We stood just outside the gatehouse near where the Oblivion Portal once stood, waiting and watching the crowds of people shifting and flowing out of the wounded city for Martin. Most of those who had survived the destruction were choosing to leave the city with whatever they could salvage rather than wait for famine and plague to start running rampant. Legionaries and city guard could be seen at regular intervals, steering the flow and ensuring that fights and arguments were stopped before they could become disruptive and ensuring that the constant stream of men and materiel travelling into the city was not slowed.

  Messengers had been sent telling of the victory and requesting aid for the hundreds of refugees and survivors, the passage of the information helped along by the Imperial watch posts placed every 20 kilometres along every major trading route. These posts, manned by a handful of guards were little more than a bunkhouse, a stone watchtower and stables containing several dozen horses at any time. Messengers would ride a horse between the two, travelling the distance at a canter in an hour, in 30 minutes if they didn’t spare their rides before handing the wax-sealed messages onto the next rider or simply changing horses instead. This system, used since Tiber Septim still strode the earth ensured that messages could travel across the breadth of the Empire in days, in less if the news was important. It wasn’t unheard of for messages being sent from Leyawiin in the far south of Cyrodiil to Solitude in northern Skyrim arriving in less than 2 days that left a trail of dead or broken winded horses along the route.

  I knew that the news of what had befallen Kvatch would’ve reached the Imperial City easily by the time Viconia and I had entered the Portal, and the news of our actions would reach the entirety of the Empire by the end of the week. Even such organisations as the Black Horse Courier would send the word as far and wide as they possibly could. I felt strange at the recognition that would soon be afforded to us, especially when assisted by the fact that I had noticed a young Mage etching our likenesses into wooden slates as we waited for the priest. With a combination of illusion magicka to project our appearances onto the slates she burned our portraits into the wood with a tiny hint of flame from a fingertip, as easily as sketching with charcoal.

  When he finally arrived I noticed the change about him, the reluctance was obvious but he had obviously steeled himself for the journey and the uncertainty of his future ahead of him. Dressed in his ankle length robes, now with the hems permanently stained with the soot and ash dusting the streets and a single rucksack containing personal items, he was almost invisible in the crowds.

  Noticing us as I waved to him, he wandered over, the strap of his pack over one shoulder and looking nervously at Viconia and my appearances as we were both no longer taking chances. Both of us were fully armoured, leather and padded cloth under layers of chainmail, swords and other pieces of equipment making us both appear more as grizzled mercenaries or even highwaymen than the two individuals who had stopped a daedric assault on the city. Dressed in robes and leather boots obviously made specifically for him he seemed comparatively naked, especially in weaponry.

  Viconia had managed to find a set of plated boots and steel greaves as well as a breastplate. The breastplate finally managed to hide a significant portion of her femininity and beauty in a way that simple cloth and chainmail found impossible. I had managed to find a new sword to replace the one I had snapped inside a dremora’s ribcage, and had returned the bow I had fought with to its rightful owner. Lucky for me however I had managed to find a suitable replacement, a double-curved hunting bow made from a compound of bone and laminated wood that would’ve been the envy of Bosmer. Finding new equipment was unfortunately easy due to the fact that the thousands of corpses were being stripped of everything of value in preparation of burial, cremation or entombment. In several places in the city the stacks of grave goods towered over those individuals adding more items to their bulk. Such examples of depressing sights like piles of shoes, almost two metres tall and over twelve wide at the base was unfortunately becoming a common occurrence throughout the city.

  “So this is it then?” Martin said as he wandered over to us and looked every bit as nervous as I expected. “I suppose that I don’t have a choice in all this?”

  “Not in the slightest.” I replied.

  Viconia looked up from where she leant against the towering city walls. “You’re coming to Chorrol if I have to drag your unconscious body by the ankles all the way there.”

  Martin went to laugh until he saw that she wasn’t joking but stating a fact. The chill that went up my spine was shared by the priest.

  “She doesn’t seem to like me.” He whispered as he moved closer, keeping an eye on her as she pushed away from the wall and threw her pack onto her back.

  “Don’t take it personally.” I replied, fitting the leather case carrying my unslung bow over my shoulder and holding onto the strap. “She hates everyone. She’s indiscriminate like that.”

  “Should I be concerned?”

  I shook my head, making a noncommittal grunt as I did so. “If she wanted you dead, you’d be dead. We’ll get you to Chorrol and to the Blades.”

  “And then?” He was concerned at my mention of the Blades but not as seriously as he was earlier.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  We set off into the gathering gloom of the evening, leaving the destroyed city and its volcano-like plume of fire and smoke behind us as we retracted the path we had taken from Chorrol. Martin stopped only briefly as we rounded the South-Eastern portion of the walls where the slope of the ground rose up to the plateau, looking back at the city and its gates with what I gathered to be a mental spoken farewell. Together our trio made it several kilometres away from the city, heading north and to the foreboding rolls of green that spread across the horizon, and the rolling mountain ranges of the Colovian Highlands.

  Making camp as soon as darkness fell, I lit a small fire in a tumbling gorge where a stream had long since carved and then dried up hundreds of years before. In amongst the rocks and grass the three of us soon passed out, both Viconia and I mutually choosing not to worry about sleeping in shifts for the first evening at least and allowing ourselves the first proper nights’ rest in over a week. At that point I could’ve fallen asleep on a bed of broken grass and for the first time in days my dreams were blank and empty instead off filled with carnage and blood soaked horrors. Viconia seemed to sleep as though dead but we couldn’t say the same for Martin and as we woke for the first rays of dawn creeping over the horizon he looked even worse for wear. I knew that he wouldn’t have issues sleeping for the night to come after a full day’s march awaiting us and so we quickly ate, drank and began the soul-sapping process of placing one foot in front of the other.

  The first day went well, despite the reduced speed that Viconia and I had grown accustomed to. Martin, while surprisingly fit and not at all what I expected for a man of the cloth was still not used to such overland travel. Viconia especially soon began to grate at the less-than-rapid pace that we set for Martin’s benefit, travelling comparatively less than two thirds of the distance per day that we had managed on our journey to Kvatch.

  For the second evening however I had managed to lead us to a small running stream that had made its way from its birthplace up in the Colovian Highlands. It cut through the rolling hills and between the spires of rock that dotted the landscape, making its lonely way south in amongst the thickening vegetation of the Great Forest taking hold. It was a tiny affair, less than a half a dozen paces across but chest deep in places and providing the opportunity to wash off a week’s worth of travel dirt, daedric ichor and grime that we had accumulated. Taking it in turns we individually stripped off everything, scrubbing ourselves in the flowing water before washing our clothing and whatever else we could the best we could manage. Martin and myself found ourselves sitting near the fire, both incredibly weary from the journey and the occurrences over the previous days. He sat in a kind of stunned silence, looking into the fire as I carefully butchered the trio of rabbits I had managed to hunt during our travel.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I doubt that he was interested in watching me skin and gut the tiny creatures, stuffing their bodies with a collection of pebbles I had found to assist in cooking them in the campfire’s coals. But at that point Viconia was noisily pulling her armour and clothing off piece by piece, muttering and assumedly swearing in her native tongue as she pulled it all off where blood and sweat had stuck it to her skin. I too found more interesting things inside the tiny bundles of offal and fur sitting in front of me as she finally managed to haul her shirt off with a staccato of curses that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Out of the corner of my eye and nothing else I watched her stomp off barefoot in the direction of the creek, her clothes and leather under layers piled up in the crook of her elbow while wearing nothing more than her pants.

  “She’s an unusual one.” Martin muttered as the sound of Viconia entering the water in the darkness at our backs echoed.

  I snorted, poking at the campfire and dragging out some of the burning coals in readiness to cook. “I notice how you didn’t try to stare.”

  “I’m a priest. We’ve above that sort of thing.” there was an amused twinkle in his eye as he regarded me expressionlessly. “What’s your excuse?”

  “I value still having eyes and all my bits attached.”

  He laughed this time, an honest one that was at odds with the way he had been the entirety of the day’s march.

  “How much do you know of the world?” I asked him suddenly, getting the coals and rabbit ready to cook.

  “That sounds as though you have specific knowledge you are seeking.” He watched hungrily as I placed the rabbits into the coals and the smell of their roasting meat was instantly filling the air. “I’m not as knowledgeable as an acolyte of Julianos but I may be able to provide some answers.”

  What do you know of the ‘Velmer’… the Drow?”

  “Ah.” He replied, nodding a head in the direction of the stream. “You want to know more about your companion.”

  “Knowledge is power.”

  “Indeed it is.” Pausing for a moment he motioned for me to pass him a dagger before starting to draw lines in the cleared dirt in front of us. “I only know a little as there is far too much in this world to be known by any one man, but I have read of some of the wonders that exist in Mundus.”

  Carefully, and from memory he drew a fairly accurate depiction of Tamriel and the other realms in their rough approximations. On the map I could see the island of Vvardenfell, Atmora to the north of the Sea of Ghosts and Akavir to the far east of Tamriel.

  “The velmer are unknown to most on the surface. And while I have no doubt that Viconia is one I can’t recollect or even think of any cases where one of their kind has been met on the surface.”

  “But they are known?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but very rarely. Their world is deep under our own, and almost impossible to get to except by the most determined. What little I have read is even the Dwemer, and all their attempts of building a life within the hearts of mountains had only managed to breach into the upper levels of the world that she comes from.”

  Dragging the dagger’s tip through the soil he drew two large shapes through the map, the first covering most of Morrowind, the entirety of Vvardenfell and all of Skyrim, while the other covered southern portions of Hammerfell, all of Cyrodiil and the northern portions of Elswyr and Valenwood. “The Ayleid’s ruled the south during their time,” he said, stabbing the tip into the ground in the lower shape where the Imperial City was located. “But the Dwemer,” the dagger stuck into the heart of Skyrim. “they ruled the depths while the Ayleid’s built into the skies.”

  “I have seen their cities in Vvardenfell.” I replied, tapping at the livid scarring up my arm where wingtips and head of the dragon brand poked through. “One of the Legion’s responsibilities is stopping the smuggling trade of Dwemer artefacts.”

  “Then you have an idea of how deep they carved their mark into the world.” My nod as I thought of the time I took part in an expedition into the ruins of Bthuand seemed to satisfy him. While I was never part of the later missions to explore and guide the mages and scribes, I had heard stories from the other legionaries how it seemed to continue on deeper with ever passage they cleared and dug free of rubble.

  “I’ll put it this way,” he began, picking the dagger up and holding it on a 45-degree angle, point facing the fire. “Imagine that this blade represents the distance between us and Chorrol, and that the hilt represents a Dwemer city. The realm that Viconia is from is rumoured to be from is that deep into the ground it would take you that long just to reach the upper levels. Provided you made it that far against the Nine-only-knows-what lives in the darkness. There are stories of things in the deep places in the world, giant spiders, tribes of mutated cannibals, even tales of dragons. The only beings in all of Tamriel who would have the slightest clue to what exactly lives under our feet are the Dwemer themselves, and they took those secrets with them when they disappeared.”

  “Then how did she find her way up here?” the rabbits were cooking well and I turned them over carefully, watching as the stones heated up inside and roasted the meat fully. “Surely she can’t be the first.”

  “Finding out the answer to that question is up to you to find out I think.” Martin replied honestly. “But truth be told I have only heard of or read about rumours of their kind but outside of their name there is very little for us to go on. That in itself is a clue. The name Drow is recognisable and is known although not as well known as the Velmer. This means that out in the world there are those who have the knowledge of or experienced such things to pass that knowledge along.”

  The silence between the two of us grew as our thoughts became our own, and he stared idly at his sketched map for several minutes as the rabbits sizzled on the fire. “Do you believe that I am the Emperor’s son?”

  I looked over to him to see more than just the night clouding his face in darkness. “I do. I’m almost certain of it.”

  “Almost certain?” for a moment there was flare of what appeared to be hope in his eyes.

  “Well, until you have the Amulet of Kings around your neck and a crown on your head I will still have some doubts.” My grin was enough to lighten his mood slightly. “I’m pragmatic like that.”

  “How are you so certain though?”

  I sighed, stretching out and feeling the breeze on my skin from where I had scrubbed it clean before Viconia had taken her turn. Cooking while filthy was never a good habit to get into if you wanted to not shit yourself to death. “You look like him and you seem to have the same strength as he did.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Only briefly.” I tapped the remnants of the brand on my shoulder again. “I deserted from the legion but got caught and thrown into the Imperial Prison. It just happened that the next day was when he and his guards decided to use the tunnel in my cell to escape the assassins.”

  The rabbits were close to cooked now. “It obviously didn’t work according to plan.”

  “That’s certainly a massive coincidence. You’re either the luckiest man in Tamriel or the Nine are deciding to play with your fate.”

  He saw the shudder that ran through me that had nothing to do with the night-time air. “Your fath- The Emperor,” I corrected myself for a second. “said something similar. Before he died he gave me the Amulet of Kings, told me to find the Blades and that only I could ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion’. I’d almost prefer if it was down to something as simple as pure blind luck instead of being fated by the Gods for some indeterminable purpose.

  I scoffed momentarily. “But then again being that absurdly lucky means I’m probably beholden to Nocturnal and I don’t like the idea of having any deity messing with my fate, whether they be Aedra or Daedra.”

  Soft footsteps echoed from behind us and Viconia appeared by the fire, hair still wet but thankfully wearing clothes and reducing the threat of bodily harm if we looked in her direction. I pulled the rabbits out of the fire, using my sword to lift them out and handing the hot meals to them both. Viconia speared hers with a quick stab of her own dagger, stripping it carefully of flesh with her white teeth and sitting close enough to the fire that the dampness of her clothes dried quickly.

  Martin ate his as though he had been starving for days, his appetite being helped along by the amount of walking we had done and the fact he probably hadn’t had a decent meal since the night before the attack on the city. “I’m terrified that you are both right in this matter, that I am the Emperor’s Heir and that my entire life has been leading to this moment. I think we all prefer to believe that we are the ones in charge of our own fates, and that it is by the whim of gods that we do or experience the things we have.” His own pause was heavy with regret as memories resurfaced that he obviously preferred to keep buried. “But it appears that for the moment at least that the three of us have found our paths crossing. To what end it will lead, will be interesting to see at least.”