13th of Frostfall, 4E 194
Somewhere between Evermor and the Dragontail Mountains
It was late afternoon when they decided to stop for the day and set up camp. The motley band all set to the task with the lazy ease brought on by years of practice. Kirstiel, the young Bosmer lass, would begin clearing the camp site. The aging Dunmer woman, Evesa, would start setting up the tents. Matthias and Benno would split up and gather wood for a fire, scout the nearby area for any dangers, and bring back any game they managed to see, if their supply of meat was running short.
The four of them were all that remained from the Horley Orphanage. Evesa had managed to get all of the children out of Wayrest before it was lost, and they had stayed together for a couple years after, wandering the area around Daggerfall. Some of the children even found homes, either in the form of parents or apprenticeships. It was probably High Rock's first wandering orphanage, and the partings were always bittersweet. They had all survived so much together, but it made Evesa proud to see the children find new beginnings. New beginnings for all but the three that remained with her.
After the fall of Wayrest, and the eventual dissolution of its guard, Benno had stayed by her side. They'd never heard word from Dirk, though she knew Benno stilled asked around any time they came to a new town. He would grow restless if he stayed in any one place too long, as though he had taken it upon himself to search every corner of Tamriel for his lost twin. Evesa knew that he knew his brother had likely perished when the docks were taken, but was always gentle with the topic around him.
Kirstiel, too, didn't like staying put for too long. Not everywhere was as cosmopolitan as Wayrest had been, and her pointed ears drew unwelcome attention in some isolated villages. She hadn't ever found her dream family, and had been more than happy to stay with Evesa. Benno had started to teach her how to use a longbow a few years ago, and she had taken to it like a fish to water.
Matthias had stumbled his way through puberty on the move. There was never any question about whether or not he would be by Evesa's side when she decided it was time to move on. Benno had taught him to use a sword, though she'd found that while Benno could use his weight to deliver staggering blows, Matthias was more suited to striking quick and fast, and backing off while the enemy slowly exhausted themselves. She had taken it upon herself to tutor him in some of the swordplay she had learned as a girl, in a far away land.
Martial craft was not all that she gave him instruction in. While Kirstiel preferred her bow and a steady wind, and Benno favored a greatsword (or, even better, a hefty battle axe), Matthias proved to be interested in spellcraft as well. She had grown rusty since her days as a spellsword, but sometimes at night, when she felt like it was appropriate, she had started teaching him some of the basics, mostly just the theory. He could call forth the basic streams of fire and frost, but was most interested in conjuration magic. With some hesitance, she had begun teaching him that, too. She had slowly gone over the basics, and had once even conjured a lesser daedroth when they had found a secluded cave, but made sure she stressed the dangers inherent in that aspect of magicka. On occasion, she knew that he could conjure a familiar, a spirit that took the form of a large wolf, though she couldn't ever recall teaching him how to bind anything so temporary. One day, she hoped to teach him much more, but didn't feel that he was quite ready for all of it yet.
They got the camp set up, the fire started, and Benno returned with a medium-sized deer slung over his shoulders. They all set about gutting and skinning and cooking it over the fire.
"Tell us the one about Y'ffre again," Kirstiel begged, breaking the silence. They often passed the time by listening to Evesa tell stories. Everything from chapel-friendly Nine Divines sermons to tales from her girlhood of Boethiah thwarting Molag Bal was fair game.
"I want to hear how Talos took Sancre Tor," Benno insisted.
"That's Tiber Septim," Kirstiel corrected. "The Thalmor say so."
Before the two could get into a religious squabble, Matthias spoke up.
"Tell us about Trinimac and Lorkhan."
She started telling the tale, doing her best to try and add in qualities from all the many versions she'd learned over the years in an attempt to pacify Benno and please Kirstiel. Matthias, she knew, would listen to the old stories, no matter what point of view they were told from. By the time they were done, had eaten and cleaned up, the sun had set.
"We should rest. We'll be at Evermor in two more days, if we leave early enough tomorrow. We can sell the furs and hopefully make enough to buy some more arrows for Kirstiel, and see about fixing the dent in your helmet, Benno."
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Matthias had first watch, as always. As soon as the others were in their tents (Kirstiel and Evesa sharing one, Benno in another a little further off), he dimmed the fire down and began his circuitous walk around the camp. He enjoyed life out here, in the wilderness. He loved his family dearly, although he sometimes wondered what would happen if Evesa should ever find whatever it was she seemed to be looking for in a permanent home for herself. She liked to joke, saying that because he'd been born under the auspices of the Steed, he would never be happy in any one place.
Killing time, he drew his sword from its scabbard. A long, thin iron piece, he always made sure it was sharp and ready, although it had been almost three years since he'd actually had to use it in earnest. A pair of bandits made the mistake of thinking that their little group would make easy pickings. Evesa had taught him a lot of tricks since then, and he hoped that the next time the opportunity presented itself, he would be even more helpful. Last time, Benno had done most of the work.
He sat down on a large rock, just within sight of camp, and set to sharpening his sword. The area around them was mostly forest, though the trees were thin enough that he would be able to see anything coming. To their south, when the sun was up, the Dragontail mountains were visible. He sometimes thought about going there, seeing if he could find whatever coven his mother had been in. What happened after that varied in his fantasies. Sometimes, they would welcome him as an estranged son, and become his family. Most often, and more realistically (very few witch covens tolerated males), he dreamed he would impress them with his command of sorcery before killing them all.
He could see it now: in Evermor, they would find a spell tome. It would contain details of a spell that bound conjured daedra to its caster. He would buy it, or steal it if he absolutely had to, and study it inside and out in secret. He would leave his family in Evermor, knowing that afterwards they planned on heading north and west again, as they had done so many times before, making a giant circle of High Rock. He would move quicker on his own, and it would be less than a week by the time he managed to track down his mother's former coven. They would be hiding out in the cliffs, four or five in number, all wrinkled old hags with long fingernails and yellow teeth.
When they saw him, when he shouted to the clouds who he was, who his mother had been (he never even learned her name, but now, somehow, he knew it as surely as his own), they would call forth their servants. Foul-smelling, fearsome daedra would appear in midair, and they would cackle with the sure knowledge that this young man would perish.
The loss of their smiles, to be replaced by terror and awe, would be the third sweetest moment of his young life. The second would be when he felt the daedra they called bound to his will entirely. The first would be their screams as their own conjurations tore them apart.
When he stood over their remains, victorious, his eyes would be drawn to a pile of skeletal remains tucked away in a small cave. When he approached them, a spectral figure would rise, and greet him as father to son. He would tell him the story of how he had met his mother, and how they had fallen deeply in love, even though it was forbidden. He would cry ghostly tears, tell Matthias how proud he was of him, and how he could finally find his rest, seek out his lost love and spend the rest of eternity with her in Aetherius. As his spirit faded, a piercing shriek would echo through the mountains...
Matthias bolted upright, his sword falling from his lap down onto the ground. As he tried to stand, disoriented, a second scream shot through the dark.
"Benno! NO!"
"Kirsty!" Matthias shouted, grabbing his sword and running back towards camp as quickly as he could. He tripped once or twice on exposed roots, and branches clawed across his face. As he drew near, he heard the sound of steel being drawn and the twang of Kirstiel's bow.
It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the roaring bonfire in the center of their camp. Kirstiel stood on the far side of its light, her back to him, trying to see something out in the night. Standing near the fire, her hands outstretched, was Evesa. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and the flames grew higher towards her palms; she was obviously responsible for the blaze.
"Kirsty! Evesa! What's happening? Where's Benno?"
Kirsty spun around to look at him, her bow pointing right at his chest.
"Matthias? Oh, Matthias!" She lowered her bow, took a step towards him, and---
Her headless body collapsed to the ground, blood fountaining through the air to land in a hiss on the fire.
"Kirstiel!" Evesa cried, her concentration breaking, the fire sputtering back down. In the dimmed lighting, Matthias could make out a massive figure skulking just out of his night-blinded view.
"Benno? Is that you?" he asked, stunned. In response the figure stepped forward into the light.
It was Benno. Or, it had been. The figure's dead eyes and drooping mouth did not belong to the vibrant Nord man that had been his friend for most of his life. Neither did the long, deep gash across its throat.
"Matthias, that isn't Benno, not any more," Evesa stated, backing up so she stood near him, the fire between them and Benno.
"What happened?" he asked, at a loss. Once again, his answer was not given verbally.
A black-robed man walked out from behind a tree near what used to be Benno, in his hands a dagger, still dripping with blood. He took a few steps forward, so the firelight would reveal his face.
"Necromancer," Evesa whispered to Matthias.
"What a mess," the robed man spoke. "Mehrunes Dagon take it all, what a bloody mess. When I saw your camp, I thought I had a fresh batch for my experiments. I slit the Nord's throat, figured I could use him to keep the rest of you in line, but then that blasted elf had to go and shoot me," he gestured down his leg, where an arrow had implanted itself in his calf. "She was a terrible shot, thankfully, but when my thrall moved to defend me, well..."
He limped over to Kirstiel's corpse, and prodded it with the toe of his shoe.
"Completely worthless to me without the head!"
Evesa, who had been silent up until now, held her hand out in front of her, and a ball of fire flew at the necromancer. He quickly raised his left arm, and a barrier of dim light interposed itself between the projectile and himself at the last moment. There was a sound like glass breaking underwater, and he staggered back half a step, shaking his arm as though it had fallen asleep.
"Oh, come on, now. This was supposed to be quick, easy, and relatively painless. That boy there might've had the decency to sleep through it all if you damn elves hadn't made it into a big affair."
The necromancer lifted his right hand into a pointing gesture, and Benno's corpse strode towards them. When it drew close to the fire, Evesa cupped her hands together and flung another ball of flame at it. The thrall staggered, its clothing smoldering.
"Try and slow it down, Matthias! Use your spells," she muttered as she prepared another fireball, which she flung at the necromancer, interrupting whatever he had been casting as he had to ward her attack off.
Matthias took a deep breath and held his left hand out. A stream of frost danced through the air, hitting the walking corpse square in the torso. Frost quickly formed around its limbs, and it slowed as movement became more difficult. Still, it kept coming.
Matthias ceased his spell, his will weakened. He made a gesture with his left hand, and gave everything he had left to one final spell.
The air in front of Benno shimmered for a moment, before an ethereal wolf pounced out of thin air, tackling the zombie to the ground. It started gnawing and biting and clawing; the thrall experienced no pain, and began prying the familiar's jaws off of him. It would slow it down for a while, though. Hopefully long enough.
"I've just about had it. You know what? I don't care if either of you remain intact any longer. There will always be more."
With a flourish of his fingers, the air around Evesa and Matthias grew wavy, and it became difficult to focus on anything. Wraiths, visible only as patches of darker shadow against those cast by the dying fire, coalesced into being, drawing long, wicked looking swords from thin air.
Matthias held his sword up in a defensive posture, as Evesa had taught him. There was a low whining sound, as the spell he cast to bind his familiar faded, freeing Benno to awkwardly rise to its feet.
"What do we do?" he asked, looking at Evesa for a solution, a way out.
"Run. I will be right behind you, just run. Don't stop until you reach Evermor."
"But---"
"RUN!" she commanded, summoning a daedroth in the shape of a pale sword, which she swung in time to stop one of the wraiths from cutting her down the middle.
Matthias took off sprinting. He heard the necromancer swearing in the distance behind him, the sounds of metal on non-metal, the guttural grunts of what had once been Benno, the mind-numbing hisses of the wraiths. What he didn't hear was the sound of pursuit, friendly or otherwise. But she had been clear; he would keep running until he couldn't run any more, and then just keep on running.
He would never forgive himself.
