Gathering Clouds, Chapter 11

  • Chapter 11

     

     

     

     

                          Ambarro seemed to get more and more excited the further they got from Tsukikage. He was positively quivering by the time the sky began to dim. Harrow sighed. ‘What are you grinning about?’ he asked. ‘You’ve had that maniacal expression etched on your face for the entire afternoon.’

     

                    ‘Oh, what would you know about it,’ Ambarro sniffed. ‘All you care about is your precious library and your books. For us normal people, however…’ He stretched out his arms and whooped. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever been outside Mount Furiya! Think about that – hundreds of miles of the Jeralls around us, and when we’re done exploring those, there’s the entire capital city still waiting for us!’

     

                    ‘I should have expected this from you,’ Harrow scoffed. ‘We’re not on a sightseeing trip here, dunce. Captain-’

     

                    Diia was frowning as she knelt and examined a cluster of footprints in the snow. The boys stopped their bickering and bent over beside her.

     

                    ‘Something wrong, Diia?’

     

                    ‘At least address the Captain by her rank,’ Harrow hissed.

     

                    Ambarro, naturally, ignored him.

     

                    ‘These prints…’ Diia muttered. ‘A large number of men came through here very recently – only a quarter-inch of snow has settled in the indents. They were heavily armoured.’

     

                    ‘How do you know there’s a lot of them?’

     

                    ‘See these different sizes, Ambarro-to? Combine that with the patterns on the soles of the boots and you can see that at least a hundred different pairs of feet stepped on the snow here.’

     

                    ‘Eh.’ Ambarro scratched his head.

     

                    ‘Captain,’ Harrow pointed to a series of grooves. ‘Look here. They were dragging something with them on a sled. The marks are…’ he squinted and gave a brief estimate. ‘At least seven inches wide and eleven inches deep. Whatever they were carrying with them was heavy.’

     

                    ‘Hmm,’ Diia stood, troubled. ‘We’re around sixty miles away from Tsukikage. By all rights there should be no major settlements for another twenty miles or so. The warlords must be getting bolder, moving in like this.’

     

                    Ambarro snickered. ‘I know I wouldn’t chicken out of going where I want just because of some scary stories about ghosts.’

     

                    Diia tried to be stern. ‘Don’t disrespect the previous Grandmasters’ legacy, Ambarro-to.’

     

                    The black-furred Po’ Tun made a face. ‘Ooh, I’m the spirit of your ancestors, arisen for my bloody vengeance. Fear me, cretins, and flee for your worthless lives…’

     

                    Diia couldn’t help it, and burst out into giggles.

     

                    Harrow sighed again. ‘At any rate, Captain, I wouldn’t worry about it overmuch. The tracks were headed east. They will likely not come within fifty miles of Tsukikage.’

     

                    The Shadeclaws rose and returned to running, their breath fanning out before them in white clouds. Their surroundings cooled rapidly as the sun set, though they paid it no mind – it was twice as cold on the peak of Mount Furiya, and they had lived there all their lives. They were heading steadily down, and by the time it grew truly dark, the air had grown much thicker and some vegetation began to poke from the snow.

     

                    ‘Should we stop for a meal now?’ Diia said as their pace slowed. They slid down a rock face into a clearing.

     

                    ‘As you command, Captain,’ Harrow had strayed a little further ahead, but was still in earshot. He stopped to allow the other two to catch up.

     

                    ‘Sure, Diia!’ Ambarro said cheerily.

     

                    Diia laughed as she noted Harrow’s pained expression. ‘“Diia” is fine, Harrow-to.’

     

                    ‘But Captain, the chain of-’

     

                    ‘Call me Diia, and that’s an order, if it makes you any happier about it.’   

     

                    ‘…yes, Diia.’

     

                    Ambarro melted off a small area of snow with fire from his palm, just enough for the three of them to sit in. He threw a fireball into the centre, then drew his fingers inwards. The fireball flattened out, sticking to the rocky ground without exploding. Through sheer practice, Ambarro’s magic had improved greatly as well.

     

                    Diia nodded appreciatively, and drew a small pot from her pack. She filled it with snow and set it over the fire. Harrow inched off slowly to the side, moving light as a feather. A bolt of electricity shot into the snow, followed closely by his hand. When he pulled it out, he was clutching a stunned snow rabbit by the spine.

     

                    ‘Show-off,’ Ambarro muttered. Harrow ignored him and tightened his grip, snapping the rabbit’s neck. He threw it over to Diia. By the time she skinned and gutted the animal, Harrow had caught two more rabbits.

     

                    ‘Game is quite plentiful here,’ he remarked, tossing his kills over to Diia. ‘The surrounding areas must still be unpopulated.’

     

                    Diia cut the rabbits into chunks, dropped them into the pot, then added a few pinches of salt, oil and soy sauce from her satchel of provisions. Ambarro clenched his fist, and the fire grew brighter, bringing the melted snow to a white boil.

     

                    After a quarter-hour, he released his fist. The fire under the pot dimmed, and Diia set it down. She passed out chopsticks, and the three young shinobi dug into the rabbit stew with relish.

     

                    ‘That was excellent,’ Ambarro sucked a few strips of meat from the tips of his chopsticks. ‘You’re going to make a great wife someday, Diia.’

     

                    ‘Mmpfft…’ Harrow snorted broth out of his nostrils. Does he really not know what that sounded like?

     

                    Diia went completely scarlet under her brown fur as she stammered for a reply. ‘Wha- I- tha- that’s… u-um…. I- ah… A-Ambarro-t-to, I d-don’t think that’s very a-a… appropriate!’

     

                    ‘Eh?’ Ambarro said, grinning at her and looking completely oblivious. Diia's nose was one of the only parts of her face not covered by fur, and it glowed red as a lantern as she grew more and more flustered.

     

                    Harrow shook his head mentally. They’re both utterly hopeless.

     

                    They finished the last of the stew. Diia was in the midst of cleaning the pot when her ears pricked up. ‘Footsteps.’

     

                    Harrow was on his feet, shovelling displaced snow back onto the bare patch of ground, burying the rabbit bones. ‘I hear them.’

     

                    Ambarro waved, and the fire dissipated completely.

     

                    ‘Back up the cliff,’ Diia said urgently, shoving the pot back into her pack.

     

                    With running starts, the three bounded back up the rock face. They each found a handhold and settled in, hanging from the side. Harrow shifted, then turned around to look downwards as the footsteps grew louder, accompanied by voices.

     

                    Barely a minute later, men began to march into the clearing. Armour gleamed under their heavy cloaks. Harrow noted their gear. Pikes and halberds marched first, followed by battleaxes and greatswords. They were dragging something in the middle. He leant forward and squinted. His eyes widened.

     

                    ‘They have catapults,’ he whispered.

     

                    ‘Around a hundred and fifty men, armed for a siege. They’re most definitely not heading for Tsukikage… what could they be after then?’ Diia pondered, her claws digging into the rock.

     

                    There was a large man leading the march. He held up a gauntleted fist and they slowed. Grunting, he fumbled in his cloak and produced a scrap of parchment. ‘Light,’ he commanded.

     

                    A thin Bosmer emerged from the ranks of the foot soldiers. Her robes were barely thicker than silk, but she seemed warmer than any of the other men. ‘As you say, Lord Terse.’ She gestured, and an orb of Magelight materialised in the air besides him.

     

                    ‘Fort Reman is a half-mile from here. We should be there shortly.’ Lord Terse examined the map in his hands and stuffed it back into the folds of his cloak after a moment.

     

                    ‘We march,’ he said grimly. His men looked tired and cold. Most were straining to see in the dark. To their credit, however, they trudged on again without a word of complaint.

     

                    ‘Fort Reman?’ Ambarro cocked his head. ‘Never heard of it.’

     

                    ‘Truly a shocking revelation.’

     

                    ‘Shut up.’

     

                    ‘What are your orders, Cap… Diia?’ Harrow asked, his brow furrowed. ‘If I may – this has nothing to do with our mission at hand, but warlord activity so close to Tsukikage warrants our attention.’

     

                    ‘Fair point, Harrow,’ Diia said. ‘Let’s follow them. Careful, though, they have a mage with them. She doesn’t seem to be using any form of magical detection, but be on guard nonetheless.’

     

                    The boys nodded. As the last man in the march began to fade into the night, the shinobi dropped lightly to the ground and melted into the shadows behind Lord Terse’s little army.

     

                    ‘We’re here, milord,’ the Bosmeri mage said. A cold, grey keep lay before them, the walls surrounding it high and proud, an iron gate barring the way inside. There was a flag flying on top of the battlements, though it was too dark to make out the emblem on it.

     

                    ‘Excellent,’ Terse nodded, though he did not smile. ‘Pass me my horn.’

     

                    ‘Sir? What of the element of surprise?’

     

                    ‘They’ll be surprised enough to see we made it here without having to light torches. I want them pissing their breeches as well. My horn.’

     

                    ‘As you command.’

     

                    The warlord grasped his horn, drew in a full lungful of the cold night air, and blew long and hard.

     

                    Lights flickered around the castle as the note echoed around the mountain, followed by faint, panicked cries.

     

                    ‘Catapults,’ Terse said, his lips drawn tight. The mage gestured, and jars of pitch sprang aflame. The siege machinery groaned and flung the burning jars clear over the walls and into the keep, right into the first few men to burst out of the keep. Their panicked shouts grew into screams of agony.

     

                    ‘Pikemen. Guard the gates. Skewer anybody who tries to pass. Catapults, fire the last few jars. They will send out archers soon, and I want absolutely no trace of light around us when that happens.’

     

                    As the catapults ground to a halt, a winch inside the fort turned, and the gate lifted. Dozens of hastily dressed men rushed out of the keep, brandishing an assortment of weapons. They proceeded to impale themselves on the pikes, which had been painted black and were practically invisible in the night. The pikemen drew back, then stabbed forward again as one. In less than thirty seconds the skirmish was over, with Lord Terse’s forces suffering not even a scratch.

     

                    The line of pikemen were preparing to march into the now open keep when a youthful voice called from the battlements, ‘Lord Brandon Terse of Mount Castor, Lord Gore sends his regards.’

     

                    ‘Tell your master that if he surrenders peacefully, no further-’

     

                    Terse grunted as an arrow whistled through the air and punched into his shoulder.

     

                    ‘Milord!’ The mage bustled over.

     

                    ‘I’m fine,’ the warlord said, his face white with rage. He gestured at the catapult crews. ‘Bring that tower down.’

     

                    Three stones dug into the spire that the voice came from, and the structure collapsed along with a section of the battlements. Terse grabbed the arrow and broke it off by the shaft.

     

                    ‘Slaughter the pigs,’ he snarled, and led his men into the keep. The battle was over by daybreak.

     

                    An old, balding Imperial was dragged into the courtyard, his belly quivering in his coat of fine furs.

     

                    ‘You’ve been living well, my great warlord Gore,’ Terse said, taking his gauntlets off. His hands were the size of spades and covered in coarse hair.

     

                    ‘You inbred gutter mongrel,’ Gore cursed as he struggled. ‘That was my son you crushed under a pile of rubble. You’d better make sure my head comes all the way off, Terse, or I swear…’

     

                    ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t have this coming,’ Terse curled his fingers around the obese lord’s soft, flabby neck. ‘Reman Cyrodiil’s blood runs in my family. His fort was mine by rights, and yet for four hundred years it was your clan that grew fat on this stolen land…’

     

                    He pulled Gore close and began to squeeze, staring into his eyes. ‘I’ve been waiting for this moment for thirty years,’ Terse whispered as he strangled him and threw the limp body to his feet.

     

                    ‘Men,’ the warlord roared as he raised his fist. ‘Today marks the start of a new era. No longer will Clan Terse be confined to a miserable corner of the Jeralls to starve on rats. No longer will we need to kowtow to those that believe themselves our betters. We will grow, and thrive, and any who oppose us will end as the Gores did!’

     

                    Terse’s soldiers began to cheer, raising their fists along with him.

     

                    ‘Tomorrow,’ he continued. ‘We head northwards, to the peak of that mountain, to lands yet unexplored by man! More than a hundred miles of uncharted, untapped land, dripping with potential. I see fear in many of you. You believe those stories, then? Those old wives’ tales of ghosts haunting those parts of the Jeralls? Are the men of Clan Terse such cowards?’

     

                    The soldiers’ cheering intensified to a roar. The Bosmeri mage smiled. ‘You always had a way with your troops, Lord Terse.’ Then she frowned, swivelling her head towards a section of the ruined battlements.

     

                    ‘Is something wrong?’ Terse said, examining her.

     

                    ‘For a moment I could swear I saw a couple of hunched figures over there.’

     

                    Damn her, she’s got good eyes. Diia and Ambarro leapt back behind cover in the collapsed spire. ‘You look worried.’

     

                    ‘I am. This warlord is headed straight for Tsukikage. Imagine what would happen if he found the village.’

     

                    Ambarro shrugged. ‘It’s not that many people. They don’t stand a chance.’

     

                    ‘Yes, but what if they told other people about us?’

     

                    Harrow poked his head out from under the debris. ‘No survivors, Diia. Also, I would recommend that we deal with this warlord before he becomes a problem.’

     

                    ‘My thoughts exactly. Let’s wait until nightfall. With our training, it should be a fairly simple matter to eliminate him in his sleep.’

     

                    The kits clambered down the ruins, careful not to dislodge any loose rocks. Ambarro dropped to the ground first, not noticing Harrow and Diia’s frantic hand signals.

     

                    ‘Whew,’ he said, then turned to see a soldier gaping at him as he stopped pawing through the rubble. He had a silver necklace in one hand and an assortment of jewels in the other.

     

                    Ambarro reacted instantly, his kunai already in his hand. He pounced on the soldier, clapping a hand on his mouth and bearing him to the ground, then stabbed him six times in the neck and chest. The body jerked a few times and was still. Ambarro slipped the dagger back into his hand, a little disturbed at how easy it was for him this time around.

     

                    ‘Whew,’ he said again, grinning sheepishly.

     

                    ‘Ambarro-to,’ Diia chided. ‘You need to pay more attention to your surroundings.’

     

                    ‘I know, I know, I’m sorry.’

     

                    ‘Much, much more,’ Harrow added.

     

                    ‘Do be quiet.’

     

                    The warlord and his men celebrated late into the night, breaking out barrels of fine wine and mead from the cellars. The shinobi made their move once the lights went out, one by one, and the troops settled into the barracks.

     

                    ‘I’ve done reconnaissance,’ Harrow said, returning to the ruined battlements. ‘The target is in the highest tower, where Gore used to live.’

     

                    Diia and Ambarro nodded, and the three descended into the courtyard. Lord Gore’s body was hanging naked from a post, swaying ever so slightly in the wind. Harrow looked at the sight with distaste. ‘It’s one thing to kill a man, another to bandy about his carcass like some trophy.’

     

                    They continued on to the bottom of the lord’s tower. There were two guards posted in front of the door, but they were yawning and heavily drunk. Diia held up a hand, and they stopped.

     

                    ‘I don’t care how drunk they are, if we use the front door, they’ll spot us all the same. Harrow-to and Ambarro-to, you stay here and watch for enemy patrols. I’ll go in through the tower windows. Make sure no one else goes into the tower.’

     

                    Ambarro and Harrow nodded, and Diia hopped onto the tower wall, sacrificing speed for stealth and moving hand over hand instead of bounding up the surface like she did before.

     

                    The uppermost chamber was still alight. Diia paused, then entered the tower from a window one floor below. She stopped, put an ear to the ground, and listened for footsteps. No guards patrolling this floor, at least.

     

                    She crept up, keeping low in case someone decided to use the stairways. A long corridor was at the end, leading to a small wooden door. The target’s chambers, no doubt. Terse had put up a carpet over the stony floor and Diia smiled at that. Thanks for making it easier to sneak around, warlord.

     

                    She stepped on the carpet and it released a high-pitched squeal, so loud the cobblestones cracked. A Po’ Tun’s hearing was naturally sensitive, and Shadeclaw training had honed it even further. Diia groaned in pain and covered her ears, stumbling.

     

                    The door was heaved open. The warlord, still wrapped in his cloak, burst out of the room with his pet mage. Apparently Terse kept her close. They stared at the small, lithe girl clad in a grey tunic.

     

                    Diia’s balance was thrown off by the sudden noise, and it took her an extra second to register the both of them. It took her another precious second to decide which one she should attack first, and yet another to close the distance between them.

     

                    She stabbed down with kunai in both hands, aiming for the gap between Terse’s collarbone and his neck. Her blades bounced off with sharp pings. The man was still wearing armour.

     

                    You’re joking.

     

                    Terse slapped her kunai out of her hands. The warlord was deceptively quick. Recoiling, Diia threw a cluster of needles at the mage, who was in the midst of charging up a spell. The projectiles embedded themselves in her face and upper torso and she winced, losing her concentration.

     

                    By now the alarm had been sounded and the courtyard was awash with light as men pooled out from the barracks. Desperate, Diia lunged at Terse, who was at least four times her size.

     

                    ‘Milord,’ the mage pulled a needle from her cheek. ‘Please move away, I need a clear shot.’

     

                    ‘Do you really think I can’t deal with a scrawny little-’

     

                    His words were cut short as Diia raked her claws across his face, taking off a chunk of his nose. The warlord swung wildly at her, furious. She ducked under the blow and slashed his left ear into ribbons.

     

                    ‘Little bitch knows Goutfang,’ he spat.

     

                    The Khajiit martial art of Goutfang was passed on to them by the Shadeclaws, back when the two cultures dealt with each other openly. Now, though, even most of the Khajiit had forgotten where it came from. It was among the most basic of the claw-oriented fighting systems, and was one of the first things taught to a kit in Tsukikage. Even Harrow knew a trick or two.

     

                        Terse was no slouch himself, however. He spread his hands wide, his entire front an open, inviting target. Instinct took over, and Diia thrust a clawed hand towards his chest, remembering too late the heavy plate he was wearing. Another series of pings sounded. Three of her claws snapped clean off and she felt the joints in her middle finger break. The shock ran straight up her wrist. Suppressing a scream, she cradled the injured digit with another hand.

     

                    I've fought your kind before, see, Terse grinned, wrapping her in his thick arms. ‘That trick works every time.

     

                    It was, Diia would later reflect, hard to reply with a witty one-liner when you were being choked and crushed by a one-ton vice. The warlord tightened his muscles, the steel vambraces on his forearms tearing through her tunic and digging into her back. She felt a rib crack and let out a muffled cry.

     

                    Remember what Master Mokko said about being held. There's always a loose limb somewhere... ready to do some damage! Her right hand was maimed, but her left was still functional. She swept it up behind Terse's back, seemingly returning his embrace. Somehow, she managed to reach the back of his head. She grabbed a patch of skin and tore downwards, ripping out a chunk of blood and flesh. Terse bellowed like a wounded ox. How's that for a trick?

     

                    The warlord's grip slackened for just an iota, just enough for her to slip out. Never give the enemy a chance to breathe. Retaliate immediately.

     

                    Diia spun to the left, pushing away from Terse’s outstretched hands, and jabbed at his right ear with an extended finger. The warlord roared in agony as her claw punctured his eardrum. He flailed wildly, catching her under the stomach with a spiky metal fist. It felt like a blow from a twenty-pound morningstar.

     

                    Diia tasted blood and coughed, flying backwards. One of her splintered ribs was beginning to come loose. She landed on all fours, then let out another cry as a spike of ice carved a furrow in her side. Gritting her teeth, she rolled upright and ran back towards Terse, with the Bosmer glaring at her in frustration. She could hear heated voices and clashes of metal coming up the stairs. Harrow and Ambarro were on the way.

     

                    Focus… focus…

     

                    Terse swung another enormous fist at her. She leapt to the side, then dug her fingers into the gauntlet, holding on with all her strength. The warlord pulled back, bringing her close, then lashed out again at her face. The sudden movement was enough to send spasms of pain through her body, but Diia still had enough sense to dodge. She flattened herself against his arm, then clambered over his shoulder and straddled him from behind, like a child on a piggyback ride.

     

                    ‘Get off me you-’

     

                    Diia’s claws slid out again with a clean snick, and she poked them into the skin under his jawline. The warlord’s breathing grew panicked as he tried to shake her off. He stiffened as Diia opened his jugular in four different places.

     

                    ‘Milord? Lord Terse!’

     

                    The Bosmeri mage howled in rage and bombarded the corridor in front of her with spells, cracking the cobblestones even further. Diia hid behind Terse’s body, using his heavy armour as a shield.

     

                    I can’t hold out much longer. Ambarro-to, Harrow-to…

     

                    The voices and clashes grew louder and louder. Even the mage could hear them now. She turned just in time to see a man tumble to the ground at the end of the stairs, with another child in a tunic crouched on his chest.

     

                    Ambarro twisted his kunai and pulled it out, shouting, ‘Diia! Diia, are you all right?’

     

                    ‘Ambarro-to! Behind you!’

     

                    Ambarro hopped off the body as two bearded men came up the stairs, hefting axes. One of them roared, raising his arms above his head to strike. Then a katana sprouted from his chest.

     

                    Harrow shoved the body down the stairs, tripping some of his pursuers. Then he whirled towards the other soldier. The two exchanged a few blows, the larger man blocking the katana's strikes with the haft of his axe. I thought Akaviri swords were supposed to be sharp, he taunted.

     

                    ‘Sharper than you, at any rate, Harrow replied, then feinted to the right, cut his hand off at the wrist, brought the blade up, and chopped his head off.

     

                    The Bosmer snarled and sent a bolt of lightning snaking towards the black-haired newcomer. Harrow swiped his katana over his body in a crescent arc, deflecting the magic to the side.

     

                    ‘Ambarro, hold off the reinforcements. Use the bodies to barricade the stairwell. I’ll deal with this one.’

     

                    ‘Giving me orders now, are you? No problem… and watch out for yourself.’ Ambarro’s last few words came quietly and hesitantly. He headed back down the stairs.

     

                    The Bosmeri mage sneered. ‘Boy, I’ve been duelling since before you-’

     

                    Harrow sheathed his sword, clapped his hands together, and sent a wave of electrical energy surging towards her.

     

                    ‘What the-’

     

                    The mage threw a hand up, erecting a ward. A slow grin spread over her face. ‘Well now, this is a surprise.

     

                    The young elf frowned in concentration and spread his palms to the side. Bolts of Shock Magicka spun off to the side, rebounding off the walls and approaching her at an angle. A cute trick, boy! The Bosmeri mage called, backpedalling. She waved, extending the ward’s surface, then flinched as some small object spiralled through the air and left a cut on her temple.

     

                    On his side, Harrow smiled. If the shuriken was able to pass through, then most likely the ward does not deflect physical objects.

     

                    He leapt the five metres between them and thrust his hands through the ward. Then he received a hearty kick to the abdomen followed by a blast of frozen shrapnel to his face.

     

                    He slid backwards to a stop at the stairway, moaning. All too obvious, the mage snorted. Do I really look that much of a fool?

     

                    ‘That was some fancy bit of lightning, though,’ she continued, stepping forward slowly, menacingly. ‘I wonder where you learned it.

     

                    No answer. I. Asked. You. A. Question. Boy. The mage punctuated each word with a spell. A globule of fire burned off the skin on his cheek, an icy spear pinned his shoulder to the floor, then another, larger fireball exploded square on his chest. Just... a little longer... Harrow thought, hiding his palms under his sprawled form as he gathered Magicka.

     

                    Interesting fabric your tunic is made of,’ she noted. ‘Bit small for my size, but spell-resistant weaving is rare these days. It would make a fine vest.

     

                    Another spear solidified in her hand as she took aim at his face. His heart sank. I won't make it.

     

                    A throwing needle sang through the air and buried itself in the mage's hamstrings. She stumbled to her knees.

     

                    ‘Harrow-to, now!’ Diia cried weakly.

     

                    Harrow raised his free hand and exhaled, unleashing every last drop of his magic in a blinding torrent of crackling purple and blue. The Bosmer screamed, jittering on the spot, then crumpled to the floor a corpse, her skin cracked and smoking.

     

                    ‘Diia?’

     

                    ‘I’m here,’ she answered, pushing Terse’s body out of her way. ‘Thank you, Harrow-to. You too, Ambarro-to.’

     

                    Don't... thank me, he gasped, a cold numbness settling into his limbs. Magicka exhaustion. My nerves are deadened. You did most of the work.

     

                    ‘Ach, don’t mention it,’ Ambarro said, grinning as he clambered back up to the tower. ‘I’ve stacked the downed guards around the stairway, but it won’t hold them for long. Since the warlord is dead, I suppose we’re done here?’

     

                    ‘Yes,’ Diia replied, picking up her kunai and rearranging her tunic, wincing as Regeneration magic popped her rib and finger joints back into place. ‘Let’s go.’

     

                    Well, what've we learned?’ Ambarro gloated, bearing over a limp Harrow.

     

                    ‘You did nothing. Shut up and give me a potion.

     

                    ‘A cracked rib, inch-deep gashes, heavy burns, frostbite, and various fractured bones, Ambarro summarised. ‘Altogether not the worst assassination for our first time, I'd say.

     

                    ‘Shut up,’ Harrow repeated irritably as he staggered to his feet.

     

                    We'll have to recover on the road,’ Diia said urgently. ‘Let's go before more of them arrive.

     

                    The trio slipped out the windows. Before he leapt, Harrow looked back at the corridor full of bodies, remembering the Nord he had executed back in his test with Jorra. Killing in open combat is so much... easier, he thought. Or is it always this easy after my first? He wasn't sure whether to find that disturbing or comforting. Then he slipped out of the tower and once again disappeared into the night.

     

                    ‘So what did you think, Captain?’

     

                    ‘Hmm. Not too bad for a bunch of kits. Taking down a warlord and his pet mage is no mean feat.’

     

                    ‘Still, they should’ve been more cautious. Getting spotted like that…’

     

                    ‘Come now, they’re still new. The only real complaint I have is that they picked Terse as a target without consulting the Grandmaster or the Council. They could have potentially fouled up other operations involving him in the first place… and now we have to do the clean-up work.’

     

                    ‘This is just a small delay. I think they can last an hour or so without us looking over the shoulder. Speaking of which, Tenri is late.’

     

                    ‘Only by three minutes, my friend.’

     

                    ‘Ah, there you are. Well, how did it go?’

     

                    ‘As we’ve determined before, there were a total of one hundred and fifty-one men marching on Fort Reman, including Terse and the mage. The kits took out thirteen of the men along with the two. I have eliminated the captains in the ranks. All confirmed kills. The remaining soldiers will likely not survive, but we should report their presence all the same’

     

                    ‘And it took you forty-five minutes? Tsk-tsk, Tenri, getting slow, are we?’

     

                    ‘Some of the men had run into the mountains. It took me a while to track them down.’

     

                    ‘No need to poke fun, Nacadi. I’m sure Tenri tried her best to be as swift as possible. Well, now that that’s dealt with, let’s continue with our observation. I certainly hope the kits don’t stir up more trouble…’

     

                    ‘Hah. I remember my first mission. With respect, Captain, I find it unlikely.’


     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

Comments

1 Comment   |   Sotek and 6 others like this.
  • Caladran
    Caladran   ·  August 23, 2018
    That was some battle.  That Bosmeri mage was annoying!