, and it is obvious to me that they take their duty more seriously than their own lives. I understand why they do not trust me.” Seeing the merest flicker in Baurus’s shadowed gaze, I knew I had struck a nerve. “Believe me, were I in their place, I wouldn’t trust me either.”



Glenroy’s booted footsteps returned to my back, and my shoulder blades tensed up again, until I heard the sound of his katana being sheathed. The Emperor was nodding at my words, now his gaze sharpened on me. 



“You’ve served Akatosh for some years, have you not?” This time the smile touched his eyes at what he saw on my face. “Think you that I didn’t notice the Red Dragon on your left arm, back there in the cell?”



Unconsciously, I rubbed the shield straps on my left forearm, covering the place where the old tattoo resided. It had faded almost into invisibility, more a mere bloodstain on my dark skin. How could he have noticed that, as dim as the light was in that cell? A shiver ran up my spine.



“Do you worship the Nine?” Uriel Septim asked. 


Do I? “I never really thought much about it, Sire,” I answered truthfully. 



“Like you, I’ve served the Nine for many, many years,” Uriel Septim observed quietly. “I’ve always listened to them, found my guidance, even during the darkest of times, in them. It seems to me that at least one is now trying to speak to you. Listen to your heart, your gut, and you will hear the Divine Voice.”



I shook my head. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.” I looked down at the dusty floor between us. “I’m sorry, Sire.”



“You’ve been caught up in the mortal world,” the Emperor responded. “The Voices of the Nine can be very quiet, and hard to hear. You have to learn to listen to the silence that is within you.” 


“How do I do that, Sire?” I asked. 



“You could always go to the priests in the Chapels,” Uriel Septim’s tone lightened slightly. Looking up, I was surprised to see a crooked smile on his face, giving me the impression of irony. “But I think, for you, just finding a quiet place to be will be sufficient.” Now the smile faded. “For me, I’ve listened to them all my life, I have been trained to it from birth. And now, they are telling me I go to my grave this night.”



I inhaled sharply, sensing the Blades’ unease at the Emperor’s statement. “But Sire,” I began, but he raised his hand.



“Ah, but the Blades can not change my fate,” he said sadly. “As much as they will try, as much as you will try, no mortal is able to change what is set in the stars.”



Feeling the blood drain from my face, I considered the old man in front of me. Why is he affecting me like this? Because he is the Emperor?



“Our father is a loser!” Cieran shouted at me. “He is nothing!” he spat at the ground. 



I clenched my fists. “No, our father is like the Emperor!” I matched his tone. “He is wise, kind, and just!”



“If he were like the Emperor,” Cieran snapped back, “he would never have left Mother and me before you were even born! Only freaks abandon their families without a word!”



I leaped into Cieran, knocking his skinny, seven-year-old body off his feet. Landing on him, I started kicking and pummeling him with my fists. “Our father is not a freak!” I was screaming. “He is a hero -!” My words soon became unintelligible.



“Stop it, children!” my mother’s voice cracked between us as she hauled me off my older brother. “What are you two fighting about?” Her black gaze, normally full of love, quelled us with its fierceness. 



“You be quiet, Julian!” Cieran hissed at me. “Don’t you dare say it!”



“Our father is not a freak!” I shouted at my brother, wanting to get the last word. My mother’s gasp brought my attention to her face, gone pale in spite of her dark complexion. Tears sprang in her eyes, then she was pulling me up to my feet with a painful grip on my shoulder. “Julian,” her voice was cold, “go to your bed, immediately. And do not speak of your father ever again.”


“But Mother -!” I protested, for the sun still stood high in the western sky. Her hand cracked across my cheek, hard. Gasping, I stared at my gentle mother, the woman who had never struck either of us in the entire six years of my life.



“While I can see my fate,” the Emperor’s voice brought me back to the present, “yours is not visible to me. But in your face, I behold the Sun’s Companion.” 



I stared at him. What did I just miss? Sun’s Companion?



“The dawn of Akatosh’s bright glory may yet banish the darkness to come,” Uriel Septim continued. “With such hope, and with the promise of your help, I must be content.” He smiled sadly again. “Our paths may run together for a while yet, but soon you must go your own way.” He held up one hand to me. “I must know your name, Sun’s Companion.”



“J- Julian,” I stammered, trying to make sense of his words. 



“Sire, we must go on,” Glenroy broke into the silence that followed the Emperor’s words. The tall Blade passed me and headed for the door at the opposite end of the chamber. Uriel Septim turned and followed him.

[haute ecole rider]

Chapter 1.3b Assassination



Still stunned, I stared at Baurus. He looked me up and down, then shoved the torch in his hand to me. “Take this,” he said curtly. “Make yourself useful. My job is to make sure the Emperor gets out of here alive, and I intend to do it.” His tone clearly implied he doubted my ability to be of any considerable assistance, especially in combat. The old pilus I used to be agreed with his assessment.



We moved on through corridors and deserted chambers, stirring dust that had long lay undisturbed on every horizontal surface. Every now and then, a single assassin would waylay us, but none of them apparently had the kind of training necessary to withstand a single Blade.



Before long, we reached a huge chamber with a brass gate at the far end. Glenroy had us wait in the corridor while he went forward and surveyed the room for assassins. Finding the area empty, he waved us forward and moved to the gate. 



The rattling sound it made was ominous in the immensity of the silent chamber. Immediately the two Blades drew their katanas and started scanning the shadows around us.



“The gate’s barred from the other side,” Glenroy told us angrily. “I smell a trap!”



Looking around the room, I had to agree. Too many shadows, too many blind corners, too many places for ambushing enemies to hide. 



“What about that room back there?” Baurus asked, gesturing towards an archway opening into a small space, off to the side. 



“Let’s check it out,” Glenroy suited actions to words, moving towards the doorway. “It’s clear,” he said. The Emperor and I followed his signal to enter the room. 



Booted footfalls sounded outside the room once we entered. “They’re behind us!” Baurus shouted, whirling around and dashing back the way we had come, Glenroy hot on his heels.



Catching my breath at the suddenness of events, I blinked in the relatively bright light of the small side chamber. The Emperor caught my elbow as I reached for the hilt of my longsword.



“Listen!” his voice took on new urgency. “This is it, the end is here.” Shooting him a startled glance, I saw the determination in his gaze. “You must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants!” He removed the Amulet of Kings from around his neck and pressed it into my right hand, squeezing my fingers around it until I winced from the pain. “Close shut the jaws of Oblivion. He must not have the Amulet of Kings!” Uriel Septim released my hands, stepping back. 



Outside the room, the sounds of combat distracted me momentarily. Without thinking, I shoved the jewel beneath my cuirass, under my breast. Need to free my sword hand. My mind was already on the skirmish unfolding in the great chamber, ignoring the coiling in my gut.



“Julian,” the Emperor’s voice, quiet and commanding, drew my gaze back to him. “Take the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where my last son yet lives.”



He trusts me that far? I stared at him, momentarily speechless. My heart started when the stone niche behind the Emperor opened to reveal a towering assassin in Daedric armor, his horned mace raised high over his head. 



“No -!” I screamed, reaching for Uriel Septim with my shield hand, fumbling for the sword hilt with my right hand. Too slow, too far, my mind screamed at me, as I watched in horror while the mace began its shockingly slow, yet so fast, descent straight for the Emperor’s head.



The impact made a sickening crunch, and the Emperor’s face went slack, his eyes rolling up into his head. He crumpled to the ground at my feet. Still groping for the sword hilt, I crouched toward him, hoping against hope. The huge hole in the back of his head, blood and gore draining from it told me the Emperor was dead.



“You picked a bad day to take up the cause of the Septims!” the assassin screamed in a voice like thunder, lifting the terrible mace again. Warm fluid and matter splattered my face as I scrambled back, grasping the hilt and trying to gain enough room to draw it. 



My right knee chose that moment to buckle under me, throwing me down. Somehow my sword came unsheathed, and I reflexively raised it towards the assassin as he came at me. The tip of the sword caught in the cuirass, the force of the assailant’s charge wrenching the hilt out of my grip and twisting my right wrist. 



Fighting down the sudden wave of terror at being so abruptly disarmed, I raised my shield in time to deflect the mace, redirecting its momentum to fly past my left shoulder. As the assassin bent over me, momentarily off-balance, I swung my left boot as hard as I could, as high as I could, into the inside of his thigh. “Damn!” I yelled, rolling to my right. Grabbing for the sword, I cried out at the pain in my wrist as my hand took the blade’s weight. 



The assassin staggered, groaning from the pain I had just inflicted on him. Behind him, Baurus raced into the room, his bloodstained katana already moving to slice below the assassin’s cuirass. He did something with the blade, I wasn’t sure what, and the attacker tried to turn around. 



Clambering onto my knees, I swung the longsword at the back of his calves, unprotected by his greaves. Effectively hamstrung, the assassin was easy prey for Baurus’s flickering katana and finally went down. 



Baurus whipped the katana at me, but lowered it as soon as he saw my face. He cast his gaze around the room, stopping when he saw the Emperor’s crumpled body against the wall. All the fight went out of him then, as he stumbled to kneel beside Uriel Septim.



“Talos save us, no -” the raw emotion in his voice made me breathless. Panting, I lay back on my right side, squeezing my eyes against the tears that threatened to spill down my sweating face. The iron longsword clattered as it slipped out of my grip.



I failed. I failed the Emperor. I failed, again. I can’t fight any more. I’m too far gone. Akatosh, I’m sorry.

Booted footsteps interrupted my self-recrimination. Gauntleted hands grabbed my shoulders. “Julian!” Baurus was speaking. “Julian! Are you all right?”



Opening my eyes, I shook my head at him. He started passing his hands over my arms, searching for injuries. Reflexively, I pushed him off. “I failed the Emperor!” I snapped, struggling to sit up. Baurus grew very still, and I turned my gaze away from him. “I’m sorry, sir,” I muttered. 



“No, you’re right,” Baurus said bitterly. “We’ve failed. I’ve failed. Glenroy is dead. The Emperor is dead.” He sat back on his heels as I slumped forward, still trying to steady my breathing. “Julian, the Amulet is missing. Do you know where it is?”



Nodding, I touched my cuirass. “Here,” I answered. “The Emperor gave it to me. He told to me to take it to J- Jauffre.”



Baurus frowned at me. “Grandmaster Jauffre?” His black eyes squinted at me. “Why?”



“There is another son.” An illegitimate child, must be. Baurus’s thick brows disappeared under his helm.



“Another son?” he repeated. “Nothing I ever heard of.” He considered me for another moment. “But Jauffre would know. He and Uriel Septim go back a long ways.” He shook his head in wonderment. 



“Here, I’ll give it to you, sir,” I reached into my cuirass, but Baurus stopped me.



“No, I need to stay with the Emperor’s body until reinforcements arrive,” he answered. “You need to get that Amulet to Jauffre as quickly as you can travel.”



“By myself?” my voice was almost a squeak. “I don’t know where Jauffre is -”



“You were Legion, right?” Baurus locked eyes with me. “Not a deserter?”



“No!” I shot back reflexively. “I’ve never deserted my duty!”



Baurus nodded. “I thought so.” He reached into his cuirass, drew out a folded parchment and a graphite stylus. “Then you know how to read a map.” He marked a small ‘x’ on the parchment, then handed both items to me. “He’s at Weynon Priory, just southeast of Chorrol. Take the Black Road west from the Red Ring Road.” He handed me a key. “Take this, this will get you into the sewers and out of here.”



Rising to his feet, Baurus held his hand down to me. Grasping his wrist, I stood with his assistance. Rather, he pulled me effortlessly up off the floor. Bending down, he scooped the sword off the floor and handed it to me, hilt first.



“Don’t worry, Julian,” he said while I sheathed the blade. “You made it this far, I trust you can make it the rest of the way on your own.”



I remembered the captain’s katana, still at my back. Unbuckling it from my shoulder, I handed it to Baurus. His gaze moved over it in surprise. “You’ll honor the captain, won’t you, sir?” I asked. “She did die in the line of duty.”



“Thanks,” Baurus regarded me with new respect. “I’ll make sure it gets a place of honor in the Hall of the Blades.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder, the gauntlet pressing through the rough leather of my cuirass. “Travel fast, and stay safe, friend.”


********************

That's it for the first chapter. Enjoy.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 17 2010, 04:38 PM

[treydog]

Every time I read this story I like it more. The facts that Julian is not some young stud (studette?), that she has emotional and physical scars, that she is still struggling to overcome the past.... All that makes for a wonderful character.

One suggestion- as anxious as all of your current readers are to see Julian get to the next step in the Main Quest, posting maybe an installment every 2 days or so will give new readers a chance to catch up. On the other hand, you have given us all of Chapter 1 to savor, so what do I know?

But, let me tell all those potential new readers- you DO NOT want to miss this one!

[SubRosa]

Angela Bassett erm, Julian has come to Chorrol!

I agree with every woof of the dog. Julian is a protagonist not to miss, because she is so different from what you normally see, both in video games and in fiction.

And yes, maybe a little slower rate of posting is in order. It is a lot to take in all at once.

[Acadian]

WooHoo! I am delighted to see Julian over here. I simply love her and her story, not to mention how wonderfully you tell it!

[mALX]

Yeah! Hauty and Julian!

[haute ecole rider]

Thanks, treydog, for your affirmation of my story. I probably will post a few sections at once (as I did with Chapter One), though likely not more than four or five posts' worth at a time. I think every couple of days will be fine, too. Once I'm caught up with what I have on the Unnamed Forum, then I will be happy to post a single post twice a week.

I know how daunting it can be to try and read an entire story en bloc, since I am currently working through the entire story of Athlain and Athynae here on Chorrol.com. I have done it for a few others, and found it well worth my time!

Thanks SubRosa, for confirming my choice of an older character for this story. And thanks, Acadian, and mALX1, for your continued enthusiasm for "Old Habits."

[Destri Melarg]

Julian is here too? I am running out of reasons to return to that other forum! It is interesting to go back over these early scenes. I for one can see the growth in confidence that attends the writing of each new chapter, hell each new paragraph! You have certainly come a long way in a very short time . . . would that we all could improve so quickly!

[Winter Wolf]

Julian is here at Chorrol. Yipppeeee!!!!!
Destri is right. There is no reason to go back now.

I do not know what it is about your writing Haute, but every time I read it I have a strong urge to throw my assassin in the bin, build a paladin and go down the MQ and KOTN.

Would you please stop having that crazy effect on me, it drives me up the wall.

[mALX]

Julian is here at Chorrol. Yipppeeee!!!!!
Destri is right. There is no reason to go back now.
I do not know what it is about your writing Haute, but every time I read it I have a strong urge to throw my assassin in the bin, build a paladin and go down the MQ and KOTN.

Would you please stop having that crazy effect on me, it drives me up the wall.

* sniff * what about...me?


******* Maxical



This post has been edited by mALX: Mar 18 2010, 08:41 AM

[Winter Wolf]

mALX, you know my feelings about our loveable Maxical. ROFL !!!

I will never be happy until I can get daily updates here at Chorrol. Pretty please??
Fingers, toes crossed, maybe??

She deserves to be in the Chorrol hall of fame alongside Julian.

Perhaps a summary by you here and then straight into current stories? No ?? Not possible??

If you cannot then I do promise to travel across to that horrible website just for you and Maxical.
I realize that you put tremendous work into that and it does deserve better than what happened to you by those IT people.

[Olen]

I just read through this and I like it. The character is an interesting one, it's rare to experience and age in place of strength in a main character (especially in TES main quest based stories), and also one who likes the Empire. I'm interested to see what you do once out of the prison.

As far as comments go I didn't really see much. The first part had some sentences which jarred a little (normally from close juxtaposition of the same word) but after that I didn't really notice if there were any becasue it drew me in so well.

This post has been edited by Olen: Mar 18 2010, 10:50 PM

[Zalphon]

Julian is here at Chorrol. Yipppeeee!!!!!
Destri is right. There is no reason to go back now.
I do not know what it is about your writing Haute, but every time I read it I have a strong urge to throw my assassin in the bin, build a paladin and go down the MQ and KOTN.

Would you please stop having that crazy effect on me, it drives me up the wall.

* sniff * what about...me?


******* Maxical

Don't show me that face. I miss it. You're going to make me cry. And when an Ancient Lich cries, you're usually reloading a save in Daggerfall. So stop trying to make me cry. I miss Maxical.

Being Serious: I really do miss Max.

[haute ecole rider]

Thanks, Destri, Winter Wolf, and Olen for your comments.

And Olen, I hope Old Habits continue to keep your interest!

Here is Chapter 2, the first of four parts:

Chapter 2.1 A New Purpose

Damn, it’s freezing! My teeth started chattering almost immediately Still, the water was clean, the late afternoon sun warm, and the shore of Lake Rumare quiet. Relishing the feeling of weightlessness, I swam from one side of the dock, around its far end, to the other. Finally, I could stand myself no longer. Picking up handfuls of sand from the lake bottom, I started scrubbing the accumulated dirt, sweat and blood off my skin. My long hair went from grey to white as I rubbed at it until my scalp squeaked.

Unable to tolerate the cold water any longer, I clambered out to perch on the edge of the dock near the shore, using the edge of my palms to scrape the water from my skin. Reaching for the stack of gear and clothes I had piled on the dock, I reached within the folds of the red robe, now tattered, to check that the Amulet still lay hidden.

Leaning over the water, I twisted the last of the moisture out of my hair. As the surface below rippled slowly, I studied my wavering reflection. My white hair cascaded around my gaunt face from a widow’s peak above a high forehead. I haven’t cut it in four years! I realized. Well, I’ve had other things on my mind. Studying my careworn features in the water, I tried to see what the Emperor saw in my face to trust me with something so precious as the Amulet. Grey-green eyes, deep-set, complete with crows-feet. Thin lips with fine lines bracketing them. A slightly bumpy nose. A naturally dark complexion with the grey cast of illness. Not exactly confidence-inspiring.

The soft breeze felt chill on my damp skin as I picked up the Amulet, cupping it in my hands. Its warmth was surprising, as were the aubergine swirling depths within the large red gem. This is supposed to contain the heart’s blood of Akatosh Himself. Something about a Covenant. Straightening up against the pain in my side, I considered the jewel. How best to carry it to Jauffre? It had slipped around underneath my cuirass since I left Baurus, constantly feeding my worry of losing it.

Do I dare wear it? Taking a deep breath, I took the golden chain and put it around my neck. The Amulet slipped into my lap, the clasp failing to hold. What was it Baurus had said about it? “Only the heir of the true Septim blood can wear it.” The full meaning of his statement hit me. This is how we find the true heir? The one who can wear it? In that case, it isn’t me. For some reason, I felt relieved. The weight of the entire Empire was not a burden I wished to carry.

Slipping the robe on, I picked up the shortsword and used its blade to slice the skirts to just below my hips. Then I tore the severed skirt into smaller strips, and wrapped the Amulet in one. Knotting the fabric over it, I twisted the free ends into a cord, then tied it around my neck, beneath the robe. Doing the same with another narrow piece gave me a way to tie my long hair back into a ponytail.

The white arches of the Ayleid ruin across the water made me shiver. Those places were never my favorite - musty, ancient places with strange light-crystals, creaky traps that remained deadly after years of disuse, spots of decomposition and old bones on the floors and walls, and echoing architecture of odd proportions. Shivering from the sensation of being watched by that place - don’t be silly, Julian, stone arches don’t watch you, it’s the creatures inhabiting them that do - I dressed quickly in my leathers, gathering up my gear. The shortsword went to my back, next to the quiver of arrows and the bow stave.

Picking up the longsword, I tested its edge - still keen. My memory compared the dark blade to the captain’s katana, its almost musical balance and silent song. Sadly, I regretted returning it to Baurus. But that was the right thing to do, I told myself. It was not mine to keep. Returning my attention to the serviceable blade in my hand, I started moving through the rhythms of the Sunbird Dance. My body felt awkward, the movements clumsy. It’s been a long time. I’m not sure I’m even doing this correctly.

“Let the energy flow through you,” Jelin’s voice reached me. “Let one position flow into the next. Only when you let the flow free will you develop grace with the blade.”

As I persisted, the movements became a little easier, but the pain in my knee and left side held me back. Sighing, I sheathed the sword and picked up the pack I had found along the way. Leaving the dock, I turned my face west, with the walls of the City Prison, and beyond it, of Imperial City itself, on my left, and started marching.

It was more of a limp than a march, but I didn’t mind. It was good to be outside again, with the breeze drying my hair. I needed a place to stop, to rest, to eat, to think things over, but not here. Not with that ruin across the way and the Prison above me.

After walking for a couple of hours, I came upon another weathered dock ahead. Slowing down, I looked around, for docks were usually associated with something else. Spotting a few tents up the slope from the shore, partially obscured by clustered boulders, I decided to check it out. Looking at the sun, I found it already touching the top of the mountains to the west.

Walking up the slope as carefully and quietly as I could in the oversized boots, I kept my eyes open for life. A dog alerted on me, his tail stiff behind him, and started barking. From the other side of the now-visible campfire, a Redguard appeared, unshouldering his bow and stringing it in a smooth motion. “I’m going to kill you!” he shouted, nocking an arrow to the bowstring. Raising my shield towards him, I drew my sword.

“I want no trouble!” I shouted back as the dog charged me. Damn! I was in no condition to battle two enemies at once, especially with one of them out of blade-range. Keeping the shield towards the bowman, I swung the sword at the dog. The tip of the blade bit deep into its side, and I felt the weight of the animal momentarily snag the weapon before it was flung away. Ignoring the momentary twinge - I hate killing dogs, but this one is loyal to the wrong man - I turned back to the Redguard, moving towards him.

“Too bad, trouble’s found you!” the Redguard let his arrow fly, the barb sinking home in my shield and staggering me. Thank Akatosh, a broadhead tip. A bodkin could easily pierce the leather shield and keep going. Looking up in time to see him set another missile to his bowstring, I grabbed my balance in time to brace for the second arrow. It smacked into my shield, its tip just poking through and nicking the edge of my forearm.

Feeling the heat rise in my face, I stifled the string of curses bubbling up in my throat. Don’t give in to anger. That’s what got you into trouble the last time, I tried to remind myself, but my sword hand came up, fire flickering around my fingers. Unthinkingly, I switched the sword to my left hand, and flung the ball of fire - fire? - at the other’s face. Dropping his bow, the Redguard clapped his hands to his face in pain, his actions effectively putting out the flames.

As he screamed in agony and rage, I hobbled up the slope as rapidly as I could. Not pausing to think about it, I flung another fireball at him to keep him off balance. Taking the sword back in my right hand, I slammed it into his ribs. The wind knocked out of him, the Redguard dropped his hands and grabbed at my shield, wrenching hard at the round leather. Momentarily resisting his attack, I suddenly let him have the shield and raised my right arm.

As he staggered at the sudden abatement of resistance, I brought the edge of the blade down as hard as I could into his left shoulder, the weapon cutting through his fur cuirass. He shouted again from the pain, and reeled back, his burned eyes on me.

“You’re one of them,” he hissed, and reached for his dagger. My anger suddenly gone, I stabbed the sword into his throat, ending the fight.

“You’re one of those,” I countered softly, lowering the tip of my sword to the ground and leaning briefly on it. Panting hard, I looked around at the campsite. Yup. Bandits. At the moment, there was no sign of more, and judging by the clutter around the fire, it was just the Redguard and the dog at present.

Crying and whining drew my attention over my shoulder to the dog, still laying at the edge of the campsite where I had left him. Noting his paralyzed hind limbs, I limped over to him and shushed him with a soft voice. When he closed his eyes and became quiet, I drove the tip of my blade into his heart, ending his agony. “If only you hadn’t attacked me,” I whispered to his lifeless eyes.

Returning to the campfire, I found a cooking pot full of boiling water. Picking up a nearby clay tumbler, I dipped it into the boiling water, then set it aside to cool. Dropping my gear near one of the tents, I searched the sacks scattered around the campsite, gathering carrots, an onion, and a shank of smoked mutton.

Using the Redguard’s dagger, I chopped up the vegetables and some of the meat, and dropped them into another pot to cook. Now to think. The smith’s hammer was quiet, had been since the Emperor had shoved the Amulet into my hands. A constant companion for four years, its absence was a welcome relief.

Maybe that old healing spell did more than I realized, I thought to myself. But no, it started easing up when the Emperor first spoke to me. I felt the Amulet, warm against my skin, under my cuirass. I have to do this. I have to carry out the task the Emperor entrusted me with. I must take this to Jauffre. What then?

In the years since my discharge from the Legion, I had been wandering aimlessly. I had sought refuge from the pain, the lack of purpose in my life, the memories of long-dead comrades and battle scenes, in anything that would make me forget, if only for a little while. Cheap wine, mead, ale, beer had helped only for a short while, but the pounding in my head had become worse each time I regained some resemblance of coherence.

In Bravil two years ago, I had discovered the limbo of skooma. Addiction had been swift and complete, when I found it was the only way I could still that incessant smith’s hammer. It has only caused me more grief. I had found myself needing more and more skooma, reduced to begging to obtain the means of paying for it.

Yet it had been never enough, and the relief it had provided became fleeting. By the time I had reached the Imperial City, I was drinking wine and ale along with the skooma. My stay in the City had been blurred with impressions of being rolled, pushed, and kicked. Seeking shelter in taverns had only caused more trouble. Probably how I ended up in the prison. It bothered me that I couldn’t quite remember what had happened to put me there.

Oddly, with the headaches gone, I could bear the pain from my old wounds more easily. The limbo of skooma and drink no longer held any appeal for me. Wondering if the cravings would recur once the smith’s hammer returned, I sighed to myself. Only one way to find out.

But now I had a purpose, a mission, and I intended to complete it. Did the Emperor know how low I had gone, when he spoke to me back in that cell, spoke to me like I was a person again? Did he know I needed saving? Maybe there is purpose for someone like me outside the Legion.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 17 2010, 04:46 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Chapter 2.2 The Black Road

The sun stood close to the zenith when I saw the huge ruins of Fort Nikel, at the intersection of the Red Ring and the Black Roads. My fragmented memories reminded me that a bandit camp lay within its shattered walls, guarded by creatures. Limping onto the Black Road, I moved to the far side of the cobblestones, keeping an eye on the fort to my left. The last time I had been this way -

The large wolf bounded out of the ruined Keep, saliva flying from his snarling mouth as he charged me. I managed to throw up my left arm, forgetting that I had no shield. He sank his teeth into my forearm, the momentum of his attack sending both of us tumbling in the dirt outside the Keep entrance. Screaming in pain, I fisted my right hand and pounded on the wolf’s broad skull, hurting only my own hand in result.

Hoofbeats pounded the road behind me, then a shout as clattering armor ran up. A silver blade flashed in the moonlight, slicing through the wolf’s body and flinging it off me. I rolled away from the Legion rider, hunched over my bleeding arm. I heard a yelp as another wolf charged the horseman, and was quickly dispatched by his lethal sword. He turned from scanning the area, sheathing his weapon. Walking to me, he picked up his torch where he had dropped it beside his waiting steed.

“Are you all right, traveler?” he asked, his voice level and professional. Suddenly ashamed to be caught groveling in the dirt, I struggled unsteadily to my feet, the torchlight causing the smith’s hammer to pound faster in my head. I couldn’t hear what I said in response, and missed some of his words: “— head down to Weye, it’s only half an hour’s walk from here. You can find shelter at the Inn there, and rest and heal from that bite.”

I mumbled something, and he leaned towards me, not understanding my words. Gods! I didn’t understand my own words, and knew I was slurring badly, between the wine I had drunk and the skooma withdrawal that was already starting. I could see the distaste in his eyes as he drew back from the stench on my breath, my tattered clothes. He remained professional, though. “Come on, traveler, I’ll escort you there. Can you walk?”

“Y- yessir,” I managed to stammer somewhat coherently. Following him to his patient bay, I waited while he mounted. Keeping my eyes on the ground at my feet, I avoided looking at that bright torch. He started his bay off at a slow amble, slow enough for me to keep up with him, limping as badly as I was. Stumbling on the rough cobblestones, I fell a couple of times, but managed to regain my feet before the rider could dismount to help me.

After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the lamplit door to Wawnet Inn. The rider stopped and regarded me thoughtfully, tilting his torch to see my face better. “Here you are, traveler,” he said quietly. “Be safe, and stay out of trouble.”

Shaking myself out of my reverie, I passed Fort Nikel without incident. Looking up the slope, where the Black Road rose higher into the western highlands, I wondered, Will I run into that rider? Will he recognize me? Our last encounter still made my face hot with shame.

Falling into the half-remembered rhythm of the long march as best as my limp would allow, I started up the slope, my gaze on the surrounding land. I had never made it past Fort Nikel, and knew little about the way ahead, only that it led to Chorrol.

Ahead, where the road started to switchback up the steep bluff, I caught the flash of sun on metal. Shouting and clanging reached me as I increased my pace. Rounding a boulder, I saw a Legion rider battling a burly Khajiit. Clad in fur armor, the bandit did not stand much chance against the heavily armored horseman, but was very agile and managed to keep just beyond the reach of the other’s silver blade. He would step in and land blows with his mace before the rider could recover from his thrusts. Ignoring the pain in my knee, I ran, shouting at the Khajitt to distract him. He saw me coming, roared in anger, and clouted the horseman with a hard blow to the shoulder. Turning, he charged me, lifting his mace to strike at my head.

Raising my shield, I managed to deflect the blow, but the force of the impact drove me to my bad knee. Ouch! I winced at the pain shooting up my thigh. Lifting my shield above my head, I swung the sword beneath it at the Khajiit’s exposed knee before losing my balance and falling to my right side.

The bandit staggered from the injury I had dealt him, just as the rider came up behind him and ran his blade into the cat-man’s back, ending the fight. As the bandit dropped onto my shield, trapping my left arm, I met the horseman’s eyes and recognized the steely gaze in dismay.

Managing to get my good leg underneath the corpse, I kicked the dead bandit off. He rolled a short ways down the slope, and came to rest against the nearby boulder. Slipping the shield up my forearm, I sat up, sheathing my sword with some difficulty. The rider’s gauntleted hand came down to me in an offer of assistance. He pulled me easily to my feet when I grasped his wrist in acceptance. Panting, we looked at each other silently for a few moments. Stepping back a pace, the horseman sheathed his sword and brushed his breastplate with his knuckles in a half-salute.

“You seem much better than the last time I saw you, traveler,” he said quietly, glancing me up and down in assessment. His gaze lingered on the battered shield and iron longsword. “Better equipped, at least,” he said, studying my face.

“I am much better, sir, though not as well as I would like,” Gasping as much from pain as from exertion, I forced myself to take a deep breath against the pounding of my heart.

“I had heard you got yourself arrested,” the rider continued, his gaze still hard on me.

“Yes, sir, I did,” I felt the blood rising in my cheeks from embarrassment. “I don’t quite remember why, sir, but I’m certain it was for something stupid that I did.” Shifting the weapons on my back, I settled them into a more comfortable position. “I don’t intend to do it again, sir, whatever it was.”

“From what Laterensis Maro told me, it was a brawl between you and a mercenary Dunmer.” The horseman’s grim mouth quirked suddenly into a lopsided smile. “The other resisted arrest, so Maro had to kill him. He spared you because you surrendered to him.” His blue eyes sharpened at me. “That was actually smart of you. Maro has no patience with drunks and addicts.” His smile faded into sternness. “No offense intended, ma’am.”

“None taken, sir,” I shrugged. “I guess I was in the prison long enough to sober up.” Looking down at the dead Khajiit, I knelt stiffly beside him. “Not my proudest moment, sir.”

“Looks to me like you know how to wield a sword, ma’am,” the rider commented as I searched the bandit for anything I could use. Finding five drakes and two lockpicks, I looked up at the horseman.

“Legion service, twenty-five years, sir,” looking away as I struggled to my feet, I could hear the bitterness I still felt in my voice. He refused the coins I offered him, waving for me to keep them. “Got kicked out for being too old, too broken down, and too sick to continue fighting.” That still smarts.

“And still battling those injuries, I see,” was the rider’s only comment. He returned to his bay, standing several paces away. Reaching up to the saddle, he looked back at me. “My name is Antonius Fulvius,” he offered, mounting the horse with a clanking of his plate armor.

“Julian, from Anvil,” I responded.

Fulvius touched his knuckles to his breastplate. “Thanks for your help, Julian.” He lifted his gaze to the tall spire of White Gold Tower, visible even at this distance from the Imperial City. “These are unsettling times,” his face turned grim again beneath the steel helm. “With the Emperor assassinated, and the Dragonfires cold.” He looked down at me as I limped towards him. “You will need to be careful traveling these roads.” His voice trailed off, and his gaze lost its assured confidence. “I don’t know what will happen. We’ve never been without an Emperor,” he added softly.

“I know,” I heard my voice echo his sadness, remembering how the Emperor had treated me so kindly.

[haute ecole rider]

Chapter 2.3 Weynon Priory

The sun was low in my eyes when I reached a small lane leading north from the Black Road. It ended at a small cluster of stone buildings, including a small chapel. Its spire had been visible through the entwining branches of the immense oaks and beeches for about an hour.

Regarding it silently, I paused at the edge of the Black Road, thinking about this Jauffre. The Grandmaster of the Blades. What would he be like? How would he receive me? For several moments, I studied the place, finding it peaceful and quiet. A couple of horned rams grazed in a small sheepfold to the left. The lane passed their pen, and ended in a circle in front of the central stone structure. Another path led up the hill to the right towards the chapel, while a third walkway ran through the porte-cochere toward the rear of the central building.

As I watched, a lean, grey-haired Dunmer stepped out of the deepening shadows within the porte-cochere and paused. Shading his eyes with his hand, his face turned in my direction. Get this over with. Adjusting the weapons at my back, I limped toward him, noting his stained linen clothing, the well-worn leather apron.

“Good afternoon, stranger,” he greeted me, lowering his hand. “How can I help you this fine day?”

“Hello, ser,” I used the Dunmer honorific. “I’m looking for Weynon Priory.”

“You’ve found it, muthsera,” the older man returned the courtesy. “I’m Eronor, I do odd jobs for the Brothers, and take care of their sheep and horses. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“I’m looking for Grandmaster Jauffre, ser,” I almost missed the puzzled look on Eronor’s face.

“Grandmaster?” he repeated. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh, you mean Brother Jauffre!” Now it was my turn to be perplexed. “He’s in the Priory, with his books, most likely,” he pointed me to the front door of the central building.

Brother? I turned from the Dunmer in confusion. What happened to Grandmaster Jauffre? Are there two Jauffres? Reaching the front door, I glanced back at Eronor, who waved me to go on in with a smile.

Inside, the warm interior was welcoming after the cool air of the highlands. Waiting for my eyes to adjust, I looked around. Two tonsured men at a round table, one laying plates, the other setting out food, paused to look at me. The older man, in black robes, regarded me silently with a haughty air. The brown-robed younger monk set the dishes down and walked to me, his boyish face curious and welcoming.

“I am Brother Piner,” he introduced himself. “How may I help you, ma’am?”

“I - I’m not sure, Brother,” I stammered. “I was told to come to Weynon Priory to speak with Grandmaster Jauffre, but there’s a Brother Jauffre -”

“Ah, yes, Brother Jauffre is upstairs,” Piner assured me with a smile. He looked me up and down, and an uncertain expression came over his face, reflecting my own confusion.

“I’m sorry, Brother,” I looked away. How do I seem to him? Old, sick, barely able to wield the weapons I carry? “I’m looking for the Grandmaster of the Blades. I must have come to the wrong place.”

“By the Nine, no!” Piner shook his head emphatically. The older monk shot him a reproving glance, which he missed. “We are all brothers serving Talos,” he explained. “Some of us are monks living a quiet life of contemplation and service here, others serve in the Blades.” He waved me towards a weapon rack near the door. “There, put your bow and quiver aside, and your pack. You can keep your sword, if you like.”

It was then I noticed the slim katana that depended from the cord belting Piner’s homespun robe. Shrugging off my quiver and bow, I set them in the weapon rack. Setting the pack on the floor and leaning the battered leather shield on it, I glanced again at the katana, feeling a little envious. “I didn’t know monks carried swords, Brother,” I straightened my back against the wound in my side, relieved of my burden.

“This?” Piner looked down at the hilt of the fine sword with some pride. “This is from my days as a Blade,” he smiled at me. “Shall I take you to Brother Jauffre?”

“I - I suppose so,” I said, still uncertain who was whom. “Thank you, Brother.”

“Come with me, then, ma’am,” Piner turned and led me past the dining room to the staircase at the rear of the building. “May I ask your name?” he turned as we started up the stairs, looking back at me over his shoulder.

“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” Finding the stairs difficult for my knee after walking all day, I glanced up contritely at Piner. “I’m sorry to slow you down, Brother.”

“No,” Piner paused on the landing, where the stairs split into two, each flight leading to opposite sides of the building. “I should apologize for walking so fast.” He pointed at my bad leg. “Recently injured?”

Shaking my head, I reached the landing. Piner regarded my face. “I can get you a healing potion,” he volunteered.

“Thanks, but I’m practicing my healing spell,” I answered. It was true - as I had walked from the Imperial City, I had been casting the healing spell whenever my magicka replenished itself. As Piner watched, I created it yet again. The pain in my knee eased to a dull throbbing. Nodding at Piner, I motioned for him to continue. He led me to the right side, to a stairhall.

Piner walked to a door that led toward the front of the building. He knocked firmly, and opened the door at a voice from within. “Brother Jauffre, Julian from Anvil to see you, sir.” He smiled at me as I stepped through, then closed the panel softly behind me.

Bookshelves lined the large room, with copying desks along one wall. At the opposite end, large, leaded glass windows let in the last of the dying light, limning a large desk and the balding figure of a monk hunched over a book, forehead propped on one fist. His silhouette shifted as he looked up at me.

“Well, Julian from Anvil, don’t stand there in the shadows.” His voice was clipped, with a trace of a familiar accent. High Rock. Beautiful country, except for the Wrothgarians. “How is it you come seeking me?”

Limping towards him, I saw his face more clearly once I drew near. He had the weathered look of a man who spent much of his life outdoors, the straight bearing of a soldier, and the grey hair that comes with age, or stress. “I’m looking for Grandmaster Jauffre,” I began.

“Grandmaster?” he repeated softly. “I haven’t been called that in years. What brings you here?”

I felt a little relief. “Then you’re not Brother Jauffre, but Grandmaster?”

“Oh, I’m Brother Jauffre now,” he motioned impatiently with his hand. “But yes, I’m the Grandmaster. Something I’d like to keep quiet in these parts.”

“Forgive me, Grandmaster,” I reached into my cuirass and pulled out the Amulet, still wrapped in its woolen pouch. Lifting the cord over my head, I met his gaze. “I had to make sure I had found the right person for this,” I placed it on the desk. The monk regarded the lump silently. “The Emperor told me to give this to Grandmaster Jauffre.”

Jauffre’s head shot up at me. “The Emperor?” he repeated. “Before he died?”

Grief surged in my throat, forcing me to breathe slowly, fighting for composure suitable for the moment. “I was with him when he - died.” Telling Jauffre what Uriel Septim had told me about the threat to Tamriel took all of my self-control.

Jauffre listened silently, then reached for the wrapped object. He slowly untied the wool, gasped when he saw the jewel within. “The Amulet?” he exclaimed. “The Emperor gave you the Amulet of Kings before he died?” His gaze, intensely blue in the dim light, pinned me to the spot. “Explain this, Julian,” his tone became chill.

Taken aback by his abrupt tone, I shifted my weight uneasily, trying to ease my bad knee without being obvious. “The Emperor knew he was going to die,” I picked my words carefully. “He gave me the Amulet, told me not to let the - the Prince of Darkness get it. There is one last son still living, and he said you would know what to do with this.” Closing my eyes against the tears, I stopped speaking.

“You saw his assassination,” Jauffre’s voice softened a little. “That is not easy for you, I see.” He wrapped the Amulet very carefully in the wool, placing it in the center of the desk. “Sit,” it was an order. “You don’t look very well, Julian from Anvil.”

Looking around, I saw the chair Jauffre indicated, to my left. His gaze turned assessing as I limped to it, swung my sheathed sword free of the seat and sat down stiffly. “The Emperor,” he continued, “has been a very good judge of character, for the most part.” He looked down at the red bundle in front of him. “If he trusted you with this and with his secret, then so must I.”

[haute ecole rider]

Chapter 2.4: Jauffre

Jauffre rose from his desk and went to a nearby shelf. He rummaged among the vials sitting clustered together, and brought one to me. “Drink this, Julian,” Starting to shake my head, I saw the hard look in the old man’s eyes and took the vial. He waited until I had choked down the bitter potion, then returned to his desk.

“Let me explain things a little more to you, Julian of Anvil,” he looked down at his hands, clasped loosely on the edge of the desk. “Many years ago, I was the Captain of Uriel Septim’s bodyguard. Late one night, he called me into his private quarters. There was the babe,” his eyes grew distant, seeing something from long ago. “The Emperor told me to take the child someplace safe, where he could grow up in peace.” Jauffre’s fingers started drumming an irregular rhythm on the wooden surface. “I placed the babe with a farming family, and watched him grow from afar.”

Looking down, Jauffre covered the woolen lump with one hand, as if to feel the heat I knew emanated from the stone. “We need to find Uriel’s last son.” Now that blue gaze looked directly at me. “Apparently the assassins don’t know about him yet, but they will, soon. And when they find out -”

“They’ll kill him, too, Grandmaster,” I whispered, finishing Jauffre’s sentence. He nodded, and I thought I saw a satisfied gleam in his eye. “Just like they killed the Emperor’s other sons, and the Emperor himself.”

“Aye, that they will do,” Jauffre looked me up and down. His assessing regard made me acutely aware of my mismatched ensemble of shabby armor. He rose to his feet. “Come, it’s dinner time. Join us, please, Julian from Anvil.” It was more an order than a request.

“Yes, Grandmaster, thank you.” I rose to my feet and followed him downstairs. Thanks to the potion he had given me, the stairs were easier to navigate this time. The pain in my side had disappeared with the potion, and my knee felt stronger, though it still hurt to put all of my weight on it.

Brother Piner was serving the older man when we arrived. Jauffre gestured me to an empty chair next to the black-robed monk, and sat down across from me. Piner set steaming bowls of aromatic stew in front of Jauffre and me, before seating himself in front of his own bowl. Sniffing appreciatively at the food, I picked up my fork. Taking that first bite, I looked up to see the three men sitting quietly, heads bowed over their own meal, eyes closed and hands below the table. Mortified, I put the fork down when I realized they were praying.

They did not take long, and began eating, not looking at me. If they knew I had not shared grace with them, they showed no sign of it. We ate silently, and we ate quickly. Piner stood to clear away the empty dishes, and the older man picked up a pewter flagon from the center of the table and poured into Jauffre’s cup. Smelling the wine, I shook my head hurriedly as the pitcher moved over my own small goblet.

“No, thank you, sir,” I murmured, afraid of what the wine would to do me, of what it had done. I did not want the smith’s hammer again.

“We have water from our well,” the man said, pouring himself a mug without hesitation. “You will have to wait until morning for some klah.”

“Water is fine, sir,” I watched as the black-robed man with the proud features rose and moved to the sideboard under the front window, where he picked up a clay pitcher and returned. He filled my goblet, then set the jug next to my elbow. “Help yourself, guest.” Sitting back down, he picked up his wine and sipped it, his face warming a little. “I’m Prior Maborel.”

“Julian,” taking a sip of the clear water, I caught Jauffre looking at me over the rim of his goblet.

“From Anvil,” he added, addressing the prior. “She has traveled far today.”

Looking around, I caught the prior’s gaze at me. “Thank you for the meal and the water, sir. It’s a nice place here,” I commented.

“It’s simple,” Maborel responded. “We are, after all, a monastic order dedicated to Talos and the Eight Divines.” He smiled slightly, kindness more evident in his dark eyes than on his lips. “I am responsible for the religious and secular affairs of the Priory.” He nodded over at Jauffre. “Brother Jauffre came to us late in life, after many years in the Blades. He continues to serve, in his own way, but spends much of his time studying.”

Jauffre glanced up from the apple he was slicing. “It is never too late to gain knowledge,” he commented before turning his attention back to his steel dagger.

I turned back to the prior. “What’s the Brotherhood of Talos?” I asked him.

“Our order works to spread the teachings and worship of the Divine Talos,” Maborel settled back in his chair. “Talos is Tiber Septim ascended. He teaches how to be strong for war and peace, to protect his people, and to be bold against the enemies of Tamriel.”

Recalling some of the chapel teachings from when I was small, I nodded to myself. My time in the Legion had been in the service of Akatosh and the Emperor. What Talos taught was not so different from what I had practiced all these years.

“And the Blades,” I tipped my head at Piner, who had rejoined us from the kitchen area, “are a part of the Order as well?”

“Yes,” Maborel nodded. “They are the elite knights of the Emperor, dedicated to Talos above and the Septims here on Nirn.” His eyes turned dark, as Jauffre’s hands slowed in their slicing. “The loss of the Emperor is a terrible blow to the Blades.”

“Yes,” looking into my tankard, I saw again Baurus kneeling beside the Emperor’s body. “I can’t remember the Dragonfires ever being out.”

“There will be change ahead of us,” Maborel remarked softly, his eyes on Jauffre. “The future will be hard to foresee.”

Shifting in my chair, I hid my unease behind the water, taking another sip. “I try not to think beyond tomorrow.”

“Spoken like a true soldier,” Jauffre commented, lips twitching in a barely suppressed smile.

Finishing the last of his wine, Maborel rose to his feet, his kind eyes on me. “If you ever want to learn more about Talos,” he inclined his head slightly, “I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have.” He nodded at Jauffre and Piner. “Good night Brothers, Julian. Talos guard you all.”

“And you also,” both Brothers murmured in response. As Maborel left, Piner excused himself, removing the platter of apples and the pitchers from the table. Finishing off the last of my water, I became aware of Jauffre’s steady regard on me.

“Grandmaster,” I returned his gaze. “What will you do next?”

He shrugged. “I need to find someone to go to Kvatch,” he said, looking down at his small plate, spiking the last apple slice on his dagger. “Find Martin the priest, in the Chapel of Akatosh, and bring him back here.”

“Martin?” I repeated the unfamiliar name. Jauffre popped the fruit into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully, wiping his blade on the napkin in front of him.

“Yes, Martin,” he said after swallowing the apple, still avoiding my gaze. Leaning back in his chair, he tipped his goblet towards him, swirling the wine still remaining in the bottom. “Problem is,” he continued, “all of my Blades are occupied at the moment. The Palace contingent has been severely decimated.” He shook his head. “I’ve got a couple of agents missing out Cheydinhal way, as well. We’re like the Legion, spread thin.”

I studied Jauffre silently. Why does he need to speak to a priest of Akatosh? He is a Brother of Talos, he doesn’t need to speak to the Dragon. But it’s the Dragon’s blood in the Amulet. Maybe Martin may be helpful in determining what to do with it - Inhaling sharply at a sudden thought, I became aware of Jauffre’s gaze on me. “Martin Septim, right?” I asked him. He nodded. I looked down at my hands, resting in my lap.

“What is it, Julian?” Jauffre asked.

“If the Prince of Darkness,” Mehrunes Dagon, has to be, “gets a hold of the Amulet, what will happen then?”

Jauffre scowled at me. “Then the barriers that protect Tamriel from Oblivion will fail,” he answered. “That’s why Martin needs to be found, so he can take the Amulet and re-light the Dragonfires.”

“Are you ordering me to go -” No. That’s ridiculous. I couldn’t save the Emperor from that assassin. I’m too old, too feeble. Something moved beneath my breastbone, like a snake shifting its coils.

“You’re not a Blade,” Jauffre responded. “So technically, I can’t order you to go. But it’s because you’re not a Blade that I’d like you to go. Sure, you don’t look like much at the moment,” again he raked me with that calculating glance, “but you’ve made an impression on the Emperor.” He emptied the wine glass. “The assassins will be watching for the Blades, but they likely won’t know you. You can pass right through them.” Setting the goblet on the table, he leaned his elbows on the table and pointed at me. “Looking at you, one would never suspect you of being on a mission to recover the Emperor’s last son and heir.”

What Jauffre said made sense. We regarded each other for several moments. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. I’ve accomplished the task the Emperor gave me. Or did I? “Close shut the jaws of Oblivion,” he said. How? It’s simple, really. Find the heir. Give him the Amulet, get him to the Temple of the One, so he can relight the Dragonfires. That’s all there is to it. The Emperor called me Sun’s Companion. Or did he mean Son’s Companion? Is that what he meant, for me to make sure this Martin makes it to the throne?

I opened my eyes and looked at Jauffre. “Very well, I’ll go.” After all, how hard can this be?

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That's it for the second chapter. Enjoy!