Eye of the Wind – Ch. 11 – 1: The Battle of Fort Dunstad

  • The hills leveled out into a gently wavering taiga coated with soft snow and ice.  About us the pines shifted and creaked under the weight of their snowy branches.  Yawning, I rubbed my eyes and stretched, vaguely hoping we'd reach the fort before nightfall.  My senses continually blurred and sharpened in the clear air, which was cold and dry.  The sky was an empty, deep blue like early night, though the sun only just passed its zenith.  As we traveled, Derkeethus hummed a nameless tune.  After a while, he rode ahead to grab the reins from my loose fingers.

    "Get some sleep," he murmured, then adding, "You look terrible."  His smirk belied the harsh observation.  Nodding in gratitude, I shifted my weight until I sat steady in the saddle, then, as an afterthought, strapped my belt around the saddle horn.  Nael changed to an ambling gait that was smooth and kept me seated.  For a while I dozed, never quite falling asleep, but never quite fully conscious.

    Hooves on stone cobbles jostled me awake, and I found myself on a wide, empty road intersected by deep furrows forming snowdrifts.  Eater-of-Burrs plodded steadily ahead, the chill tempering his normally fiery temper.  "Your turn, now," I said, matching his pace and switching lead of the horse to my hand.  Burrs tossed his head irritably.  "You promise not to run off?" I asked Derk's steed.  He snorted indignantly, and I draped the leather thongs over his neck.

    "Just make sure he doesn't drop me on the side of the road," my friend rumbled, already half-asleep.

    "Oh, I think a little dip in the snowdrifts might do you some good," I replied cheekily.

    "Not if I send you there first," he grinned suddenly.  Derkeethus' eyes were wide with mischief and he seized me about the waist before I could react.

    "Stop it!  No, no, no not the snow!" I cried, laughing and trying to squirm out of his grip.  With a great heave, he tossed me into one of the deep brows of snow.  Cold flakes seeped down the collar of my jerkin as the Argonian beamed in victory.  I struggled to my feet even as he laughed at me.  "Oh, you only think you've won," I growled, snatching his ankle.

    "Ah-ah.  You're going to have to catch me first!" he shouted, spurring his horse forward.  I stumbled as his trousers were torn from my hand.  I leapt onto Nael, who galloped after our boisterous companions.  What began as a playful chase erupted into an all-out race as we careened down the road.  Snow flew in gouts behind us, and my face frosted in the rooster tail of mist as I gained on my friend.  Nael shook her head and plunged after Burrs, eventually overtaking him.  I reached across to grab Derk's tunic and haul him off the saddle, but my attempt turned into a grappling match.  We pushed and shoved each other, laughing all the while, still riding at top speed--the weight of our quest and concern for Hrefna forgotten.

    I had Derkeethus slipping sideways off his horse when Nael stopped abruptly.  Derk's tunic slipped through my fingers and he fell to the ground.  "That's not supposed to hurt me, Henny," he grunted in pain.  "...Henny?"

    I stared off into the distance, my merriment left behind several yards back down the road.  Ahead two bandits approached a cart with their weapons drawn.  A robed man whose white hair glowed in the bright sun clambered down from the driver's seat with the unease of old age.  Another figure stood in the back of the cart.  Their voices carried down upon a breeze.

    "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

    "What's in the cart, old man?" demanded a Nord sporting a mace and shield.

    "Arneau, is there a problem?"

    "You!  Get out of the cart!  Come on!"

    "I don't understand."

    "Don't understand, he says.  All right, I'll make it real simple.  Unload the goods in that cart, or we'll gut you like slaughterfish," slurred a Redguard with a long, Orcish blade.  At this, I cantered forward to meet these aggressive men.

    "No!  This is all we have!  We're just mages!  We were heading to Winterhold.  Please, these are our only supplies," said the man in the cart.

    "I said get outta the cart, greyskin!"  One of the bandits yanked on the Dunmer's robes, unbalancing him.  Fire exploded from the mer's hands, blasting the bandit in the face.  He yowled in pain, pulling harder on the mage until he toppled over onto his sword.

    "Bradas!" called the old man.

    "Looks like you're outta luck, Arneau," taunted the Nord.  He clouted Arneau over the head, who fell to the ground with a cry.

    "Please!  Just take our things and go!"

    "Too late."

    Naels hooves thundered down the road and I drew my bow.  We had been halfway to the cart when Bradas' body slumped against the railings.

    "No, don't!  Please, just leave me alone!" sobbed the Breton, cowering on the ground against an ice-glossed rock as if it offered protection.  The bandits advanced, their weapons poised to attack while Arneau covered the back of his head with his hands.  As I closed the distance, I saw red flecks dotting the ground and runnels of blood oozing between the man's fingers.

    "I'm afraid we can't do that now, friend," sneered the Nord.

    "You'd flee back to town faster than a Khajiit with the runs."

    "Agh!" howled the Nord in pain as one of my arrows plunged into his left shoulder.

    "What is it?" asked the Redguard.

    "It's one of those bleeding Elves!"  They whipped around to face us, forgetting the old Breton all together.  "Leave no witnesses!"

    "What about snow-head here?"

    "Leave him."  Leaping off Nael, I summoned a sabre cat and knocked an arrow in the same movement.  The cat launched its ghostly form at the Nord, tearing into the arm holding the shield.  As the Redguard charged the beast, I loosed my arrow, catching his arm at the elbow.He was forced to wield his longsword one-handed, which led to sloppy swings that went wide, but he managed to cripple the sabre cat.  Derkeethus caught up at last, drawing his pickaxes and rushing into the fight.  "The Elf is mine!" growled the Nord, hatred in his eyes.  I met his gaze coolly.

    Backpedaling, I loosed another arrow, this time into his foot.  At first I thought the arrow had rooted him to the ground, but he had only paused to viciously break the shaft and tear the arrow from his boot.  For a moment, I stood stunned.  That should have hurt terribly, I thought.  He charged once more, swinging the mace in a heavy arc towards my head, I ducked and spun on my toes around him like a dancer.  "Hold still," he roared, connecting the edge of his shield with my side.  I stumbled, barely managing to evade his weapon as it pounded into the snow.  

    When it struck the road, the triangulated blades stuck fast between the cobbles.  I drew my sword and sliced his throat in fluid movement.  As he fell, I glanced about for the Redguard, but found him lying still under the point of Derk's pickaxes.  Using his boot, my friend pushed against the corpse, dislodging his weapon with a sickening, wet crunch.

    "Where's Arneau?" I asked, suddenly remembering the poor, injured man.  Together we looked for him, though we didn't have to go far.

    "He's here," replied Derk, kneeling near a deceased horse.  The elderly Breton had collapsed in the cold snow, blood coating the ground in a red glaze.  Examining the back of his head, I felt the indication of a concussion where the skull caved inward.  With a sigh, I gutted the bandit's bodies, scattering their remains into the pine forest.  Once that task was complete, I returned to gaze at the still bodies of Arneau and Bradas.

    "What should we do with them?" I asked, somehow at a loss of how to honor their existences.

    "Leave them?  We need to be heading on our way."

    "No, we have to do something.  They didn't deserve to die this way," I said, glaring at my friend for being so unkind to the dead.

    "Very well.  Fine!"  He paused, thinking, "We could leave them in the cart.  Maybe it'll eventually make it to Winterhold and they'd finally complete their journey."

    "That'll do, I think.  Help me move Arneau."  Together we hefted the Breton back into the cart, where we set him as if he were still driving it.  The cold air was assisting in freezing his limbs.  Bradas, the Dunmer, we righted so he remained lounging in the back, waiting for his turn to control the horse.  In all likelihood, the bodies would freeze here, but eventually something hungry would find them, though their spirits would be long gone by then.

    Washing the blood from us with snow, we mounted our horses and continued onward.

Comments

1 Comment
  • Kynareth
    Kynareth   ·  December 15, 2012
    Thank you for those moment of playfulness with our intrepid duo...so easily and naturally written.  I am bummed that it had to come to an end, but Skyrim is that kind of land..."eat, drink and  be merry, for tomorrow we may..."
    I love the way you de...  more