His words and the way that he had immediately adverted his eyes from me stopped me in my tracks even more than the way that such a priceless relic had been dropped in such a way. “Judgement?”
There was no doubting the tremor that was coursing through him as he kept his hands by his side and head bowed and I was finding it extremely unusual and confusing how he had faced down two daedric monstrosities without hesitation would suddenly be shaking in his boots at my presence. “For touching a Knight’s weapon.”
Realisation crept into my mind and I looked over the way that his clothing was rough despite the obvious heraldry that he wore. The Shield and Banner arrangement and the coloration meant nothing to me but underneath the blood and ruined bodies, I could see that most of those standing near him were wearing the same markings.
“You’re from High Rock, aren’t you?” I said simply, asking the question despite knowing the answer and without lifting his head for a moment he nodded.
“Yes my Lord.”
He was so nervous that he was practically shaking and finally managed to pull a bandage from the pouches I still wore. Carefully wiping at my face in an attempt to remove the tingling sensation of daedric blood evaporating and the stickiness of human blood, I tried to smile in a way that he would find soothing if I could get him to look up from my boots.
“You have no need to bow to me, and I’m certainly not going to punish someone who willingly took up arms against daedra.” After a moment’s pause and no sign that he was going to raise from his bow, I sighed and finished cleaning my face. “What’s your name?”
“Caleb, my Lord.”
“Just Caleb?”
Slowly, hesitatingly he rose and straightened his back but he refused to look me in the eyes. “Y-yes. I am lowborn, but I suppose if I was to have a last name it would be Farrier.”
“Well Caleb Farrier, I am Kaius Desin, Knight commander of the Knights of the Nine. You did well before as not just anyone takes up arms against daedra, let alone lives to talk about it.”
I saw the way that he mouthed my name with recognition and for a briefest of moments I thought that he would finally look me in the eyes. From my years in the Legion, but more from my recent experiences within the Order of the White Stallion, I knew that the culture within High Rock was considerably different to Cyrodiil. The Breton Nobles ruled and most of the population lived within various feudal serfdoms. Most, such as the young man standing in front of me lived their entire lives as servants to the nobility in comparison to those born in Cyrodiil as a combination of landowners and freemen. They couldn’t own land or property, were forced into the trades of their parents and lived under rules such as the one that he seemed to fear more than creatures from Oblivion.
“My apoligies, but… but are you the Hero of Kvatch?”
Nodding, I saw the way that he seemed to shrink down even further as he registered the movement. If he stood up to his full height he would have been a centimetres or two taller than myself, and despite the fact that he would have close to his twentieth birthday he had a build of a legionary that seemed somewhat at odds to his peasant’s background. Most Cyrodillians, especially Colovians would have been standing tall and proud no matter their upbringing which only served to further highlight the difference between the provinces.
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Ignoring his increasing nervousness, I gestured to the gleaming bodies slowly melting as though they were wax statues too close to a fire. “How did you do that?”
“Do… Do what my Lord?” glancing in the direction of my hand, he shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. The mace is enchanted I believe.”
“It most definitely is. It’s the Mace of Zenithar.”
This time the shock overrode a lifetime, if not entire generations of enforced servitude and he looked me in the eyes, looked to the mace, looked back at me with his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “The Mace… of Zenithar?!”
“Indeed it is. I can fully understand why you grabbed and used it. Hells, I would’ve done the exact same thing but neither I or my Knights can lift the weapon, let alone use it in battle.”
Half strangulated words flowed from between his lips as he tried to look in every direction at once. He looked at me, the Mace, the other Knights scattered about the Cathedral almost several times a second, becoming more and more animated and almost terrified with every passing moment.
“But… But… But my Lord, only a Knight can wield the Relics! It’s heresy for a Lowborn to even look upon one of the Relics of the Eight, let alone touch them! Especially wield them!” His hands lifted up and wiped his own face in the building terror despite my best attempts to calm him and there was no mistaking the way that he took a couple of paces away from the Mace as though it was a venomous reptile. “I have committed an unforgivable sin!”
“I’m lowborn myself.” I said, feeling his feverish gaze return to me as I shrugged and tried to move a little closer to calm him down. “Used to serve the Legion and only recently have I become a Knight. I became a Knight Commander last night and yet I have been present or directly responsible for retrieving five of the Relics. If it is blasphemy then all of Cyrodiil is in big trouble. Right now though I’m more interested in the fact that you somehow used a weapon that none of us can touch to outright kill two creatures capable of fighting a dozen knights on their own.”
“I-I don’t know my Lord! The Ma… the Relic was just lying there and I was unarmed so I took it. I didn’t actually expect to win or do anything but I wasn’t just going to let them kill me.”
“It’s a good thing you did, otherwise it is very likely that Umaril would have gotten his hands on the Mace at the very least.”
Caleb was looking increasingly pale and was even beginning to sway slightly as I tried to comfort or calm him down. His eyes had returned to the dad laying nearby and realisation was beginning to set in. “I’m… I’m just Lord Tussrienele’s personal farrier. I make horseshoes and saddle his horse and he… he… Oh Gods…”
Without warning he dropped to his knees and slapped a hand into a puddle of gore before explosively vomiting and adding to the mess on the polished tiles. I could do little more that glance around with my own anxiety and attempts not to join him as he promptly emptied his stomach until there was nothing left. The whole time between his retching he was babbling in a mixture of sobs and an outpouring of grief and confusion that left me kneeling by his side with a gloved hand on his shoulder.
“They’re dead.” he said finally as the body wracking shudders and sobs finally gave out to his attempts to drag in air into his lungs. “All of them. Lord Tussrienele, Sir Uthsable. Sybilia, Claelc, and Chrius.”
My hand did little more than continue to softly pat him on the shoulder as he dragged in another breath and wiped the stringy drool from his mouth on the back of a stained sleeve. “They fought well.”
“But they still died.” He closed his eyes and I could physically see the way that he was forcing himself to breathe normally in an effort to calm himself. “I’m all that’s left. We only came here today to receive a benediction before leaving for Highrock. They didn’t deserve this.”
With a slight gesture, I waved in the direction of the rest of the Cathedral. “No one in here did. Neither did those in the other houses of worship that have been attacked or the cities that have been besieged by the Daedra.”
“I want them stopped.”
“Good.” I flinched somewhat as he coughed, spat with the bitter taste in his mouth before attempting to straighten up from where he knelt. “As you are without a Lord, and as terrible as this sounds I think you need to come with me and the Knights of the Nine.”
“Why?”
“Because you can wield a relic that no one else can. That makes you special.”
“I guess I don’t have a choice, do I my Lord?”
As his eyes met mine I smiled slightly but there was no warmth in my expression. “We’ll see to the funerary rites of your friends, but no, no you don’t…”
