Vigilant - Chapter Three

• Posted by Solias March 20, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Skyrim - #TSC:Skyrim  #TSC: Long Story  - 1,347 views

  Chapter Three

   

  8th of First Seed, 4th Era 199 – Near Nornal, on the Western Shore of the Reed River, Cyrodiil

  After leaving the Imperial Camp, the squad headed straight for Leyawiin. Staying off the main roads and not really following any existing paths through the forest, they marched in a southwesterly direction until very late in the day, when a suitable place to camp was found. The forests surrounding the Reed River had grown dark well before the group stopped. Luckily, Miben and Cid were very good archers and were successful at picking up several small game trophies as they marched. Rabbit was the main course for their first meal after leaving the Cheydinhal camp earlier that day.

   

  The group established a camp and soon a small fire came to life. Shortly thereafter, three rather fat, freshly skinned rabbits were set to cook and the group settled round the fire to wait for their late dinner. It didn’t take long for the talking to start. Everything from the day’s hunting, to the weather, to plans for tomorrow were discussed. But it wasn’t long before everyone was listening to Cid replay the events of Bastian’s morning. That had everyone, save Bastian, laughing.

   

  After the fun had ended, Bastian asked, “Have any of you seen a Vigilant of Stendarr in the camp before?”, in a quiet, thoughtful tone.

   

  Everyone shook their heads.

   

  “There was one in camp last night, well, this morning. His name is Meelus Mucco. Said he wasn’t an active Vigilant anymore, but a priest. Breton. Older. With silver hair and several scars on his face. He has obviously seen some action.” Bastian recounted.

   

  “What was he doing there?” Asked Cid.

   

  Bastian’s face flushed again. “He said he couldn’t sleep…”, there was a small pause while he found a new sitting position, then he continued, “…because of the forge.”

   

  The group chuckled.

   

  “Well, I slept just fine last night, Bastian.” Reported Miben, trying to make Bastian feel better.

   

  “Thanks.” Bastian flashed a smirk that almost passed as a smile at her across the fire. He turned his gaze back to the fire and added, “He seemed like an interesting fellow though. Even early in the morning, not having had any sleep, he was calm, and even joked once or twice. He wasn’t upset, he was curious, almost concerned about why I was up.” Bastian squeezed his hands in the warmth of the fire. “It was surprising to see a man, a warrior, be at peace like that.”

   

  The rest of the group looked at each other with the same thought. Leave it to Cid to ask. “Are you alright?”

   

  “Yeah, why?”

   

  “Dunno, maybe because you are acting like a love-sick puppy or something.”

   

  “Very funny.” Bastian deadpanned. “But really, he acted like he had no problems at all and if he did that they would simply be taken care of.”

   

  “This one has never known someone like that. Except for Cidius. That one never carries problems for long. He always passes them on to others.”

   

  Cid threw a small chunk of bread toward Rahka. “There! Have my largest care in the world you silly cat!”

   

  The bread fell flat on the ground in front of the Khajiit.

   

  “Shhh!” Whispered Rahka, his hands spread wide, palms down. The rest of the group immediately went silent. Rahka scanned the forest beyond the light of the camp. His feline ears flickering, trying to pick up sounds. He had caught a glimpse of something as it moved inside the tree line. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew it was larger than a game animal.

   

  “What is it?” Whispered Bastian.

   

  “Rahka saw something move just then. Inside the tree line. What it was, this one is not sure of.”

   

  “Where?”

   

  Rahka’s right hand pointed out in front of him, to his right. The rest of the group looked in that direction, Miben readied her bow and began to creep out of the light of the fire, partially to hide herself, but mostly to get out of the light’s glare. Once in the darkness, she began a quiet flanking stalk toward the area that Rahka had pointed to.

   

  After several minutes of scanning, Miben reappeared.

   

  “Bear tracks.” Miben pointed to a spot about 15 yards away from the camp. “Looks like a sow and at least one cub. She’s heading north, maybe for water. We’ll need to keep the fire burning bright tonight and all the fresh meat packed away or deal with their return. We should take the bones a good distance from the camp and bury them as well.”

   

  Tensions eased. While a bear was a threat, an ambush by a group of bandits would have been much worse.

   

  “Alright, let’s get the camp squared away and get some shut eye. Tomorrow will be here soon. I’ll take first watch.” Bastian gave his final order for the night.

   

  “Well, at least there’s not an anvil nearby and we can actually sleep!”, exclaimed Cid as he entered his tent.

   

  “You’re on second watch for that!”

  * * * * * * *

  
  12th of First Seed, 4th Era 199 – North of Blankenmarch, Cyrodiil.

   

  Four days of marching had brought them close to Leyawiin. Bastian decided not to enter the city, but make camp just off the main road leading into Blankenmarch. It was mid-afternoon when they arrived, so the group established a camp. After that Cid was tasked with finding the evening meal and the rest of the group scouted the area, looking for evidence of the large bandit group they were ordered to find.

   

  As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the group met back at the camp. Cid was already there and had a small side of venison roasting of the camp’s fire.

   

  “We should have enough for a tomorrow’s meal too. It all depends on how much Bastian eats.” Reported Cid.

   

  “I won’t pass up venison. Even yours.” Bastian poked back. “Anyone find anything?”

   

  “Nothing.”, reported Miben.

   

  “Nothing.”, reported Rahka.

   

  “Me either. Where in Oblivion are they?”, came Bastian’s reply. “Alright, let’s get some food and we’ll scout some more in the morning - closer to Leyawiin.”

   

  Soon, the sun had fallen behind the distant mountains, the sky was turning shades of gold, pink and red. The air on this night was cool – which was a blessing to everyone save Dar’Rahka, who loved the warmer weather in the southern reaches of Cyrodiil.

   

  After all the preparations were complete, they gathered around the fire waiting for the meat to finish. The fire cracked and popped as pieces of bark exploded with tiny gasps of light and sound. The forest was preparing for night as fewer and fewer wolf howls and large feline roars were heard. The insects began to take over the harmony of the night’s natural musical score.

   

  As usual, the group broke into conversations of one subject or another, but soon the somber tone of their leader was asking the logical question – the one that they all were thinking, but not really focused on. “Does it bother anyone else that we’ve not seen, or heard of, a single bandit, let alone twenty?” Bastian asked poking the coals of the fire with a large stick. “Not a single sighting or mention of an attack or raid.”

   

  “This one hopes that the bandits have run all the way to Elsweyr so we will have to follow them.” Replied Dar’Rahka with almost a purr.

   

  “If they’ve come this far, there should have been some clue. Besides, they’re bandits, someone should have seen them. You can’t keep a group of twenty hidden for that long.” added Miben. “No signs of broken camps, no fresh carcasses from hunting, no empty wine bottles, nothing.”

   

  “Could we have missed them? Are they behind us?” asked Bastian.

   

  “Maybe they have learned to fly or are using airships like those in Elsweyr.” retorted Rahka as he stretched and lay on his back, looking up to the sky. He raised his right hand and started waving it above his face as if it were a bird soaring on a gust of wind. On the third climb of the “bird”, a huge portion of a loaf of bread landed on his head.

   

  “Maybe they’re like that loaf of bread. They fell out of the sky and landed on a Khajiit’s empty head and faded out of existence.” scoffed Cid. “Airships…” he mumbled under his breath turning back to the fire. “They’re brainless bandits that can’t think for themselves, let alone fly. If they were here, we should have seen some sign of them.” Cid finished as he drank the last drop of Alto Wine in the cup he held. He turned the empty cup upside down, stood up with a grumble and said, “Well, m’lady…”, bowing to Miben, “…sir…”, bowing to Bastian, “…and furball...”, bowing to Rahka, “I bid you all a good night. I’m out of wine and tired. So, I shall retire for the evening.”

   

  A reply of “G’night” almost in unison came from the rest of the squad as Cid disappeared into his tent. It didn’t take long for the remaining members of the squad to decide it was time to sleep too, so they each went into their respective tents and climbed into their bed rolls for the night.

  
  * * * * * * *

  
  “Smoke.” thought Bastian in his slumber. “Where is the smoke?” Then his eyes popped open wide and he said aloud “Smoke.” He took a sniff or two and realized he wasn’t dreaming, he actually smelled smoke. He rolled over with a start and saw a bright light through the fabric covering the entrance to his tent. Realizing what he saw, he jumped up and out of the tent in one quick motion, landing on his hands and knees at roughly the center of camp. It was then that he was exposed to a massive heat wave from his left, from the direction of Cid’s tent. He turned to see it completely engulfed in flame. By the time he had gotten to his feet, the tent had collapsed and he could smell it.

   

  Flesh.

   

  Cooking.

   

  He turned franticly to each side looking for something, anything to pull at the burning tent, but the only thing he spotted was the large stick that he had used to poke at the campfire earlier in the evening. It was then that he realized he was the only one standing up.

   

  “FIRE!” he yelled.

   

  He leaned into his tent and grabbed his sword and by the time he stood back up, Rahka and Miben were out of their respective tents and were trying to pull the burning tent apart.

   

  Bastian went in with his sword and was able to get under a large solid piece of the tent’s fur and burlap lining and throw it away to his left. When he turned back toward the remaining parts of the tent, he could see Cid’s body burning in the furthest portion of the tent. Cid wasn’t moving. He wasn’t screaming from the flame. He wasn’t doing anything at all but burning. His clothes were all but gone, flesh had turned black from the flames, his head was black and red and pink all at the same time. Yellow and orange flame danced everywhere on his body, black smoke filling the air above.

   

  The three struggled for several minutes to remove the remaining bits of the tent and using what water they had in their water skins to kill the flames on and around Cid’s body. After the fire was out, they just stood there looking at what remained of Cid. Burnt flesh, muscle, bone, clothes and a few bits of blackened fur from the bed roll. No one could recognize the remains save the three souls that stood around their friend.

   

  Bastian collapsed, ending up on one knee in front of his friend. Miben had her back to the scene, crying, one arm wrapped around her abdomen, the other covering her face. Rahka stood there, panting from exhaustion and smoke inhalation, his black and grey fur all bristly and covered in smoke, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Smoke continued to rise from parts of the tent and the bed roll. As the smoke rose, the smell did as well. After one particular breath, Rahka turned to a nearby stone outcropping and coughed up his dinner from a few hours before.

   

  It was then that they all heard it. “HOW WERE THE FLAMES?” came a faint man’s voice from the direction of the road behind them. It echoed through the valley making the exact source hard to pin down. It was evil and crackling, almost laughing.

   

  Bastian was on his feet running toward the road before the other two, his sword in one hand, the other balled into a fist, his face contorted with rage. His hands were bleeding from broken blisters caused by the fire, but the grip on his sword was tight. Anger and sorrow were overshadowing the pain.

   

  Miben grabbed her bow and quiver as she left the camp, following Bastian. As she ran, she pulled a single arrow from her quiver and then threw the quiver over her head and left shoulder. Once it settled on her back, she put all of her energy into running. Rahka wiped the fur on his face, turned and followed the others out of the camp. He needed no weapons, his claws were bare. A low hiss-growl escaped his mouth through the slightly bared teeth caused by the snarl on his face.

   

  Bastian came to a stop at the road. He looked, and listened, in all directions for the voice that had taunted them. Rahka had overtaken Miben, arriving at Bastian’s side first, he joined the search for the voice. When Bastian heard come up Miben behind him, he gave hand signals, Rahka took off north, up the road, Miben ran straight for the other side of the road to a rise where she could get a better vantage point, Bastian turned to the south and began a swift trot down the road as he scanned in all directions looking for the person who had taunted them.

   

  After a few minutes of searching, Bastian was done with shadow games. “WHERE ARE YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH???!!!” he yelled. Birds from a hundred different trees lept into the grey and dull pink sky of the early morning, but no other sound could be heard.

   

  “Nah, you’re too smart for that, aren’t you? You wouldn’t hang around for us to find you. You’d just stab us in the heart and then run off and hide all nice and quiet, like the frakking coward you are.” Bastian thought as he stood on the road looking and listening. He could barely hear anything over the sound of his heart as it beat in his chest. His head throbbed in unison to the muscle pounding in his chest. He kept scanning, but he knew it was too late. “Oh, I’ll find you…and gods help you when I do.”

   

  Bastian had lost people before - war and battle have a toll to pay. But this, this was not war. This was not a battle. This was a cold-blooded murder. An assassination of his friend. It ripped and tore and twisted his guts like nothing had ever done. He stood on that road with every muscle in his body twitching from the adrenaline that was constantly being fed to them. He tightened the grip on his sword so he wouldn't drop it. This made him acutely aware of the blisters and burns he had received while removing the burning tent minutes earlier. That pain was minor compared to the pain he felt over Cid.

   

  To everyone, this squad was a military unit and Bastian was its leader. In truth Bastian never thought of the others in his squad as subordinates. They were never lower rank pawns that he could send to their deaths without a thought. He treated them as friends and some, like Cid, had become family.

   

  Cid had grown up without a father, like Bastian. It was what had brought them together, what made them close. Cid was Bastian’s best friend and the brother he never had.

   

  Memories flooded in. When Cid had met Bastian’s mother. When Bastian had met Cid’s sister. The vineyard where Cid had grown up in West Weald. The small stream near the vineyard where they had fished. The countless times they had saved each other’s lives. The meat pie that Cid’s mother made everytime Bastian came to visit.

   

  “Eliana! Oh gods, how will I tell her?” The thought of having to inform Cid’s mother of his death slammed down like a boulder. “It will kill her.” He would do it. He would stand there and do his duty and would do whatever was needed to help her carry the weight, and it would rip his heart out all over again.

   

  The longer he stood there, the worse his thoughts got and the less he wanted to move. But move he did. He had to get back to his other squad mates and decide what to do with Cid’s body. After that, he had an assassin to kill.

  
  * * * * * * *

  
  
  Rahka had ran for more than a mile when he came to a stop. He was breathing quite heavily, but he could still hear leaves moving in the gentle breeze. He stopped and knelt to take in the horizon. He was as tense as a bow string. His feline head turned slowly, scanning, looking for anything that gave a hint of motion. His Khajiit eyes took in everything. What his eyes couldn’t pick up, his ears did. There was nothing to be seen – or heard. He raised his head and peered at the sky that only hours ago seemed so peaceful. Now it was dismal, and painful, to behold. Not that anything in the sky had changed. Rahka had changed. Cid was gone and it felt like a piece of his soul was missing.

   

  Rahka was not your typical Imperial soldier. Very few Khajiit are allowed entry into the legions, let alone into a front-line scouting squad. Many of the soldiers saw him as a Thalmor spy when he arrived in camp five years ago. No one would talk with him, no one would train with him, no one would eat with him. Until Bastian’s squad returned from camp one dreary rainy day.

   

  They had gone to their collection of tents and began to unpack when Cid noticed this tiger-striped Khajiit training on a target dummy. Using just his claws. He was quick, precise and deadly. Cid leaned against the support of his tent and watched this dark furball destroy a wooden and straw pretense of a man.

   

  “Do you always fight with your claws?” Cid asked after several minutes.

   

  “No. But one must keep all possibilities open in battle, no?” Came the deep, panting reply.

   

  “So what’s your preferred weapon?”

   

  “Daggers. But I also carry a sword.”

   

  “Mind showing me?”

   

  “With pleasure.” Rahka pulled twin daggers from horizontal sheaths attached to the back of his belt. With them, he was able to inflict more damage with just as much precision. As he continued his demonstration, Cid took the few steps needed to Bastian’s tent and with a peck on the shoulder, invited him to watch. There they stood watching this black and grey Khajiit train and were amazed at his prowess. Looking at each other they knew they had found there newest squad member.

   

  It wasn’t long before Rahka was accepted for more than being a great warrior, but a true friend and trusted soldier.

   

  Five years later, that same Khajiit knelt on one knee mourning the loss of his friend. The first person to see him for who he was and not what boogey man he might be. Dar’Rahka lowered his head and just stared at his feet. He allowed the sorrow to take over and he wept. Tears fell to the cobblestones of the road, creating a small wet splotch on the stones between his feet. He didn’t let anything audible escape, but the tears fell like rain for several minutes.

   

  Then just as quickly as they started, the tears stopped.

   

  “Rahka will kill the one that has done this tonight. This one will do so or he will die trying. Rakha promises you, Cid. This one will have their eyes on his claws for what they have done.” Rahka whispered quietly and sheathed his claws. It was then that he heard a faint, familiar whistle.

   

  The black and grey Khajiit turned and sprinted back toward his companions.

  
  * * * * * * *

   

  Miben could hardly see the ground through the darkness and her tears, but she ran on. She ran toward a higher spot where she could overlook the campsite, the road and a good distance in either direction where the road took its bend.

   

  Her bow was in her left hand, her quiver slung over her back. Through her tears and blurry sight, she spotted a boulder sitting on the rise and decided it was a good spot. It didn’t take long for her to climb and get into a crouched perch that afforded a great view of the bend in the road she had just left. An arrow stood nocked and ready in her sleek, black beauty of a bow.

   

  A gift from Cid.

   

  She remembered when he gave it to her and she felt even worse. Cid was the kind of person that took in all the details and noticed things no one else saw. Like when she was strolling through the market in Bruma heading to an Inn where they would all be eating later that night. She spotted the bow in one of the stalls and let her eyes linger on it just long enough to know she wanted it. Knowing it was too expensive, she didn’t even stop to ask about it. “Ebony. You can’t afford Ebony.”

   

  Cid noticed her admiration, the small little pause, the subtle gleam in the eye, the momentary regret as she continued to walk.

   

  When she returned to her tent that night, the bow was there, along with a new quiver, the same one she now wore over her shoulder. She grabbed them both and bolted from the tent with a squeal, asking where they had come from.

   

  Cid strolled casually out of his tent saying, “The fletcher from the market stopped by here about ten minutes ago. He saw how you admired his handiwork and decided that the second-best archer in the Imperial Legions should be using his finest bow. So, he dropped it off while you were eating.” Cid had one of those silly little smiles on his face as he said it.

   

  “You’re a terrible liar Cidius.” She said as she walked over and hugged him. He returned the hug and whispered, “You’re welcome.”, in her ear.

   

  And now he was gone.

   

  She whispered something under her breath – a quiet promise raised to Y'ffre and Cid – as she scanned the area around the road in the dim morning light. Wiping the last of her tears from her face, every muscle in her body shook and she nearly fell from the rock she was perched on when she heard an all too familiar whistle. Composing herself and jumping down from the rock, she began to walk back toward their camp.

   

  * * * * * * *

  
  When no one answered Bastian’s taunt but the terrified birds, he gave a command; this time a whistle. He turned and walked slowly back to where Miben, Rahka and he had split up. Miben was there when he arrived, Rahka arrived a few moments later.

   

  “Well?” he asked meekly.

   

  “Nothing.”, replied Miben.

   

  Rahka just shook his head.

   

  “Anyone else hurt?”

   

  A combined “no” came the reply. With that, Bastian planted his sword into the soft earth near the road and began to weave a healing spell for his hands. The dull golden-yellow aura surrounded his blistered and bleeding hands. The spell faded before the wounds were completely healed. The bleeding has stopped and there wasn’t a chance for infection, but Bastian didn’t want the injuries healed, they were a reminder. Reclaiming his sword and turning back to his friends, Bastian spoke in a quiet and somber tone, “Alright, let’s get back to camp and look for tracks or clues. Anything out of the ordinary.”

   

  He paused for a breath. “Then we need to prepare Cid for his trip home.

   

  * * * * * * *

  CHAPTER TWO  |  TABLE OF CONTENTS  | CHAPTER FOUR