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Cloud Ruler Temple was built into the side of a cliff that matched the dizzying heights of White Gold Tower, safely secure next to the unscaleable precipice that only the most confident of mages could successfully traverse and only then with potent levitation magicka. The walls of the Fortress-monastery jutted forward in a thick U shape, the flat section built into the cliff and the bottom of the curve home to a gigantic gate twelve metres high and flanked by towers. Built from perfectly shaped stones as heavy as a horse, and almost as large there were little siege engines capable of reducing such defences. This was especially the case as the only way such machines could get within range was to be individually brought up the winding slope and be harassed by fire from the defenders every step of the way. Jauffre was indeed correct in the statement that a few within the fortress could hold off an army. Even a dozen could comfortably defend the road from the towering walls with little to fear from any number of foes.
Saddle-sore and weary to the point of collapse we initially didn’t notice the armoured figures on the walls, pointing a collection of bows and crossbows in our direction as we plodded ever onwards. Jauffre’s raised hand and cry of greeting was lost to the wind that flowed over from the north and tundras of Skyrim’s interior but the surprise of those manning the fortress was not. Grinding forward and opening to reveal a set of stairs rising up the throat of the fortress the massive gates swung wide, and a handful of armoured and cloaked figures appeared to grasp our reins.
"Grandmaster!? We were not expecting you." a voice of one of the figures called out. They all moved with the predatory grace of a wolf as they fanned out and began to lead us into and up the stairs. Inside I could see that the walls were not constructed the same as the curtain walls of a city but in fact were extensions of the upper level of the Fortress itself. This meant that even if an enemy was able to force their way through the gates, they would then have to contend with fighting their way up several dozen short spaced stairs that made it dangerous to find footing while facing a foe.
"Circumstances have led us here earlier than I expected Cyrus." Jauffre replied as he slid from the saddle and finally seemed to be showing signs of his real age. "I do trust that everything has been prepared?"
"Yes Grandmaster." There was a moment of hesitation as the armoured figure addressing Jauffre looked over our small group and stared at Martin climbing out of his saddle. "That means... is this...?"
There was a nod. "This is the Emperor’s son, Martin Septim."
To a man the group of Blades surrounding us tensed and bowed deeply at the hips, leaving Martin looking extremely embarrassed even despite the obvious amount of pain and discomfort he and the rest of us were experiencing.
"My Lord!" the Blade Cyrus said, resting his fist against his chest in the manner of the legion. "Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple! We have not had the honour of an Emperor’s visit in many years!"
"Cyrus..." Jauffre’s voice was weary and using a tone as though he was speaking to a troubled pupil.
"Yes Grandmaster?"
"Introductions will have to wait. We all have travelled a long way and are in need of rest and hot meals before anything else."
"Uh... Yes, Grandmaster."
Cyrus whistled to the handful of Blades facing us, and quickly gestured and ordered them to various tasks and duties. They initially shied away from myself and Viconia, more for the fact that as Viconia slid out of her saddle without her usual grace and agility. The rapid and breathless stream of curses in Drow was enough of the hardened bodyguards of the Emperor to hesitate in rendering her any form of assistance as she staggered bow legged from her horse. Complaining of chafing and cursing every man, mer, daedra, plant and creature in existence in an increasingly lengthy list that never seemed to repeat itself she refused all attempts of help, forcing her back straight and legs back into a normal position with little hint at the pain that we all were feeling.
I too more fell out of the saddle than clambered down gracefully, more sore than what I had been in years since my initial Legion training and feeling like a group of orcs had taken great pleasure in beating me with clubs all over my body. Everything everywhere hurt and I felt like I could sleep for an entire week as I forced myself to ignore the fact that the chafing and rubbing had split the skin in places that would prove difficult to heal or not aggravate further.
The gates behind us closed with groans of cold wood and steel, our panting horses led off to the small stable built on top of the walls while we as a group we lead away with what was obviously a guard of honour. Grunting, cursing and grimacing with pain and fatigue we all made our way inside the central hall built into the side of the mountain, feeling some relief from the howling winds of the Jeral’s by the sight of a roaring fire in a stone heath.
Viconia and I were led into a bunkhouse that was more barracks than anything, while Jauffre and Martin were led in different directions to quarters obviously set aside for the Grandmaster of their order and whatever accommodation was present for the Emperor or other dignitaries. At that point Jauffre had spared a few words to us, telling us to rest and recuperate and that he would send for us when we were needed. Otherwise we found ourselves guests of one of the most secretive of martial orders in the Empire, a situation that both of us took advantage of fully by passing out into the first beds we were told were ours.
Dawn had broken in the hours after we arrived but neither of us rose for what felt as though an age. Fully clothed and still dressed in our armour we had simply collapsed into heaps and allowed ourselves to be claimed by fatigue. It didn’t matter that the bedding was as Spartan as any self-respecting legion’s; at that point after half a day of riding further and faster than either of us had ever thought possible it was more luxurious than the most pampered Altmer noble’s divan.
It was past mid-day by the time I awoke, feeling somewhat refreshed and entirely in need for a hot bath and some form of restoration magicka to assist with the fact that I hurt everywhere, even in places I didn’t know existed. Taking the advice from the few Blades that seemed to make the Fortress their home I made my way to the bathhouse dug into the stone of the mountain, where some form of heated spring bubbled up from the depths and provided a source of additional warmth, fresh drinking water and the perfect opportunity for heated pools for bathing. The fortress was almost older than the Empire and despite its martial nature it was lived in and comfortable, the signs of countless Blades having made this their home over the centuries right down to the fact that the tiles underfoot were worn completely smooth but hundreds of feet.
Dressed in little more than a fresh set of robes provided by the Blades I felt more human and alive in months, skin blooming with heat and cleanliness after what appeared to be a lifetime of grime and travel was scrubbed off with rough towels. The fortress was extremely well built, styled in the unusual architecture of what I was soon told was ancient Akaviri by one of the several Blades that always seemed to be hovered nearby. I knew that we may be welcomed somewhat into their sanctum but there was no way we were going to be trusted right away, especially with what they saw to be the last surviving heir back under their protection.
I wandered my way through the fortress, looking and studying everything I could with a strange sense of curiosity. It was built with defence in mind, from the source of incorruptible drinking water from the depths of the mountain to the narrow corridors that restricted the use of swords and other lengthy weapons. Even the two hundred metre cliff face that it had been built inside stopped all but the most desperate or determined of attackers from scaling the "weaker" side. There were storage rooms with ice and freezing enchantments built into the walls and floor containing months and months of supplies and food for a hundred or more soldiers. Other storerooms were filled to the brim with racks of equipment, weapons, armour, arrows and ballista bolts for the pair of siege engines built on the towers adjacent the gate. The walls were thick and rounded to assist in deflecting any form of ammunition thrown at it by the rare few trebuchets and catapults that could be brought close enough to hit them and even a quick glance over the gates revealed ancient but no less potent spells of warding and protection that gave the solid wood an immunity to whatever spells could be brought against it.
It was easy to see why Jauffre had chosen such a place to keep Martin safe. With the Blades defending the walls there would be few foes who would even contemplate a suicidal assault, and the sheer quantity of supplies and equipment stored away meant that Jauffre and the more senior blades had a higher chance of dying of old age than starvation in the case of a siege.
The views were astonishing, allowing a perfectly clear view of the far away Imperial City, the sprawling hub of Bruma and the winding path leading through the Pale Pass to the North and the Skyrim border. The Jerals towered above us with their unscaleable peaks and white caps of snow, and the splashed colours of green and blue mixed in with the rocky grey-brown of the mountains and highlands until it appeared to be little more than an oil painting created by the hand of a master.
The courtyard on the surface level echoed of softly spoken prayers and the sounds of metal on metal as several of the Blades sparred and practiced or taught the newer members of their order. They practiced with bows, swords, shields and were always fully dressed in their signature splint mail armour unless they were undertaking their other duties. Every man and woman in the walls was a fighter of incredible ability but all had responsibilities within the fortress as well. They would cook, clean, maintain the walls and equipment and even the toiling sound of a smithing hammer announced the presence of a blacksmith from a soot-stained smithy built down a set of stair in a lower level. It was a peaceful place to find myself in but the cold wind of the mountains ensured that initially I spent little time outside.
Inside the main hall the temperature was more comfortable and unlike the rest of the fortress it was built for comfort. An enchanted fire blazed away permanently in the hearth on the opposite side to the double doors leading to the stairs and the gates. A handful of tables were arrayed either side, piled with clean plates and eating utensils where a handful of younger looking Blades cleaned up from the lunchtime meals. The smells of cooking meat wafted from the kitchen on the opposite side to the dormitories and bunkhouse, and I found myself realising it was the better part of a day since I had last eaten.
With a plate of various leftovers, I made my way from the kitchen to the roaring hearth were a handful of senior Blades stood and sat around the figures of Jauffre and Martin. They were all in deep conversation and Martin looked a combination of terrified and utterly embarrassed at their attentions. Viconia was there as well, but clearly not taking part in the conversation despite obviously listening in.
"I know you all expect me to be Emperor." I caught Martin say as I walked over to them with a mouthful of roast chicken. "I’ll do my best, but this is all new to me."
He looked over the huddled group and I saw how the Blades around him were senior officers and commanders, highly experienced individuals and most likely the next highest ranks in their order besides Jauffre. "I’m not used to giving speeches, but I wanted you all to know that I appreciate your welcome here. I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days."
"Our focus other than your continued safety and health," Jauffre began, "is to track down these assassins or cultists or whatever they may be and find out the reason behind their attacks. Also we need to find why they went to so much effort to get the Amulet of Kings."
He turned and looked at one of the powerful looking Blades sitting astride a stool that seemed to struggle with his bulk. "Captain?"
The Blade, obviously the commander of the fortress scratched at his scalp with an armoured finger. "We have enough supplies for 10-15 years and I have sent out recall notices for most members scattered throughout Cyrodiil. Over the next month our strength should increase to just over a hundred members."
"Excellent." Jauffre turned to another Blade standing near the roaring fire. "Belisarius?"
"Sir?" The darker skinned Imperial leant with his arms folded across his chest and returned his commander’s gaze, the growl of his Colovian accent turning the word into a snarling "Sahr?’
"What is the progress of the investigations into the murders?"
"Sahr, several of my men had followed up on leads, done the usual questioning and a handful of interrogations but there hasn’t been anything substantial yet. There are always dozens of groups or individuals plotting some form of coup or to overthrow the throne but whoever these people are they have excellent methods of covering their tracks."
"So no leads at all?"
"Not at this time but Baurus is currently in the Imperial City leading the primary investigation. He’s been tracking down the Emperor’s murderers and trying to work out how they knew about the escape route."
"They seem to know an awful amount about us Grandmaster." The Blade who had greeted us in the morning spoke this time, tapping a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "I think we really need to consider the potential of a traitor in our ranks."
"The thought had crossed my mind, but they knew exactly where to find the Amulet of Kings despite only three individuals in all of Tamriel knowing that it was at the Priory." There was an uncomfortable pause as they all suddenly turned and gazed and Viconia and I felt as though I should’ve come armed.
"I can vouch for their trustworthiness," Jauffre’s words snuffed any tension from the room like a cup over a lit candle. "And besides, I hardly expect that they went to all the effort of rescuing Martin and bringing him to us if they were working for the enemy."
He turned and motioned to Viconia and I to come closer to their group and nodded cryptically to one of the younger Blades standing off to the side of the hearth. "Speaking of which, I think it is about time that you two are properly rewarded for your actions."
The young blade returned, carrying a pair of wooden carrying cases beautifully wrought engravings and etched in silver, handing them to the Blades Grandmaster without ceremony.
"We are not big on formalities and barely have any formal rites to speak of when inducting new members into our order." He carefully stood up with both of the chests sitting on a low table near the fire. "However is it customary that each member receives a sword of their own to represent their service to the Empire."
With deft hands he unclasped the locks keeping the thin chests closed, motioning for us to step closer to him and the small group that was suddenly huddled around us. Inside each box, placed in their immaculate velvet interior and wrapped in silken cloth was a single sword of incredible craftsmanship.
"While most Blades would receive a katana, I recognise the unusual situation that has found the two of you in our service. As such we have found weapons suitable for you."
The first he pulled out and reverently slid the protective layers of cloth aside to reveal a gleaming ebony sword that was of such ancient Akavir design that it looked to be more of a rapier than a more traditional katana. Its edge was sharp enough that it almost appeared to be able to cut a candle’s flame in half, and other than the swirled waves that travelled up the edge of the perfectly forged metal there was not a blemish to be seen. Sixty centimetres of beaten ebony had been folded over innumerable times to create a blade capable of cutting a soul in half, light enough to be wielded in one hand and strong enough that there could be little in the world of Mundus capable of damaging such a blade.
"This is Dragonbane." He explained, holding it out hilt first to Viconia who carefully grasped it by the hilt. "It’s one of the oldest and most ancient of our order from before we served the Emperors. Our legends state that this sword was used during the days where our order hunted the great Wyrms of the north and assisted in their eventual extinction. It is now yours to carry."
Viconia’s eyes were alight with pleasure as she felt the weight of the sword and held it as though it had been made specially for her. A savage pleasure filled her face with a warm glow that was almost sexual in nature, giving an almost imperceptible nod to Jauffre as she stepped back.
"And you Kaius, we gift you with Sunchild." He pulled the length of the second blade out of its case, revealing a gleaming hand-and-a-half sword with a curved blade and single edge. From the hilt to the tip it was beautifully fashioned, razor sharp and appearing almost freshly forged despite the fact that it was exceedingly old. Its ruby red hilt had enough space to be wielded with one or both hands and it was inarguably elven-made, formed from a silvery metal that I could not identify.
"This blade is older than the Empire and is unbreakable as far as we can tell." Jauffre and the others laughed among themselves for a moment as I held the sword aloft and studied its incredible quality. "So we’d appreciate it if you didn’t lose it."
"For a blade such as this I’ll come back from the dead." I replied, making them chuckle again.
"Good. You both can consider yourselves to be members of the Blades from this point onwards. While this means that you will be subject to our commands you will be what we consider "free agents". You can come and go as you please and feel free to have Cloud Ruler as your home."
"I sense a "but’ in there somewhere."
"Indeed." Jauffre’s face became stern once more. "We are faced against a conspiracy of unbelievable scope and power and your actions and success thus far has proven more than just your loyalty to the Empire. I believe that we will all have need of you both in the coming weeks."
A ghost of a grin surfaced. "Rest up while you can, I have drafted up official pardons for you both meaning that you won’t have to worry about finding yourselves in jail again for your actions. It will take some time for them to get ratified by the Legion and the Bruma guard, so I wouldn’t go wandering around anywhere for the next few days at least until the paperwork is taken care of."
"So we simply have to wait until we’re no longer branded as criminals?" Viconia seemed to be in brighter spirits with a weapon that matched her cold beauty clasped by her side.
"Indeed, make yourselves at home. I do believe that we’ll be able to find you something productive to do in the coming days."
And so Viconia and I found ourselves with little to do but wander the walls, repairing our equipment and replacing some of the worst pieces with whatever we could find in the dusty vaults and armouries within Cloud Ruler. During the days that followed we found ourselves welcomed by the normally stern members of the Emperor’s bodyguards/spies and it wasn’t long before we both found ourselves being drawn into their training sessions to learn how to wield our new swords. Other times I would find myself within the fortress’s smithy with Ferrum, the Blade responsible for maintaining, repairing and forging new equipment for the order’s members. The aging Redguard had been wielding a smithing hammer since before he could properly lift one and seemed to have the same level of skill in the art of metal as what the rest of the order had with the blades that came from the heart of his forge. Between him and his young Dunmer apprentice they beat and blasted the metal, forging gleaming swords by folding over the same piece of metal hundreds, if not thousands of times over and over again depending on the quality of the materials at hand. Each blade would take months to forge and the only real tradition the order had was that each member would have their own unique blade to call their own. To this regard the main hall was lined with hundreds of swords, each locked to the wooden beams and decorating the ceiling and walls with overlapping edges that still gleamed with sharpness despite the years they had sat still since the death of their wielders.
Between Ferrum’s skill with the hammer and the collection of materials and pre-forged equipment within the fortress, both Viconia and I had ensured that we were outfitted the best we could be. Thick tunics and under layers of cloth would soften the impacts of any blows, and new suits of chainmail forged from a mithril-steel alloy were found that required only minor adjustments to fit us perfectly. My increased strength allowed me to feel comfortable in thicker layers of armour, and after our expedition into Oblivion I now felt more comfortable relying on additional protection as well as the greater agility afforded to me by the vampiric curse. Eschewing a helmet for a combination of mask, coif and hood I could still wield a bow with deadly accuracy but now I appeared more in kin to a Legion archer preparing for a major battle than the light armoured form of a forester. A breastplate of steel with the overlapping protection of a gorget and pauldrons covered my torso and a combination of rerebrace and vambraces for my arms covered my arms. My hands were left free of any gauntlets, instead being covered in the supple grey-black gloves made from minotaur leather. The same material made up most of the underlying padding between the shifting chainmail and cloth tunic and pants after finding several pelts within the depths of the fortress. They had been stored for a long time judging by the potency of the wards within the rooms, but between myself and a female Blade named Jena who seemed considerably skilled as a seamstress and tailor they were soon turned into comfortable clothing.
My lower torso was covered by a set of metal faulds, the bands connected to the bottom of my breastplate with leather straps and buckles and covering down to mid-thigh. Mail chausses were strapped under this to cover the rest of my body not covered by the hauberk. Even despite the nature of the chainmail I soon found myself practicing moving stealthily through the fortress, learning how the materials moved and slid against the skin and cloth. It wasn’t long before I realised that I could glide about without raising anything more than a whisper of sound to betray my presence. Through a combination of my own natural skill gained from a lifetime of hunting and the curse thundering its way in my veins I was just as stealthy in my new suit of armour as what I was in a cloak and minotaur leather tunic.
During the evenings, and more often than not I would find myself spending time with Martin. Both of us felt like outsiders in this group and I appeared to be the only individual that he could converse freely with. The Blades treated him with utter subservience, and other than Jauffre who spent his waking hours organising the thousands of threads of the Empire’s spy network there was no one else for him to simply have a conversation with. Viconia was the only other outsider in this group, but she seemed to prefer her own space unless it involved training with the other Blades in the use of her new sword and definitely wasn’t one for conversation.
Martin and I would spend the evening hours wandering the parapets, or seated near the fire within the great hall and always constantly aware of the pair of fully armoured Blades that seemed to hover like shadows in our vicinity. After losing the Emperor and three other heirs to the throne they were not taking any chances even as their numbers gradually increased with every passing day.
"Nothing seems to bother them much," Martin commented to me as we walked the battlements one evening, casting a weary eye over his eternal protectors. "and I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to it."
"A lot has changed in a few weeks." I replied, feeling the breeze over what parts of my skin weren’t covered in armour and furs. "Just a month ago I was a deserter, doomed to a death by beating or being hung, and you were nothing more than a robed priest of Akatosh."
"Don’t remind me." The level of melancholy seemed to grip him from time to time, not that I blamed him for it. Both of us were remarkably similar ages despite the uncertainty of exactly what year and month I was born and that too gave us both a sense of familiarity. "So much has happened since then, and it makes me wonder what is in store for both of us."
"Blood and fire." I murmured as I remembered the Emperor’s words before his death but not quietly enough as the words made him nod sombrely.
"That is for sure. There is no way that they can simply walk me down there," he gestured to the far off gleam of lights of the Imperial City. "stick a crown on my head and that’ll be the end of it all. There is something darker at play here than simply trying to stir unrest in the Empire."
"Has Jauffre or the others found out anything more?"
He shook his head. "Not much, and I’ve been doing my own reading into the matter." I listened more intently to his words now, knowing that behind the soft spoken exterior there was an incredibly keen mind that absorbed all knowledge put in front of it. This, combined with the fact that the Fortress-monastery of the Blades had a library rivalling the Arcane University in breadth and sheer knowledge ensured that while I spent the day training in the art of the sword, Martin was devouring every scrap of knowledge available.
"As far as any of us can tell, the coronation of the Emperor renews some ancient pact or ritual that involves the Amulet of Kings and the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One. Everything that I have ever known of magicka and daedra has always stated that what occurred to Kvatch was an impossibility. Portals of that scale and size and the conjuration of beasts from Oblivion for such periods of time has never occurred in all recorded history. I know that the destruction of the Septim line and the dimming of the Dragonfires has something to do with it."
"Something will come up."
"Indeed it will. Have you seen Jauffre?" There was a sense of awe in Martin’s voice as he thought of the Grandmaster of the Blades. "He has barely slept and eats at his desk but from there you can almost see the invisible ties binding him to the heart of the Empire. At his whim entire kingdoms could fall and it is almost terrifying watching the sheer power and control the Blades can exert on every corner of Tamriel."
He motioned to the far away lights and the darkened shadow of White Gold Tower. "The Elder Council may rule in the Emperor’s name and think they have power but it truly is the Emperor who rules all. Without the Blades however, that power is built on a foundation of sand."
"They are loyal though."
There was a dark humourless laugh. "Indeed they are. Not that I think I will ever get used to the Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim to the end of my days."
Leaning against the stone embrasures he looked out over the darkened slopes and stared at the lights of Bruma. "I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you and Viconia. You both really do have my thanks."
My own smile was grim in the light but he didn’t seem to notice. "But everyone expects me to suddenly know what to do. How to behave. They want an Emperor to tell them what to do, and I don’t have the faintest idea..."
"You’ll be fine." I reassured him and he turned to stare at me with heavy eyes. "You will be. There’s a lot of strength in you. It took balls to stand beside Viconia and me at the Priory. And from what I hear you were the only one who kept his head when the daedra started coming ove rhte wall of Kvatch. Without you and what you did a lot more people would be dead. You certainly didn’t waver in the face of Oblivion or a group of insane assassins, and so you won’t have a problem with this."
"How do you deal with it?"
"The killing or the uncertainty?" I laughed.
It was my turn to become grim and I looked at him very seriously. "I have been trained since I joined the legion to fight and to kill. What happened at the Priory and Kvatch were far from the first times I found myself with my sword soaked in gore."
"Doesn’t that play on your mind though?"
"I’d be lying if I said that there weren’t nights that I have awoken believing I was in some battle or expecting to find myself in Aetherius. That has been my role in life for almost longer than I can clearly remember. But that is what is expected of those who serve the Legion. We are not the calm soft-skinned beings of the cities and civilisation. We are the killers, the slayers and murderers who sole duty is to destroy those who threaten stability and peace no matter what form they take. Sure, in peace the legionaries may build roads and aqueducts, help repair homes after storms and earthquakes but there is no beating of swords into ploughs. When the whistle blows and formations are called we don our armour and draw swords without hesitation."
"I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you deserted." Martin replied after a time.
"That makes two of us." I replied honesty.
I spent most days training, sparring and learning from some of the greatest teachers and swordsmen in the Empire. The feel of Sunchild was unmatched and as Jauffre had promised the sword seemed nigh-indestructible, taking my poor-attempts of its use without the slightest blemish to show for it. For the time we remained in the fortress I felt my skill grow, and with it a newfound understanding of my new abilities and power. I could hit harder, strike more precisely and move quicker than I could have ever believed possible. This knowledge however made it even more infuriating when nearly every one of the Blades could outmatch me with technique and skill alone.
The thirst however needed to be sated, and I found myself taking leave of the fortress under the guise of hunting. Every few days I would travel through the gates with bow in hand and practice moving through the wilds dressed in my new clothing and armour. Each time I would come back with a fresh kill, either the form of a mountain goat or deer, or some hardy breed of rabbit or quail that seemed to breed in abundance despite the seemingly desolate terrain. Most of the times I slaked my thirst on the animals I hunted, which assisted in keeping my equipment blood-stain free but only went a little way towards keeping the bloodlust at bay. Just over a week after arriving at Cloud Ruler I came across an unfortunate highwayman fleeing from his latest pickings on the road north to the border of Skyrim and the town of Riverwood. Before either of us had realised it he had fired his crossbow in desperation, seeing in me the armoured form of a bounty hunter or member of the highway guards and not wishing to be taken for punishment.
Unfortunately for him however I turned out to be something far worse. Before I had realised what I had been doing I had stepped aside from the flickering crossbow bolt and had borne him down hard under my bodyweight, teeth sinking to the gums in his throat. A moment of struggle and a sudden crack of bone announced that yet again I had underestimated my new strength but it didn’t stop me from draining the broken-necked corpse dry and leaving me disgustingly sated.
The Blades made us feel welcome, even Viconia despite her natural inclination to keep everyone at arm’s length. Between the physical and emotional distance she placed between herself and others she still partook in training with her own new sword and seemed to revel in the challenge of sparring some of the greatest fighters in the world. Even with her natural skill and ability she struggled against most of the instructors, but neither of us could hold a torch to Belisarius’ skill with a blade. He made it look ridiculously easy as he stepped and weaved and parried my attacks without the slightest undue effort, even when fully dressed in his distinctive splint mail.
It was late in the afternoon, nearly a full fortnight since our arrival at Cloud Ruler and once again Belisarius was making a complete mockery of not only my skill with a blade but my unnatural vampiric speed and agility. Time and time again I would cut and slice out only to have him turn aside or flick his own blade against Sunchild, trading blows until I either found myself on my back or with the edge of his katana resting against my throat. This time however he swept me off my feet with a flickering movement while ducking under my strike. He used his momentum to not only knock me down but slice downwards with his magnificent katana. The strike would’ve cleaved my head from its shoulders if not for his perfect control, not once even drawing blood despite how close brought the razor edge to my skin.
"You’re slowly getting better." He said as he assisted in hauling me to my feet. "I thank Talos every day that you aren’t a legionary however."
"Why? Because I would be the one putting you on your arse?"
He laughed, flicking his sword out away from his body in such a way as to remove blood and gore from its surface. Spinning it deftly in his hand he drew the blade across his body, guiding the blunt reverse edge in the web of the hand holding the top of the sheath. Then, in a single smooth motion he reversed the direction of the blade as the tip reached the sheath’s opening, locking it away with a click of metal. It was a single effortless move that he could’ve performed blind and deaf and belied the thousands of hours of practice that he had undertaken in the years of his life.
"Hardly, but unlike those heavy footed bastards you can actually be taught some form of footwork that may save your life. Don’t get me wrong, the legions can and will annihilate anything they face in open battle but if you get the individual soldiers alone?" He shrugged. "It’s a slaughter."
I nodded soberly, the old stories of the disasters over the ages in places like Blackmarsh and Valenwood were told to every recruit as lessons to what happens when the shield wall and formations are broken. Several times in history the light moving Bosmer were able to overcome the cumbersome formations in their homeland with hit and run raids. And in Blackmarsh until the Legion changed tactics and equipment the tribes would simply wait until the legionaries would tire before attacking. Many hundreds of legionaries had lost their lives over the centuries from ill-equipped argonians kicking them into soft ground and marsh where they would drown in the armour or be finished with flashing blades.
"In our line of work it is rare for us to fight together, and so we must rely on fancy footwork and agility before relying on a skin of steel. The legions can rely on their armour because that is what they do. They aren’t fancy Breton knights with their mounted cavalry charges, or orcish berserker rushing headlong into battle. They are the Empire’s mill-wheel of destruction that slowly crushes its foes into powder."
"And if the Blades came together to fight against an even number of legionaries?" I asked him aloud with the rhetorical question.
"In formation the Blades would be slaughtered against a legion shieldwall. We’re good but the legion is designed for a straight up fight. You give us some manoeuvrability however and we’d make it costly at least."
Nearby Viconia was sparring against a pair of the younger Blades, their swords striking and blurring together in streaks of silver and ebony as she held her own against the two agents. It was an even match and Viconia seemed to be utterly enjoying herself with the challenge posed by her pair of adversaries.
"And against the Drow?"
Belisarius openly blanched at that. "I always thought we had the monopoly on skilled fighters in the world, but if they are all like your friend there, then I wouldn’t put a rusty septim against our chances in an even fight."

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