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Carefully, and from memory he drew a fairly accurate depiction of Tamriel and the other realms in their rough approximations. On the map I could see the island of Vvardenfell, Atmora to the north of the Sea of Ghosts and Akavir to the far east of Tamriel.
"The Drow are unknown to most on the surface. And while I have no doubt that Viconia is one I can’t recollect or even think of any cases where one of their kind has been met on the surface."
"But they are known?"
He nodded. "Yes, but very rarely. Their world is deep under our own, and almost impossible to get to except by the most determined. What little I have read is even the Dwemer, and all their attempts of building a life within the hearts of mountains had only managed to breach into the upper levels of the world that she comes from."
Dragging the dagger’s tip through the soil he drew two large shapes through the map, the first covering most of Morrowind, the entirety of Vvardenfell and all of Skyrim, while the other covered southern portions of Hammerfell, all of Cyrodiil and the northern portions of Elswyr and Valenwood. "The Ayleid’s ruled the south during their time," he said, stabbing the tip into the ground in the lower shape where the Imperial City was located. "But the Dwemer," the dagger stuck into the heart of Skyrim. "they ruled the depths while the Ayleid’s built into the skies."
"I have seen their cities in Vvardenfell." I replied, tapping at the livid scarring up my arm where wingtips and head of the dragon brand poked through. "One of the Legion’s responsibilities is stopping the smuggling trade of Dwemer artefacts."
"Then you have an idea of how deep they carved their mark into the world." My nod as I thought of the time I took part in an expedition into the ruins of Bthuand seemed to satisfy him. While I was never part of the later missions to explore and guide the mages and scribes, I had heard stories from the other legionaries how it seemed to continue on deeper with ever passage they cleared and dug free of rubble.
"I’ll put it this way," he began, picking the dagger up and holding it on a 45-degree angle, point facing the fire. "Imagine that this blade represents the distance between us and Chorrol, and that the hilt represents a Dwemer city. The realm that Viconia is from is rumoured to be from is that deep into the ground it would take you that long just to reach the upper levels. Provided you made it that far against the Nine-only-knows-what lives in the darkness. There are stories of things in the deep places in the world, giant spiders, tribes of mutated cannibals, even tales of dragons. The only beings in all of Tamriel who would have the slightest clue to what exactly lives under our feet are the Dwemer themselves, and they took those secrets with them when they disappeared."
"Then how did she find her way up here?" the rabbits were cooking well and I turned them over carefully, watching as the stones heated up inside and roasted the meat fully. "Surely she can’t be the first."
"Finding out the answer to that question is up to you to find out I think." Martin replied honestly. "But truth be told I have only heard of or read about rumours of their kind but outside of their name there is very little for us to go on. That in itself is a clue. The name Drow is recognisable and is known, which means that out in the world there are those who have the knowledge of such things."
The silence between the two of us grew as our thoughts became our own, and he stared idly at his sketched map for several minutes as the rabbits sizzled on the fire. "Do you believe that I am the Emperor’s son?"
I looked over to him to see more than just the night clouding his face in darkness. "I do. I’m almost certain of it."
"Almost certain?" for a moment there was flare of what appeared to be hope in his eyes.
"Well, until you have the Amulet of Kings around your neck and a crown on your head I will still have some doubts." My grin was enough to lighten his mood slightly. "I’m pragmatic like that."
"How are you so certain though?"
I sighed, stretching out and feeling the breeze on my skin from where I had scrubbed it clean before Viconia had taken her turn. Cooking while filthy was never a good habit to get into if you wanted to not shit yourself to death. "You look like him and you seem to have the same strength as he did."
"You knew him?"
"Only briefly." I tapped the remnants of the brand on my shoulder again. "I deserted from the legion but got caught and thrown into the Imperial Prison. It just happened that the next day was when he and his guards decided to use the tunnel in my cell to escape the assassins."
The rabbits were close to cooked now. "It obviously didn’t work according to plan."
"That’s certainly a massive coincidence. You’re either the luckiest man in Tamriel or the Nine are deciding to play with your fate."
He saw the shudder that ran through me that had nothing to do with the night-time air. "Your fath- The Emperor," I corrected myself for a second. "said something similar. Before he died he gave me the Amulet of Kings, told me to find the Blades and that only I could "Close shut the jaws of Oblivion’. I’d almost prefer if it was down to something as simple as pure blind luck instead of being fated by the Gods for some indeterminable purpose.
I scoffed momentarily. "But then again being that absurdly lucky means I’m probably beholden to Nocturnal and I don’t like the idea of having any deity messing with my fate, whether they be Aedra or Daedra."
Soft footsteps echoed from behind us and Viconia appeared by the fire, hair still wet but thankfully wearing clothes and reducing the threat of bodily harm if we looked in her direction. I pulled the rabbits out of the fire, using my sword to lift them out and handing the hot meals to them both. Viconia speared hers with a quick stab of her own dagger, stripping it carefully of flesh with her white teeth and sitting close enough to the fire that the dampness of her clothes dried quickly.
Martin ate his as though he had been starving for days, his appetite being helped along by the amount of walking we had done and the fact he probably hadn’t had a decent meal since the night before the attack on the city. "I’m terrified that you are both right in this matter, that I am the Emperor’s Heir and that my entire life has been leading to this moment. I think we all prefer to believe that we are the ones in charge of our own fates, and that it is by the whim of gods that we do or experience the things we have." His own pause was heavy with regret as memories resurfaced that he obviously preferred to keep buried. "But it appears that for the moment at least that the three of us have found our paths crossing. To what end it will lead, will be interesting to see at least."
Freshly bathed, equipment maintained as best we could and well fed on rabbit and hardtack we slept through the night. Viconia and I recommenced taking our turns and letting Martin sleep as best he could through the whole night to make up for his inexperience of such journeys. Carrying far less than us and not used to travel he still made good time as the three of us continued ever further north. I knew that despite the depths and size of the forest that it would be very hard to miss our destination. The City of Chorrol may be little more than a speck in comparison to the green depths where the entire might of every Imperial Legion could be swallowed up without a trace. It was far easier to come across the various roads and highways connecting the city and the surrounding hamlets and logging camps scattered about in the county. Even if we missed the minor settlements or the medium sized ones such as Hackdirt, there was no way that we could miss the primary highway and trade route running from the Imperial City into Hammerfell that went through and around Chorral. The cobblestoned road was wide enough for two wagons to pass each other without the threat of breaking a wheel or axle on the edges and it was well patrolled by legionaries and militia no matter where on the road you found yourself.
For a further two nights we travelled through the forest, making good time despite Martin growing ever more fatigued and weary at the kilometres. We ate well however, managing to find collections of berries and other such foods within the forest as we travelled and between the small collection of mushrooms and other edibles Viconia was slowly learning more and more how to survive in the wild. On the third night we ate a hearty stew of Summer Botlet, venison and other herbs that left us all extremely satisfied. My own satisfaction was less from the meal and the taste and more from the fact that the deer had very little blood left in it once I had brought it back. The disgust I felt for myself could only overpower the thirst after I had sated myself on the coppery fluids, as beforehand there was no way that I could restrain my animalist urges.
Away from the eyes of Viconia and Martin I tested myself and the changes that the curse had brought upon my body. I was stronger and faster now, noticeably so when I chose to utilise it. Where my new bow should have been an effort to pull back on with its 100 pound draw weight, my arms barely seemed to feel it. When hunting the deer, I had held the bow at full draw without even the slightest tremor as I counted the seconds under my breath. After reaching five hundred I had loosed and drew a second arrow back until its fletching tickled my right ear, feeling shocked at the sheer speed of my movements as the first arrow had barely managed to fly ten metres before I was ready to shoot again.
The fact that I had felt other changes go through me as I tested myself with the hunt and with my bow was not lost on me. Pulling and drawing back on the bow so quickly had brought the beast to the surface, the skin of my face tightening and my incisors tingling as they prepared to slide out of my gums and bones. I could see better, hear more keenly and strike with all the force of a charging warhorse. I soon discovered that I had to be careful lest my new power was noticed, as for more or less the sake of it I had drawn my new sword and struck at a redwood sapling to see how much power I could put behind a blow. The sapling was as thick as my waist but didn’t stop the entire tree toppling over in an explosion of splinters and shards of wood as my sword connected and was driven through the trunk and out the other side.
Viconia’s gaze was always upon both Martin and I, but it was obvious that she was watching me like an eagle. I even noticed on the odd occasion that we found ourselves close together that her body language would change, and it wasn’t unusual to find her doing certain things that would make me react in certain ways. From flicking a rock near my head while I wasn’t looking, to releasing a branch as she walked in front so it would flick back into my face I realised that she wasn’t acting out of spite but was testing me and what I could do. With the same impassionate gaze on her face she would try different things, all the while watching incredibly closely and mentally recording my every action with increasing interest.
By the fourth evening we were well within the depths of the Great Forest and in the heart of county Chorrol. Making our way along a minor road which was little more than a dirt track heavily rutted with water runoff we made camp for the last evening before expecting to reach our destination. We were all tired and increasingly filthy from sweat and dirt that plastered itself and our clothes but now almost within sight of our destination our spirits were noticeably rising. Eating another hearty meal, drinking some of our dwindling water supplies we made camp on the tracks edge and slept through the nice undisturbed.
Viconia and my routines were almost streamlined to perfection after over a week’s travel, taking our shifts and rising in the morning after half a dozen hours of sleep before dressing ourselves and continuing on. After four days of solid travel Martin too was falling into a routine and trudged through the kilometres without complaint and we made good time all things considered. Five days from the destruction of Kvatch we found ourselves within sight of the towering stone walls of Chorral and the tiny priory within the city’s shadow.
Both Viconia and I travelled fully dressed now, no longer carrying the pieces of our armour and chainmail on our backs but instead dressed ourselves fully in its protection. After Kvatch we were no longer content with leaving ourselves in just our cloth and leather clothing but made our way through the forest jingling and clanking slightly. My new nature ensured that I barely even felt the difference in weight, in fact other than the few spots where the chainmail forced the layers of cloth and leather underneath to rub and pinch there was no discomfort at all. At that point I believed I could’ve wandered around in full legion plate and not notice the difference between it and wearing travelling clothes of the finest silk.
During the travel I had also realised that not only my sight had improved by so did my other senses. My hearing was keener, supernaturally so and when I concentrated so did my sense of smell. As we made our way closer to the city I could smell the numerous bakeries’ goods as well as the acrid tang wafting from the several breweries scattered throughout the streets. Approaching the priory however soon left me with an increasingly all-too-familiar scent that my body could detect no matter how much I willed it not to.
Blood was on the air, hot and fresh and immediately I felt my mouth moisten. The deer the previous days of travel was enough to put the thirst at bay for some time but it didn’t go far towards stopping the desires entirely. Someone was either dead or soon to be by the sheer force of the smell that left me yearning with a dark hunger. Without consciously noticing I had started moving quicker towards the priory and the sudden sprinting figure that burst through the creaking gate.
The Dark Elf stable hand scrabbled and nearly tripped on the uneven cobblestone road as it put his head down and ran as fast as his legs could take him. It was a run of blind panic that only through luck sent him in our general direction and the complete opposite direction of the priory. His dark-grey face was now ashen, sickly grey with fear and almost before he realised it he was within an easy javelin throw of Vicona, Martin and myself. His eyes alighting on us for the first time he almost collapsed at our feet insensibly.
"Help!" he spluttered, recognising Viconia and myself and gesturing wildly back at the priory. "You must help! They’re killing everyone at the Priory!"
Instinctively my bow found itself in my hands, the leather travelling case suddenly empty as I pulled the string over the horn nocks without even looking at it.
The sound of metal rasping on leather echoed through the air and Viconia drew her sword, her eyes suddenly bright and glowing with magical energies. For a second the Dunmer before us looked as though he expected us to cut him down where he stood. Before he could react I had moved closer to him, feeling with my right hand the handful of arrows in the quiver and plucking a bodkin from its resting place.
"Tell us what’s going on. Who’s attacking?"
There was a shrug. "I don’t know who they are, I was in the stable when they attacked. I heard talking and when I looked around the corner to see who it was I saw a group of them talking to Prior Maborel. They looked like travellers, just ordinary people."
"And then?" Viconia’s voice was as cold as the wind off the Sea of Ghosts.
The Dunmer gulped, shying away from the witch-light emanating from Viconia’s eyes and the coldness of her expression. "Suddenly weapons appeared in their hands and the cut the Prior down before he could move! They... they saw me watching and I just ran!"
As a single group we all looked up at the priory, seeing nothing out of the ordinary but the smell of blood and the stink of magicka was wafting on the breeze. For a heartbeat I felt as though we were standing before the walls of Kvatch engulfed in its inferno of death, but other than the stench there was no sign that anything was wrong.
"Where’s Jauffre?"
Another shrug. "I don’t know, in the Chapel praying I think. You must help us!"
I pushed past him, arrow gripped tight in my fingers and bow ready to be drawn back at a moment’s notice. Viconia strode beside me, power erupting from her body as she prepared herself for the potential fight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Martin start forward to follow us and I turned with a snarl.
"Stay here and get out of sight you fool!" I hissed, and for a second he wavered before his gaze hardened in an all-too familiar expression. In an instant any doubt that he was not of the Emperor’s blood faded at the similarity.
"I’m coming with you. I think I’m safer closer to you than trying to hide from any potential ambush!"
For a second I went to argue but the sudden movement within the priory stopped the words before they reached my throat. Darting figures in black swarmed between the buildings, obviously hunting for something or someone. Within seconds they spotted us, and seeing the weapons in our hands and our armoured bodies, they recognised the threat and rushed us as a group.
There were nearly a dozen of them, black-clad in horrific daedric plate that I was now all too familiar with. In pale mockeries of the Dremora that Viconia and I had faced they scuttled forward, brandishing weapons of black obsidian and serrated wickedly. Flowing blood red cloth clung between the black plates, fluttering slightly as they ran howling at us with little thought of their own personal safety. There was no mistaking their allegiance with the daedra responsible for the destruction of Kvatch but also those few that had murdered the Emperor and most of his bodyguard.
I fired the first arrow without hesitation, the bodkin making a complete mockery of the daedric plate they wore and dropping the first hard to the ground. The armour dissolved in seconds, the wicked point of the arrow jutting from the back of the cultist’s skull from the power I had leant into the bow and the solid impact of the corpse smashing face first into the cobblestones.
Even before the first collapsed my second arrow was already in flight, snapping out and crossing the space between us and the baying maniacs almost faster than the eye could see. It hammered into the chest of a second armoured form, a female from the sudden sucking cries of pain as she clutched at the feathered shaft where it had punched into the pectorals of the daedric breastplate. The third dropped to his knees convulsing as my third arrow, a deep tanged broad head ripped into his stomach with enough force to cut through the armour but not enough to continue deep enough to cause crippling damage. Even as the others rushed forward he struggled to his feet after the power of the impact had sent him sprawling, crying inarticulate howls of rage and pain as the movements twisted the arrow in his belly.
While reducing the numbers there were still easily three each against us, including the extremely hesitant Martin as he drew a dagger from his robes and held it in front of himself as though it was a ward to the onrushing violence. I cursed him both mentally and verbally, ripping my new sword from its sheath and stepping between the cultists and the last heir to the throne.
Viconia exploded into savage action just as the first reached our tiny group, suddenly bursting with energy both physical and magical and leaving a pair of the plated attackers as corpses with the armour melting into nothingness. One dropped with a shriek, the bolt of lightning hitting him square in the chest and leaving the man to twitch and convulse as every nerve burnt out in an instant. Another appeared to run headfirst into a wall of solid air, bouncing away with a sickening crack of broken bone and splintered teeth. The ward of energy she threw in front of the charging cultist only lasted for a split second but left him as a corpse on the ground, his neck twisted at an obscene angle from the force of the impact. Within seconds the odds had been reduced dramatically but it still left us both with our fair share of attackers.
I too burst into activity, twisting aside as one of them slashed out with a dagger that gleamed wetly with blood that stained it and its wielder’s arm to the elbow. While never what I’d considered to be an expert swordsman I found myself thankful that the Legion put so much effort into training it’s recruits as thoroughly as it did. Legionaries were taught the art of fighting behind shield and heavy armour, to stab and thrust in economical movements that allowed them to grind foes that outnumbered them innumerable times over into the ground. Foresters however were taught to fight single handed, relying on speed and dexterity to dodge, duck, weave and parry attacks as it was impossible to wield a bow and a shield at the same time.
Against these foes I quickly realised that there wasn’t a trained swordsman or soldier in the lot. Each attached wildly, screaming and rushing blindly forward and almost announcing their attacks with as much effectiveness as requesting to do so in writing. The first attack missed by a considerable margin, hitting nothing but air as I twisted to one side and stepped back slightly even as my attacker tried to follow through with a gut-tearing strike that would’ve done damage if it had hit an unarmoured man. This attack missed as well and I stepped forward inside his guard, feeling the third and final strike bounce off my chainmail and padded gambeson underneath as he tried to cut through the tiny loops of steel. If he had the experience or knowledge to stab instead or trying to slash it may have done some damage but instead I saw the glints of fear behind the snarling daedric mask, right before I punched the tip of my sword into his armpit where there was no armour to protect him.
Contemptuously I flicked the corpse off my sword, seeing the cultists becoming wary now that they had lost five of their number without inflicting as much as a scratch. Taking the initiative, I stepped forward swinging at the three facing me and forcing them to step away from Martin at my back. A pair of maces and a sword were held in the inexperienced hands of the attackers and instead of rushing me and taking advantage of their numbers they got in each other’s way and made it easier for me to kill.
A mace clattered to the cobblestones even as it began to disappear into nothing with its owner’s armour along with it. An enormous smile had opened on the cultist’s throat as I sliced my blade through the soft part of the gorget, cutting right back to the spine and leaving the female Dunmer to attempt to staunch the flow of blood with her hands. The swordsman jumped forward lightly on his feet, putting all of his weight into a single lunge that would’ve skewered me even if I wore full plate armour. Instead I turned to my left, grabbing him by the wrist and hacking down with the full enhanced strength of a vampire just above his elbow. The blow sheared through daedric armour, flesh and bone and left me holding the twitching forearm as the cultist screamed in pain, falling away with blood spurting horribly from the wound.
The remaining cultist facing me stopped, hesitated and turned to flee but didn’t get more than two paces away before feeling a grip of iron latch onto his shoulder. Yanked off his feet, three feet of sharpened steel suddenly materialised from the centre of his chest, cutting his heart in half and killing him before the realisation of what had happened managed to set in.
In the space of seconds, a dozen of the armoured attackers were dead and their blood staining the ground and our swords. The last of the pitiful amateurs; the leathery skinned bosmer who I had struck in the stomach with an arrow had attempted to lunge at Viconia as he tried to rise from a kneeling position. With a hand still grasping the shaft lodged in his belly he roared and struck out at her with his gleaming sword, putting the last of his strength into the single blow. Viconia instead contemptuously knocked the sword strike away with a negligent flick of a wrist, twisting the blade in her hand and dragging the edge across his throat that left him vomiting and coughing blood.
A dozen daedric plated cultists were left as a dozen corpses, their bodily fluids leaking out between the cobblestones and armour and weapons dissolving into the breeze. The last of them, a tall Nord gasped her last as Viconia strode over to her and stabbed once without even a glance at her downed adversary.
"Right then." My sword returned to its sheath and I picked up my bow from where I had dropped it. Martin stood a few paces away from the slaughter, hand still clutching his dagger in a hand visibly shaking and noticeably pale as he looked over the carnage that Viconia and I had left strewn across the road.
"Are you okay?" I asked unnecessarily in time to see him stumble over to the edge of the road and vomit noisily into the gutter.
"Gods’ blood." He stammered, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and making an effort not to look at the bodies. "Now I know how you two braved Oblivion and lived."
I chuckled darkly, glancing about for the stable hand and seeing little more than a rapidly fading blur down the road. He had taken the opportunity to make a dash further from the death and carnage of the priory while we fought and there was no time to chase after him even if we had the inclination.
"There still more." Viconia called out, weapon still gripped tightly in her hand, and Martin and I shared a glance.
"Are you going to stay out of the way?" he nodded at my question while still looking very pale at the sight of so much death.
Moving quickly the three of us jogged to the fence surrounding the priory, seeing the well-maintained gardens crushed underfoot and the body of Prior Maborel laying on his back in the tiny pathway. A look of complete astonishment was frozen on his blood splattered features, a staining cloud leaking through his robes where his assassins had stabbed him right in the heart and killing him before he realised what had happened.
Several more daedric forms moved quickly about the priory, kicking in doors and searching for the others. The sounds of metal on metal echoed from the interior of the tiny chapel and another pair of assassins rushed out from the stables at the sounds of our approach, hurling incoherent warcries as soon as they caught sight of us.
One immediately folded over before he could make it more than a handful of paces, the wicked point of the bodkin arrow punching through his breastplate with enough force to break ribs by the impact alone. The other seemed to hesitate in mid stride, glancing at their fallen companion for a second too long as Viconia rushed forward spitting curses in her native tongue. Too late did they realise the threat that they faced, twisting and trying to back away from the onrushing elf and unsuccessfully warding off her flurry of attacks. Faster than the eye could see Viconia had slashed away at the plated assassin, cutting the muscles in a leg, hacking a hand off at the wrist before punching her sword through the assassin’s heart that left two foot of blade erupting from between the shoulder blades.
"Vith’os!" She snarled, hurling the body aside and finishing the other off with an economical stab where the breastplate met the neck.
The door of the chapel burst open in a flurry of brown, the aging form of Jauffre appearing in the threshold and still riding the combat high of adrenaline. His katana held in a double grip and plastered with blood there was no identifying the aged monk that we had met so many days ago. Instead there remained the hardened leader of the Emperor’s elite, a persona that I suspect he had never wished to return to but was no less deadly as a result.
"You’re back!" he exclaimed as he almost skidded to a halt in recognition. "Thank Talos!"
"Jauffre! What in the name of the Nine is going on here?" I slung my bow over my shoulders and drew my sword again in a white knuckled hand.
"They attacked without warning. I was praying in the Chapel when I heard Prior Maborel shout. Who are these people?"
"They are the same ones who killed the Emperor." Jauffre’s face darkened in anger at my words and I suddenly felt very small in sight of his building rage. "Why the hell would they attack here?"
Viconia, Jaufree and myself suddenly twitched as the electric current of realisation ran through all of us simultaneously. "The Amulet!" Jauffre was suddenly moving like a Khajitt dosed up on skooma but many times deadlier. "I kept it in a secret room in Weynon House!"
We moved as one, bursting into sprints that carried us to the smashed down door of the main Priory building. I caught a glance at the chapel as Jauffre ran from the door and the scene of utter carnage within. A handful of assassins had been found wanting at the attempt to take the life of the Grandmaster of the Blades and were left in piles of gore and limbs as a result. He was over twice my age but what the years had managed take away from him in strength of body they had added to the sheer level of experience and confidence that no one could match.
The interior of the priory was a shambles, book cases rent and torn, beds overturned and mattress stuffing thrown about in an orgy of destruction. There was not a single cupboard that wasn’t smashed into kindling and every chest, crate, book, container and barrel had been ripped open and upended in the minutes since the attack. On the second floor however in Jauffre’s study the wall itself had been torn down to reveal a tiny room barely large enough for someone to stand, and the iron-banded chest within had been blasted open with an explosive force of magicka that left the teeth tingling from the residue.
At the sight of the destroyed chest and its obviously empty interior Jauffre roared, punching into the wall with enough force that plaster cracked and shattered. "They’ve taken it!" the sheer amount of rage and frustration sending a tremble through his body. "The Amulet of Kings is gone! These bastards have defeated us at every turn!"
He suddenly looked his age as he glanced at each of us in turn, seeing the blood and gore and days’ worth of travel etched into our flesh and clothes. As his eyes alighted on Martin, standing in the doorway and looking completely bewildered at the devastation and events that he was struggled to cope with, Jauffre’s face lit up from the expression of anger that had consumed it.
"So it has not all gone against us at least, thank Talos for that!"
Martin looked even more out of his depth as the aged Blade strode over to him and shook his hand in a grip that left the priest rubbing his knuckles. "We gained Uriel’s heir, but have lost the Amulet of Kings."
"Martin, this is Jauffre." I said, introducing them properly despite the ruin that surrounded us. Martin needed something to focus on other than the death he had just witnessed. "He is the Grandmaster of the Blades and the one who sent us to find you."
"And it is a good thing too that I sent you both!" Jauffre moved with a purpose now, stalking about and pulling out a handful of unbroken items from within his study. "But he cannot stay here. We may have driven them off but they will be back once they realise who he and that he survives thus far. If they knew of the Amulet’s presence here, then they certainly will return to finish the job."
"Where can we go?" Viconia was rifling her way through some of the detritus on the floor and pocketing anything that caught her eye. Jauffre didn’t seem to mind or notice in the slightest.
"Nowhere is truly safe against whatever power is arrayed against us I fear." Jauffre had shed his robes and replaced it with a well-worn set of travelling clothes and boiled leather armour with metal strips banding it together. A set of saddlebags were thrown over his shoulder as well, his katana finding its way into the scabbard at his hip. "But we must play for time at least..."
A lengthy breath sighed out of him and he rubbed at the congealing blood that had sprayed his face. "Cloud Ruler Temple, the hidden fortress of the Blades is our best option I think. It’s in the mountains north of Bruma and a few men can and have held it against armies before."
"That’s at least a three-day march to get there, maybe less if we travel cross-country."
"There’s no time to make the journey on foot I fear." Jauffre quickly rummaged through a small collection of pouches where they had fallen to the floor. The jingle of coins was audible as he scooped them up and tossed a couple to each of us. "We have minutes to leave before the guard arrive and hold us up with unnecessary questions and possibly even lock us away while they attempt to understand all this. We can’t afford to be held up and we certainty can’t take our time making it between here and Cloud Ruler. I won’t rest easy until Martin is safe."
His look of utter seriousness was almost a physical force as he looked over the three of us. "I hope you all can ride."
My sudden and vulgar epithet made him smile. "Spoken like a true legionary," his grin was almost infectious despite my dislike of travelling on horseback. "But there’s no quicker way to reach the fortress. We’ll take the Priory’s horses to the eastern post and not stop until we reach the Fortress."
Together the four of us left the priory in a hurry, past the several dead bodies littering the grounds and quickly saddled the horses in the stables. Thankfully the half dozen mares were not overly spooked from the fighting and the smell of blood that hung heavy in the air but they were overly skittish all the same. Although I had some experience in riding, as a legionary and especially a forester it was never formalised training, it barely even qualified as a hobby. Viconia seemed to be the same as myself, needing Martin and Jauffre to help the two of us throw saddles over the beasts and secure them tightly to their backs.
We left in time to see the first handful of guards marching from the city to investigate the disturbance and the growing collection of curious travellers who had reported the sights and sounds of fighting at the priory. They could only watch as the four of us spurred our rides and broke into a light gallop down the road to the east, leaving behind the steaming corpses of the dead for them to deal with. Nothing was left to chance however, Viconia and I quickly rummaging through the broken and rent bodies and ensuring that none of them happened to have the Amulet on their persons before we left the scene of devastation. I noted uneasily that all of those who had attacked were dressed in normal travellers clothing, dressed as though they were nothing more than a simple trading caravan. From the slightly overweight form of an Imperial man in a fine doublet that would be unremarkable on any merchant or trader, to the handful of leather-and padded cloth clad caravan hands there was nothing to identify these men and women as a band of bloodthirsty assassins. Especially not a group that had cut down a defenceless Prior without hesitation and attempted to slaughter a group of monks.
Covering the ground at a rapid pace we bounced and jostled along the road to the nearest watch post and its collection of horses. Within minutes I already had enough of being in the saddle, my back and hips already beginning to ache slightly from the motions and steeling myself for a long journey in distance rather than time. Jauffre set the pace on the back of his paint mare, riding her hard until the towering stone watch house rose above the vegetation. There we stopped briefly, exchanging our steeds for fresher, hardier looking horses well used to the rigours of the Imperial Messenger Service with barely even a sideways glance from the watch commander. The broken-toothed guard with a pox-scarred face had briefly spoken to Jauffre but with a few quiet words, and a handful of coins greasing a palm we were off again, riding even harder down the road in an effort to leave the county and the devastated priory behind.
For hours we rode, travelling no slower than a canter and breaking into a gallop at every opportunity despite the protests of our tortured bodies. Jauffre alone seemed to be the only one of our group unaffected by the punishing speed we pushed the horses to, and although the kilometres faded into the distance every bump and jolt would send fresh spurts of agony through our bodies. Completely unused to riding, especially any significant distances let alone at speed my entire world seemed to shrink into a closely packed ball of agony. My hips and legs spread apart and aching with every motion, my thighs heavily chafed and soon I found my neck muscles locked with a splitting headache building behind the eyes. Even the growing thirst, normally impossible to ignore had vanished under the rolling waves of agony that buffered me with every hoof strike.
The journey however, despite seemingly lasting forever and into the deepening darkness of night went without incident and we made an incredible distance in a seemingly impossible time. The journey that Viconia and I had undertaken from Bruma that had taken three days’ cross country on foot, took the four of us on horseback less than a total night of travel at what I considered break-neck speeds.
The forests of Chorrol were replaced with the rolling hills and towering summits of stone of the Jerral Mountains and yet we still rode. Past the dozens of tiny campsites of travellers and caravans who had stopped for a night’s rest we continued on, only stopping the ever constant travel at each Watch post to swap our panting steeds with fresh rides and grease the palms of the sergeants and ex-legionaries manning the towers and stables. Jauffre left nothing to chance and relentlessly drove us on with all the skill and unflinching toughness of the most seasoned centurion, refusing to rest or even stop for anything. Several times the dust of the road was sluiced off our horse’s flanks as we emptied our bladders in the saddle, not once stopping and even eating as best we could in the bouncing, jerking motion of half a tonne of horseflesh pounding hooves into the road.
In the early hours of the morning, with the faintest hint of light beginning to reveal itself on the horizon we found ourselves high in the ranges above Bruma and in the shadows of Pale Pass. The maintained and solid-footing of the Imperial Highways crossing between the major cities of Cyrodiil and the frontiers was now replaced with the winding shale and granite tracks that led further into the dizzying heights of the mountains. Finally slowing to what I considered to be more reasonable speeds we allowed our most recent mounts to suck in great breaths of the frigid, thinning air as we climbed. The path was tiny, only enough room for a single cart or wagon at a time and winding further up the slopes with the twinkling lights of Bruma a handful of kilometres below us.
In our own agony we had no appreciation of the sights around us, or the towering walls that jutted from the sides of the sheer cliffs facing us. A hundred kilometres distant, the entirety of the Imperial city could be seen in its majestic glory, burning with the lights of civilisation and surrounded by the impressive expanse of water that was Lake Rumare and where it fed into the Niben.

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