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For a moment the armoured giant looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them and smiling as the gauntlets began to shimmer with faint energies. I had no doubt that the ritual had indeed worked exactly as Lariel had intended it but not how Eregor had wanted. His flesh and possibly soul had been consumed entirely by the ancient presence within the armour and allowed the ancient warrior to walk Tamriel once again.
"This has just become significantly more difficult." Malulain said simply, watching the way the pair of Xivilai bowed slightly to the reincarnated Graithlan and how the expression of triumph was obvious on Lariel’s face.
Watching their every move I stayed by Malulain’s side as he and his Rangers gravitated together. "I’m guessing that the "kill them all’ plan is still our best option?"
He nodded. "Separating the armour now won’t do anything except maybe annoy him." All our eyes were focused on the dread figure as he stepped down from the altar. The crunch of broken marble under his boots was one of the loudest sounds in the ruins. "We can’t let him leave here."
"I’ll take care of Lariel." My gaze was firmly fixed on the Bosmer Sorceress as she began chanting again, the sickly corrupted verse of the spell plucking at my senses as I twirled Sunchild in my hand and held it hilt first to Malulain.
With a glance between me and the offered weapon he hesitatingly gripped it tight in a determined but somewhat inexperienced grip. "Are you going to be able to handle her on your own?"
I shrugged and clenched my teeth at the sight of the towering figure reaching into the sky and appearing to wrench an enormous mace from the air itself. Obviously daedric in nature the Mace was sickly green and black, weeping greenish light and carved into the snarling features of a daedra and spiked. "I’ve faced worse odds. I think the more important question is whether you lot can handle him."
"Apparently only stabbing him in the heart will defeat him..." The handful of Rangers gripped with weapons tightly, some drawing back hard on their retrieved bows in the hope that their arrows would fly true. With Sunchild gifted to Malulain I reached up and drew the gleaming Light of Dawn, feeling its unique weight that provided me some comfort with what was to come.
With the building laughter from the resurrected Ayleid in our ears we broke into runs at them. Arrows snapped from bowstrings, flitting through the air and slamming hard into the metal-bone armour that he wore. Each arrow staggered the towering figure but none seemed to do any lasting damage other than scour the horrific plate. Over two dozen Rangers charged, silent and without a single battle cry or shout while the handful of wounded ones did what they could with groans of agony.
Dark bolts of magicka rippled through the air from the mind burning gestures of the sorceress, bursting bodies like rotten tomatoes, boiling blood in veins until it wept from pores and peeling skin from bones. Several of the Rangers died such excruciating deaths from the Mage’s foul sorcery. I saw how her eyes were burning with a dark power, filled with blackness and corruption as she stared unblinkingly into the mess of bodies for her next target.
I had barely taken half a dozen steps towards Lariel and the pair of Xivilai when the armoured figure of Graithlan began casting his own spells. Blood suddenly seemed to start pounding in my veins, drowning out all the sounds of the struggle around me and rendering me deaf to all but the roaring of my body’s life-force. Dark whispering seemed to grow from the pounding of my heart, rolling into my mind with insidious thoughts and desires not of my own. The creeping blackness was talking directly to the darkness of my soul, tempting me with forbidden pleasures and secrets that threatened to overwhelm me with their mere existence.
Lariel’s expression, a haughty sneer of superiority was clearly visible through the fog and I found myself snarling under my mask. Both fangs were pushing out of my gums, the skin of my face pulling taut and the bones straining forward as the vampire made its presence felt. Her magicka was reminiscent of the Vampire Matriarch’s and the beast within me seemed to have a personal hatred towards illusion spells. She was attempted to ensure or otherwise befuddle the senses of myself and the surviving Rangers as well as taking more direct measures to deal with us. Darkness was building in the ruins as she called upon the shadows themselves to grow in strength and smother the few light sources.
The glowing blade of the Light of Dawn cut through the treacle-like darkness wafting from the gesturing sorceress and I roared on the top of my lungs. Her eyes were devoid of colour or whites, instead being consumed with blackness and corruption. At my battle cry she turned and locked onto me with her gaze almost like she was laying eyes on me for the very first time. Her expression was unreadable, her body flowing unnaturally and limbs almost like they were lacking any form of bone structure as she weaved patterns in the air that stung the eyes.
My roar of anger announced the renewed battle as the handle of Rangers came within reach of the enormous warrior. Crunches of bone, meat and blades ripped through the air that was suddenly filled with the sounds of screams and roars of anger and pain and within the first second of the fight more than one of the Rangers had been brought low by their adversary. The mace the armoured figure wielded screamed with an unnatural hunger for pain and suffering as it laid about itself with massive swings, killing and wounding the slow and careless. In a mob the Rangers and Malulain swarmed their taller adversary, stabbing and hacking and firing their bows with every opportunity that presented itself.
The Light of Dawn was grasped firmly in my hands, glowing faintly and although its radiance would not be unlocked by anything other than the blood of Vampires, its beautiful glow was more than enough to cut through the obscure corruption that floated sickly in the air. I held it rightly in both hands, blade resonating with its sharpness only a few short centimetres from my right ear as I charged right at the Sorceress and her daedric bodyguards.
With every pounding step I took, the Xivilai seemed to grow taller, their unnatural bulks radiating a pure level of power that was unmatched by any creature within Tamriel. They were unlike the Dremora that I had faced over the previous months and other than the Marknayz that I had originally fed on there would be few daedra that would have been able to match their raw strength. A single glance was all that I need to tell me that they would have been able to wrestle a minotaur to the ground.
Both of them surged towards me as I charged towards their mistress, a banshee cry of laughter rolling from my throat. In the back of my mind I was somehow trying to understand how I had been finding myself facing off against every massive creature within Nirn and Oblivion since deserting the Legion. Between the Dremora, daedroths, minotaurs, werewolves and vampiric bodyguards I was almost yearning for a foe my own size. Despite my experience against such foes and the building pressure of the vampiric instincts growing in my mind it was not enough to entirely remove my fear or dread at their unnatural presences. Especially how both of them gestured and conjured weapons from the depths of Oblivion like the cultists of the Mythic Dawn.
Unlike the daggers, swords and maces that the followers of Dagon conjured, these pair of hulking monstosties called upon a gigantic two handed sword and a double headed battleaxe that most mortals would have been unable to lift. To these two daedra the weapons looked little more than toys in their oversized fists and they held them one handed as I did with my daggers. What was worse was that I knew that to die against such a foe was a fate worse than death. These weapons were not only imbued with the essences of those that they had killed, but also the spirit-energy of a daedra that would feed upon and toy with the fallen for eternity.
I narrowly dodged the downwards cut from the first, rolling out of the way as the blade buried itself into the marble underfoot. The overwhelming hunger from the trapped demon within the blade was sickeningly strong, and I could almost feel its presence trying to press itself into my mind. The mere thought that I had a daedra trapped within a weapon trying to sink its spectral talons into my mind left me laughing as I dodged another physical blow. It seemed ridiculously funny at the time that with my vampiric nature there wasn’t any more room for further corruption in my mind.
The sheer size of the Xivilai meant that I could easily outmanoeuvre them and ensure that they both were getting in each other’s way. I danced around them, cutting and slicing at them with the resonating edge of the Light of Dawn, forcing them to step back out of the way of the humming blade as it cut through the air with the sound of tearing silk. They were wary of me as I was of them but so far I was merely dodging their blows, getting a feel for their movements and speed. For the first seconds of the fight our weapons didn’t
I swung the Light of Dawn in vicious arcs, cutting through the air and each time only narrowly missing the gleaming flesh of the Xivilai. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that they had been thoroughly rubbed down with oils or sweating profusely. Both of the creatures were overwhelmingly powerful, matching the minotaur titan in strength but also matching werewolves in their speed and agility and between the three of us we were almost evenly matched. They seemed content on keeping me at bay from the Sorceress as she hurled spell after spell into the raging melee at my back, and by now several of the Rangers had fallen to spells or to the shrieking mace of the Ayleid champion. Malulain and the others were fighting surprisingly well against their unnatural foe; the Ranger Commander was using Sunchild to keep the Mace at bay and the others were using every skill and weapon at their disposal in their attempt to defeat him. Daggers and arrows were hurled through the air but for the most part they simply bounced and shattered against the ancient armour. Every second one of their number would jump in, stabbing at weak points in the armour and leaping away before they could be touched by the daedric mace or a serrated gauntlet of bone spikes and talons. There was a good chance of winning, but not while Lariel still breathed and killed with spells.
The battleaxe wielding Xivilai stepped backwards, wrenching the massive head of the axe from the floor with a crunch of shattering marble and allowed the other to step in towards me. There was no time for me to move to dodge the next attack, and as the massive blade of the claymore cut through the air with a keening wail, I gritted my teeth, locked my back leg and swiped upwards with a diagonal strike to parry the weapon away.
The Light of Dawn had seemed to be capable of cutting through everything, no matter the material or the thickness. During my fight against Lord Volmyr and even while the blade was still corrupted it cut marble statues and pillars in half without the slightest hindrance. Against the Vampires of Castle Glenvar it had made a mockery of armour plate and even some weapons forged in the heart of Orsinium. That night in the darkness of a corrupted Ayleid ruin the Light of Dawn was finally stopped in mid cut.
With a sickening crack both my arms felt as though they were wrenched out of their sockets. Pain flared from every muscle, and an involuntary whimper escaped my lips as the Light of Dawn was left buried in the unnatural substance of the Daedric Blade.
For a heartbeat I felt the Daedric blade gripping the faintly glowing Light of Dawn even as we both continued our attacks. The Light of Dawn had sunk its entire width into the unnatural substance of the Xivilai’s greatsword, and if it had been made of a natural material the daedric blade would’ve been shattered into pieces. Instead, it felt as though the sword had gripped onto the Ayleid blade and the immense strength of the Xivilai allowed it to continue with its strike. Before I could react, change stance or even comprehend what had happened, my arms gave way and what started off as a parry soon left me standing wide open with only my right hand still gripping the ornate hilt.
It was impossible to determine who was more surprised, myself or the daedra. In the space of a second the fight had changed completely, and while the attack had left me wide open the way our blades had locked together somehow wrenched the daedric weapon from its owner’s massive blue paws. The strange, inhuman look of shock that crossed it features was almost comical if it hadn’t recovered faster than what I could and grabbed me firmly by the wrist.
I was in trouble and I knew it just as well as what the Daedra did. It had me by my sword hand, engulfing most of my forearm and my entire hand it its massive digits in a grip so tight that my vambrace began to buckle in the vicing pressure. Pain lanced through my entire arm lifted me up into the air as its other arm snaked out and gripped me around the throat.
Darkness began to creep into my vision, and I found myself gasping and kicking futilely against the enormous strength of the Xivilai that held me out at arms distance. I couldn’t breathe; my throat was being slowly constricted and the hideous blue-red demon seemed to be delighting in the pain it was putting me in. Within seconds blood began pounding in my skull, my heartbeat seeming to echo through my mind with the strength of war drums and I knew that I had only seconds before I would blackout from my brain being cut off my both oxygen and blood. My right hand grasping the Light of Dawn was slowly being crushed, and my left hand was clawing futilely at the massive digits starving me of oxygen and constricting all blood flow to my head. Both of my legs, rather than kicking fruitlessly at the ground were slamming my boots into its bare chest but I might as well have tried to kick down the Jerral mountains for all the effect they were having.
Even other the pounding of blood in my veins I could hear Lariel’s cackle as she urged the demon to crush my throat, and time seemed to slow down once more as my body was filled with adrenaline. As it had on other occasions, when my mortal, conscious self was no longer capable the vampire took over. The depths of Glenvar, the bottom of Lake Arrius and the caverns of the Mythic Dawn were occasions where the survival instincts of the Daedric Vampire within me took over. With my brain shutting down and being choked to death by a daedra I felt the Vampire take control, my muscles filling with unnatural power even as my eyes opened and stared right into its own inky orbs.
The daedra suddenly had a look of almost childlike confusion as it felt and saw the changes that suddenly filled my being. Mostly hidden behind my mask, hood and armour there was no visible signs of the raw power that surged through me and twisted my body. The Xivilai was suddenly filled with confusion, the grip around my throat allowing it to intimately feel how my body bunched and tensed and the bones and muscles of my face twisted to suit the vampire. It was not used to such resistance from its enemies, especially mortals and that uncertainty made it slow to react.
With my right hand still trapped, I dropped my left from where it had been clawing at the Xivilai’s hand around my throat, and instead felt the leather and metal covering my chest. All fear, pain and every scrap of emotion had been lost from the Vampire taking over and instead it had been replaced by a cold, unthinking logic. I felt the strange hardness gripped tightly in my left hand, the strange tingling sensation that ran through my body as it began to shut down, and everything seemed to grow dark and quiet like a veil was being drawn down over the world. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as my left hand was brought down savagely and hammered into a solid blue arm as thick as my waist.
Instantly the grip around my throat and arm was gone, and the sights and sounds of the ruin rushed into my skull with a thunderclap of noise and sensation. The marble steps rushed up to meet me with an explosion of pain, but this was welcomed as I sucked in a deep lungful of air and felt the darkness slide away from my mind.
Bellowing, the Xivilai scrabbled at its wounded right arm and I landed on my back right at its clawed feet. Through little more than instinct I had drawn my skinning dagger from its sheath and buried it to the hilt in the creature’s bicep, leaving its entire right arm almost entirely nerveless and hanging limply. It was roaring now in pain and anger as it pulled the blade from where it had stuck in the meat and bone of its massive arm with a spurt of daedric ichor. I had managed to keep my grip on the Light of Dawn and with little more than a feeble swipe of the blade I swung it around in an arc of gleaming skymetal, feeling it sink home and making the cries of the Xivilai reach a higher note.
Like a mountain of muscle and daedric flesh, the towering brute suddenly fell sideways as its leg dropped out from under it. The cut had been sloppy but the sheer cutting edge of the Light of Dawn had meant that the Xivilai was now suddenly missing its leg from halfway down its shin.
The daedra slammed into the ground like an anvil falling from the sky, only narrowly missing me as I lay drunkenly on the moss covered marble. Its bellows were now pained and terrible, ripping through my ears into my brain as it kicked its spurting stump in the air in agony. After my experiences with Dremora I didn’t expect such a wound to keep it down for long and I still had its fellow to contend with. Even winded and dazed from the fall I still managed to roll out of the way of a downwards attack from a shrieking battleaxe, feeling the floor under me tremble with the impact as the axe struck home.
Leaving the wounded Daedra where it had fallen I rolled groggily to my feet. I was still struggling to breathe from being winded on the floor, and my vision was still filled with floating black spots that seemed to taunt my eyesight with every movement. The second Xivilai was pressing home in its attack, tearing its axe free with both hands in a shower of marble chunks and dust before charging me with blinding rage.
I felt every impact of the creature’s feet as it ran towards me, and I merely stood my ground, judging my next attack and preparing myself for it. There was no fighting its immense strength and power behind its muscles, and to try to block the axe would be nothing more than folly. Instead I waited, standing fast until the beast had committed itself into another wild swing of its axe before stepping in and deflecting with a light slice of the Light of Dawn.
Before it could react I had stepped lightly on the balls of my feet well within reach of the Xivilai and inside its guard. The screaming axe was lightly deflected out of the way as I had ensured that instead of trying to block it I had used the entire Light of Dawn to guide the axe away and to my right. This threw the creature off balance, making it lose its grip on the axe’s haft as it sunk into the floor once more.
In an arc of gleaming silver, the Light of Dawn cut downwards in a strike that had once left an Orc moneylender in separate pieces from forehead to groin. The Xivilai, half the size again of a grown man grunted as the Light of Dawn cut deep into the centre of its chest. Its sternum was sliced in half, the blade continuing down through its stomach before cutting its hips in two and exiting between its muscular thighs.
There was no cry of pain, roar of anger or snarl of hatred from the Xivilai as it felt the blade slice through bone, skin and meat. For several seconds that seemed to stretch on for hours we stood there, nose to nose as it doubled over in pain, releasing its grip on the axe where it had imbedded itself into the marble floor to clutch at the thin line of ichor oozing down its chest and stomach. I could see myself reflected in its massive almond shaped eyes as they widened in the sudden realisation of pain and although it didn’t know death as mortals did, it knew agony all too well.
I stepped back carefully, flicking the black bile-like blood from the glowing Light of Dawn as the Xivilai suddenly coughed up a wad of bubbling gore. Whether it truly realised it or not it was already dead. One of its legs buckled under it as I kicked at a bare ankle, forcing its leg to slide on marble made slippery from gore. Its balance gone, it seemed to unfold like the pages of a book, the contents of its body spill out through the massive gash that had split it in half from the chest down. Ropes of gashed intestine slithered across the floor like serpents and with a gurgling death rattle the Xivilai slumped into the mess of its own organs and died.
The first had regained most of its composure and was raising itself up despite its wounded arm to try to claw its way towards me. Badly wounded and bleeding out from the severed stump of a leg, there was nothing it could do to stop me from taking a few short paces, cutting its good hand off at the wrist before spearing it between the shoulder blades as I strode past.
Lariel had seen me dispatch her daedric bodyguards and was whispering dark words of power into the air, boiling and rippling it around herself with the sheer force of her mind. I could feel scratching and chittering things from the very depths of Oblivion gnawing on the edge of my senses as she drew more and more power into herself. Her fear was almost a physical thing as I strode over the rapidly dissolving bodies of the Xivilai. Their links to Nirn severed, their physical forms were now returning to Oblivion where their immortal souls would slowly regain their strength to be conjured once again. This would take days at least, and Lariel knew this just as well as I did as she called on any and all daedra to heed her summons. Both of her hands seemed to squirm and twist unnaturally as she conjured and traced intricate patterns that seemed to have a life of their own. A merest glance of the motions she was making was enough to make me feel sick and left me feeling as though a migraine was trying to force its way into my consciousness.
Plucking my skinning dagger from the ground as I moved towards her, I twirled it between my fingers and grasped it by the blade that was still dripping with blue-black gore. With a snarl of rage and a flick of the wrist I hurled it between us, moving with such speed that she didn’t have time to register my actions before the blade took her in the shoulder. The incantation was cut off in mid syllable, the intricate pattern woven into the fabric of the air collapsing in on itself like a reversed thunderclap as it imploded. In its place was a small spray of blood, and a strangulated cry of pain as the dagger was punched to the hilt in the meat of her shoulder and she was thrown to the ground.
In a half dozen strides I leapt towards her, covering the metres between us in the space of a few seconds. The beast was lending me its strength now and the skin of my face had been pulled taut over my elongating jaw line as my fangs pushed my lips apart. The reek of corruption was a noxious aura around her being and she was now nothing more than a vessel of corruption. Through the blessings of Molag Bal her powers had increased tenfold, but it had not stopped ten centimetres of steel breaking her collarbone and slicing through flesh.
A satisfying crunch of bone was audible as my boot lifted her from the ground, causing the fireball spell she was forming to flutter and die with an inarticulate scream wrenched from her throat. My own pain was slowly making itself felt over the adrenaline and the bloodthirst of the vampire. The flesh of my right wrist was swelling, as was my throat and I could feel the heat burning where the bruising would have already turned my skin red-black and sickly. Despite my armour and clothing, my flesh in places had been shredded by blade, fingernails and the sharpened teeth of the fallen Bosmer. My left shoulder was throbbing where something had stuck me during the melee and I was beginning to limp on a knee that felt like it had been twisted at a point that I could not determine.
She screamed, her breath ragged and wheezing as I dragged her into a kneeling position with a fistful of greasy, braided hair. Bone shards had punched deep into a lung when I kicked her but there was still considerable fight in the Bosmer Sorceress. Hissing and spitting curses through a clenched jaw she dug her fingernails into the gloved hand lifting her upright, writhing in my grasp as I swung the Light of Dawn back for a killing blow.
Hanging slackly by her side from the dagger in her shoulder, I didn’t see the glowing magicka in her hand until she slapped it against my armoured stomach. The tingling energies coursed through my veins and I felt myself go stiff as though an electric current was being run through my spine. For a moment I lost all control over my body, being frozen into a statue of pain as she forced the magicka deep into my being.
"The Schemer Prince desires your soul." She rasped, her mouth frothy and pink as the arterial bubbles framed her sharpened teeth. "Give yourself to him..."
The magicka continued to surge through me and I felt a deep, overwhelming presence hovering over me as she poured every last scrap of her magicka into calling upon her patron lord. In the darkness of the ruins I saw a mirage like entity forming from the flickering shadows, condensing into a form that existed only in the depths of my mind. A maw of grinning fangs, a horned, scaled and soulless visage of hate and domination gazed upon me with an emotion akin to recognition. Guided on by the beckoning of its servant, a taloned hand reached out from the depths of eternity with the irresistible nature of an avalanche.
Part of my soul opened itself up to the ethereal visage pressing through the barriers between Nirn and Oblivion, but another part rebelled. A soul portion of iron and fire, hatred and determination shook itself free of the lingering taint and threaded my muscles with surging strength.
The growl that ripped its way from my throat left Lariel’s eyes widening in surprise as she felt me resist both her magicka and her master. Judging by the expression on her face, she could see how my face had pushed forward in the mask and my eyes had turned into blackened pools of darkness and horror. The presence roared its hatred and anger at being denied, fading from my mind-sight as quickly as it had appeared. Beneath the surprise and the confusion on Lariel’s face there was realisation of what I was and recognition of the similar connection I shared with her daedric master. That knowledge flickered for a moment as she realised and understood where I had gained the strength to resist as I swung the Light of Dawn with naked savagery and took her head clean off her shoulders.
Headless from a blade of extreme sharpness, her torso spurted hot corrupted blood all over my boots as it smacked wetly to the ground. The look of surprise was frozen on her face as I held her head with a grip full of greasy dreadlocks and braids, watching as the light in her eyes died before dropping the grisly trophy with disdain.
The battle was not going overly well. My own injuries were slowing me down despite my vampiric nature and I could feel the level of exhaustion creeping up on me. While not as intense as what had occurred in Glenvar Castle I was tired from a fortnight of hunting and if was going to be honest with myself; several months of unceasing fighting and travelling. For Malulain and the other Rangers they too were tiring and paying a terrible price for such exhaustion. Their injuries during the battle and the months of hunting their kin had worn them down. Only a single foe was left standing, but Graithlan was proving to be deadlier than Eregor and his fallen clan combined.
Ancient, and monstrously powerful, Graithlan was slaughtering the Rangers facing him with an almost contemptuous ease. Several had already fallen to the weapon, their bodies pulped beyond all recognition as the enormous weapon howled with every swing. More than one of the Rangers had been hurled through the air as broken and rent corpses, and even as I turned one smacked wetly against a pillar after being flung through the air by backhanded swing.
A dozen still fought on regardless, stabbing into chinks of the dread armour and managing to draw the ancient being’s blood. Malulain or one of the others had managed to scour a deep cut down the angular, bird like face, and a leg was streaked with gore bubbling from a rent in an armoured knee. Their attempts to stop Graithlan was costing them even more with every second that past as he had more than just his mace to call upon.
Before I had managed to get more than a single step from the headless corpse, another pair of rangers had died horribly. Malulain’s casual mention of Graithlan’s powers at the campsite were proven horribly inaccurate as he wreathed a fist in glowing energies, reaching out in the direction of one of the rangers before gesturing as though he was grabbing and pulling them towards him. A cut off shriek echoed above the screams and cries of the wounded as the Ranger dropped the bow, shuddered and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. To our horror, an ethereal form in the shape of a bosmer was ripped from the Ranger’s body, his spiritual essence being transformed into something terrible and unholy as it flung itself at the laughing Ayleid.
Swirling around him, more and more wraiths were plucked from the depths of oblivion and with so much death around us there was no shortage of fallen souls for him to call upon. They rose from the ground, shrieking with unending torment as they were forced to obey his summons. Fallen bosmer and Rangers alike were ripped from the soil and their mortal remains, the howling of their torment ripping through my mind as they swirled around Graithlan’s armoured legs, clawing and caressing the bone-metal armour as he began absorbing the energies.
Some of the surviving Rangers staggered away from the sight, the cries of the damned forcing them back as effectively as a pike phalanx. Others tried to continue their attacks, forcing their way through the swirling wraiths and energies as they swarmed the armoured figure. I saw with my own building horror as one of the rangers stepped forward, his obsidian shortsword held steady as he tried to jam it between plates and into Graithlan’s stomach. A spectre swirled around the sword, wrapping itself around his arm like a serpent and forcing itself into his screaming face before he could even react. The cries of pain and agony were short lived as the ghost ripped its way through the hapless Ranger, leaving him to fall to his knees clawing at his throat as the cold touch of the grave froze his tongue into a lumped mass and solidified the blood in his veins.
A second died just as painfully as an armoured fist grasped him by the skull. Slowed from blood loss and his accumulated injuries, the second Ranger’s head burst like a ripe melon as the skull engraved digits closed like a vice. The strangulated scream was cut off in less than a second as gore sprayed everyone in a two metre radius, coating the front of Graithlan’s armour with the drizzle.
Cackling with a laughter as deep as a grave, Graithlan swung the limp corpse like a bludgeon, knocking some of his opponents down and forcing the others to move away. Blood was spraying through the air, streaming from between his armoured digits, dribbling down over his armour and exploding into the air like a geyser as he stomped down hard on the chest of one of the wounded. The spectres swirled around him in a vortex of death, screaming their tormented cries and begging for release from their new-found hell but suddenly silence fell upon the ruins.
Stopping in place, the armoured wight blinked, scrunching its face tightly in sudden confusion and dropping the corpse with a wet smack. Even the restless spirits had ceased their cavorting and banshee wails and instead hovered near their master, waiting upon him like faithful hounds. For a moment, no one moved as Graithlan lowered his gaze, staring that the emerald green hilt jutting from his stomach.
For the first time in my life I felt regret at being a forester rather than a Legionary. While during my first year’s service I had been taught the rudimentary basics as a Hastatii I had gone on to more specialised training. I had thrown pilum on the odd occasions in the years since but it was a skill that I had let grow rusty and dull.
Out of all of us within that ancient, moss covered ruin I was by far the most surprised at the effectiveness of the throw. Malulain and his Rangers were surprised at the sudden appearance of the Light of Dawn spearing the resurrected horror in the torso, Graithlan was surprised at finding himself impaled on the weapon but I was surprised that I had managed to hit him at all.
The peerless edge had punched through the archaic plate with as much ease as it did most things forged in the physical world, but it was far from a killing blow. Blood slowly pulsed from around the hilt, dripping down the lower portion of his breastplate and turning into a flood as he reached up with a brain speckled gauntlet and dragged the sword free.
"Tami Alata?" The ancient being muttered as he gazed upon the gleaming edge of the unique weapon. Lights danced and twinkled in the deep blue edge like the stars in the night sky, matching the cold gaze of the Ayleid wielding it as he directed the force of his hatred upon me.
I was completely unarmed and now the centre of attention of the towering figure as he began to move towards me, ignoring the dozen felled rangers scattered about. The gesture he made was obvious in its intent and the horde of spirits twitched and rolled like a tsunami as he directed them at me with a roar.
The clank of metal and the choking exclamation of pain stopped him in mid breath and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as several centimetres of metal erupted from his mouth. Teeth shattered outwards, a flood of gore rushing out from between his lips as the blood coated length of Sunchild punched through from the back of his neck. Malulain, seeing the moment’s opportunity in my distraction had picked himself up from where he had been knocked down, and thrown himself forward with a single, last ditch strike. Sunchild’s point had punched through the gap between the back of Graithlan’s helm and the armoured collar, breaking bone and not stopping until the hilt was pressed firmly into his nape.
Both the Light of Dawn and the corrupted mace clattered to the ground as the bone encrusted figure reached up with a trembling hand, feeling the metallic blade jutting from his face like a tongue. He was twitching and coughing blood, the terrible wound shredding the back of his throat and drowning him even as his body gave out. The dual clanks of his knees slamming into the ground was followed shortly by a clattering toll of metal as he fell forward onto his face.
With the second death of their master, the tortured souls of the deceased vanished like smoke in the wind, faded into the darkness without a trace of their existence. In a handful of moments their unnatural aura, baleful glows and shrieks had vanished, dissipating into nothingness as they returned to Oblivion and Aetherius.
"May your souls find peace." Malulain muttered, falling onto one knee as he finally let himself feel the pain and exhaustion from the fight. Being knocked down by the corpse of one of his Rangers had left him with a shattered wrist, and he was holding it tenderly as limped over to him and the other survivors.
"I thought you said that only stabbing him in the heart would kill him?"
He looked up at me and grimly smiled through the pain at my sarcasm. At some point during the fight his hood had been wrenched from his head and a jagged cut ran through his scalp that came close to slicing his ear off. "Have you ever met someone that walked off a knife to the skull?"
The collection of grim laughs echoed from the handful of survivors as they picked themselves up and began moving about to tend to the wounded. Those few of Eregor’s clan that had managed to survive their injuries were quickly finished off with economincal stabs to the throat or heart, and the wounded rangers were being tended too as best they could. None of them minded me in the slightest as I walked over, retrieved the Light of Dawn and ensured that Graithlan wasn’t getting back up in case the legends were right with a precise stab.
"It’s over." I said simply, watching with some distaste as the body within the armour was already withering, decaying and turning to a slimy dust that poured from the gaps in the armour. Soon the dread armour would return to their original state as ancient relics containing nothing more than a baleful influence.
"It is." Malulain walked over to me, shrugging off the attentions of one of his Rangers trying to bind his arm with a shortsword and a torn strip of a cloak. He watched me carefully as I retrieved Sunchild from the ashen remains of the skulled helm, wiping it clean on the clothes of a nearby corpse before sheathing it once again.
"They are fine swords." He said simply, gesturing with his good hand at Sunchild specifically. "You have my thanks for its use."
"What do we do now?" I asked softly, motioning towards the bodies strewn around us and the ugly collection of armour at our feet.
The look of pain that filled Malulain’s face was powerful and unable to be hidden to anyone. "We must leave the bodies where they fall." He said simply, looking at the remaining Rangers who shared his look of anguish. "There will be no feasting on the dead, nor can provide the funeral rights that they so deserve with the threat of further taint. They will be reclaimed by the Green and may it lead their souls back into the light."
"What about the armour? We can’t just leave it here."
There was a nod from the leader of the Rangers. "Just as the Green will claim the fallen, we will call upon it to guard the artefacts. Perhaps it shall do a better job than what we have."
My look of confusion was either ignored or unnoticed as he turned around to the few that still survived. Two thirds of the Rangers that had followed Eregor’s clan were growing cold in the ruins, and none who were left were unscathed. Most had minor or superficial wounds, but there were some who would not live to see the sunrise even with the most potent of restoration magicka.
"Meneleb, Dirnil. Collect the pieces and take them to Wylweneth."
The tattooed features of Malulain gave me a weary smile as the two Rangers he had chosen came over and bundled the pieces of the armour into their arms. Carefully, and with an obvious distaste for being so close, let alone touching such foul artefacts they turned and began carrying them towards the forest where we came.
"Come Kaius. You have seen much tonight and are one of the few to have seen our secrets." Gesturing with his good hand, he bid me to follow as the rest collected their wounded and began leaving the ruins. "You have earned the right to see one more."
Feeling the stabbing pain in my knee, and the increasing pressure from the swelling on several spots on my body I carefully made my way through the death filled ruins to where the forest thickened. The surviving Rangers stood in a rough semicircle, carrying their comrades and assisting those whose injuries were more severe. Bursting lights danced between some of their number as they used what restoration magicka they could to seal the more grievous of injuries and I was impressed to see that their discipline remained unbroken. Other than the handful who had suffered truly sickening injuries, for the most part they were quiet and just as stealthy as ever.
"We are one with the Green." Malulain said softly by my side as I stood behind the group. The two carrying the pieces of armour had approached the last surviving member of Malulain’s inner circle; the unarmed Ranger clad in Vines. "And as we strive to follow Y’ffre’s teachings and protect the Green, the Green also protects us."
With the Ranger carrying the armour by her sides, the unarmed ranger began chanting, swaying in time with the wordless notes that rolled forth from her tongue.
"Wylweneth is a Ranger Druid." He offered as an explanation as the others slowly joined in. Even those suffering injuries added their voices despite the pain. It rolled up and into the night, filtering through the trees and I found myself struck dumb at the sound. It was unlike anything I had heard before, somehow conveying the emotional depth of a Legion Funeral Dirge, the uplifting spirit of an Cyrodiilic wedding, and the pride of an ashlander coming of age ceremony. It was a song that was old when the world was new, a song of ancient times and future events yet to come.
It tightened my chest and pricked at my eyes with emotion as Malulain joined in. It was a song of the Bosmer, a song for their families, for their comrades and for their countrymen long fallen to darkness. In wordless chords they sung the funeral lament of those who had died but I was shocked when I heard something join in from the darkness of the forest.
Striding with a sinewy grace, creaking and groaning the spindly figures separated themselves from the forest’s edge and moved towards the Ranger Druid with her outstretched arms. There were five of them, each similar in height to the collection of Bosmer surrounding me but one of their number towered over the rest. Everyone within the bounds of Tamriel had heard tales of the guardians of the forests and while their names may have been different in the native tongues of the Empire; geaga-bain, dryaden, fillii silvam, there would be very few who would not know the name Spriggan.
The branchwraiths moved with all the grace of leaves shifting in the morning breeze, following their towering matron as they moved in perfect harmony. Muscles of rolling creepers twisted and swayed under a skin of leathery bark, and eyes made of flawless amber gazed unblinkingly upon the collection of mer standing before them.
"The forests will safeguard the armour." Malulain said, breaking the spell the song and the sight of the Spriggans had over me. With a briefest of nods from the oak-like matron, the smaller spriggans stepped forward and wrapped the pieces of armour up in their root-like hands, the finger-vines slithering over them and gently plucking them from the willing grasp of the Rangers. "No mortal will ever find Graithlan’s vessel again, especially with the discovery of all of its pieces."
Staring at the towering matron as her smaller kin turned with their unholy items I couldn’t help but agree. The song continued, the Rangers raising their voices in time with the rolling breeze and I could only watch, fascinated as the spriggans sung as well, their wooden calls haunting as they returned to the forests with their newly acquired charges.
Silence returned to the land but I found myself wondering whether the song had truly ceased or whether it merely continued on regardless whether I heard it or not. The Rangers with their duty fulfilled and their dead mourned as best as they could, began to move silently away. Most of their number glanced in my direction for the briefest of moments before following in the spriggans’ footsteps and I was almost certain that most were providing me the briefest of nods before turning away.
Standing by my side, I could feel Malulain’s anguish at the death and long journey back to Valenwood that awaited him and his brethren. But there was a strength within him, a pride of completing such a task and succeeding despite the odds that had been arrayed against them.
"We now return to Valenwood," there was a distinct twinge of happiness in his voice at the prospect of returning home after so long. "You too will return as we walk separate paths from here. Know that you have won my respect, and the respect of brothers and sisters."
Fumbling with some difficulty with his good hand, he managed to unbuckle a small sheath from his side and held it out to me. "The use of a sword calls for the payment in kind. You fought by our sides tonight without thought of reward or thanks. For that, you can count me and my clan as friends and allies."
Carefully, I took the dagger and the sheath from his hand and saw how the dagger was beautifully fashioned the same as the other Rangers from a single length of bone. What I also noticed was this was far more heavily detailed than the others I had seen that night.
"If the time comes that you need to call upon myself or the Circles, take that dagger to Falinesti and show it to the druid circle. No matter where you are in Tamriel we will come to you aid." With a brief glance back at the death filled ruins his gaze hardened into a mask of determination. "In these dark days we all may need as much help as we can get."

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