Even as I awoke, feeling no less rested mentally despite the overwhelming might that seemed to infuse my limbs the images continued. What was a result of the tortured depravations of my mind succumbed to bloodlust and vampirism and what was the result of witnessing the death of a city at the hands of daedra was strangely difficult to ascertain. With the ceasing of the fighting the legion had turned to humanitarian endeavours, moving through the city and rescuing people from the ruins of their homes and businesses, feeding and performing aid where they could or taking them to help if they could not. Stories of exceptional bravery or luck seemed to travel faster than what word of mouth should’ve allowed, as did those of cowardice and dishonour. The baker who had stood fast in the door of his mill and fended off a score of daedra with nothing more than a rolling pin to protect his family and neighbours inside. The merchant who had chosen instead to take tally of the contents of his strongbox and safe instead of allowing anyone inside of his fortified business. The Fighter’s Guild members who had chosen to make a stand outside the city orphanage and alms-house to give a chance to those inside. The results of their actions in particular were extremely evident by the mounds of corpses that the 18th Cohort had to clamber over to reach the buildings and free the survivors. In places the daedra were piled higher than the orcish legionaries but unfortunately none of the Guild members had lived; their bodies had to be dug out from under the piles of daedric flesh.

  As what we assumed was mid-morning came, fires still raged fiercely and those who had survived either roamed in catatonic states or began the lengthy process of clearing the dead and saving those still alive. Corpses of the daedra were gathered and disposed of using the simple expediency of tossing them into still-burning ruins, legionaries were arrayed in silent rows along the edge of the great plaza and civilians were laid out in the vain attempt to identify those that had died. It was far too easy to see that the city had been slaughtered, utterly annihilated with only one in ten managing to live through the previous 48 hours. The entire population of 90,000 souls were left a handful of shocked survivors in the midst of a cinder.

  I awoke and rose in the middle of the hunched and prone forms of the legionaries of the 17th cohort, many still unconscious from their efforts over the previous day. Some had managed to scavenge enough cooking utensils and chunks of ruins to create makeshift campfires and everywhere I looked I could see survivors of the city mingling with the tough and rugged legionaries. What meagre rations they had were shared amongst everyone present; the morsels of salted beef and pork, hard tack and dried fruits, peas and jerky washed down with brackish water and the inevitable contraband supplies of alcohol that found its way into all legion formations. There was no joyish celebrations or obvious sense of victory that usually came after battles, the survivors having suffered far too much and the legionaries fighting to exhaustion and dying to liberate the city having sapped all sense of accomplishment from the triumph.

  Those who had defended the barricade were present in the plaza which had seemed to be the point where all of the survivors were gravitating towards now that the fighting was over. The tiny handful who had so heroically held the daedra from overrunning the countryside could be seen in their own tiny huddle, their shared experiences setting them apart from the rest who had been trapped in the city. Savlian Mattius and I found ourselves sharing a piece of beef that had been beaten into a stringy mush between someone’s arm and shield, quietly talking to one another about anything random in an attempt not to allow our minds to dwell on what had happened. He was taking the death of the Count particularly hard, as well as the news that all other guard commanders and the Guard Captain were deceased. None of the city’s officials or rulers had survived the siege, and as the Count had no surviving heirs and the only leaders of any note were a handful of guildsmen, priests and burghers the entire responsibility of the city had fallen on him like the weight of the collapsed belltower of the cathedral.

  Centurion Mede had delivered the news and the late Count’s signet ring personally to Savlian, expressing his condolences with honesty.

  “The Legate will eventually come looking for you once things begin to stabilise.” The weariness and sorrow was evident in both of their faces. “In the meantime rest up while you can and you can be assured that the legion is here to stay for the immediate future.”

  The young Centurion was exhausted but refused his body the luxury of giving into the fatigue. Eyes were sunken into their sockets, rimmed by soot, bruised and red from the irritants in the air. His hair plastered to his skull from sweat and the weight of his helmet and padding and I realised uncomfortably how young he really was. Barely even old enough to shave properly, his skin was smooth and only the rough beginnings of a red-brown stubble had begun to spread across his jaw. There was no mistaking though that his talent and determination had pushed him through every obstacle to his current rank and position.

  Savlian Matius was in a similar state as he stared absently at the ring in the palm of his hand. Such a simple bauble represented the full power of a Count and ensured a position on the Elder Council itself. For however long it took for Kvatch to start down either the long road to recovery or to permanent ruin it now rested squarely on the shoulders of a rough-talking guard commander. As someone whose previous responsibilities was to stop smugglers and vagabonds from entering through a minor gate he obviously didn’t seem to relish the prospect.

  The Centurion glanced in my direction and nodded. “As for you Kaius, the Legate has realised you from our service along with your companion. The two of you are free to go wherever and whenever you please.”

  The grin seemed to erupt from his face however as a moment of mirth broke through his grim disposition. “However if you are ever looking for honest work after the Blades has finished with you, there will always be a space in the 2nd for an archer of your skills.”

  “Thank you Sir.” I replied honestly, feeling strange at the idea of serving in a different legion almost on the other side of the Tamriel to the 14th. The idea did have a tiniest amount of attraction.

  “Call me Titus.” He replied, extending a hand and helping me to my feet. “Although I doubt that you two will be able to travel far without having every man, mer and beastfolk lining up to buy you drinks. Take care not to get that drunk in every tavern from here to Akavir that you can’t accept the Empire’s Septim again.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I laughed briefly, shaking his hand firmly and bidding my goodbyes to them both, the conflicted emotions raging inside of my mind as I began the long and arduous task of not only finding Viconia but discovering if our priest still yet lived. There were so many dead, wounded and survivors that finding a single man amongst the chaos seemed almost impossible. Finding Viconia was by far easier however, with the sudden lack of things to kill she had slunk away into a darkened corner from the prying eyes of those wishing to meet and thank the “Heroine of Kvatch”. I too had to pry myself away from those who had heard how the two of us had braved the Oblivion Gate and made it possible for the Legion to come and save them. The praise and attention seemed to be alien to me, as I was never used to being noticed by anyone more than my comrades-at-arms and Viconia especially tried to actively flee from it.

  She was inside one of the buildings along the edge of the plaza, what had once been a tavern of considerable quality and class was now nothing more than the broken ruins where nothing above the ground floor had remained habitable. The second and third floors had broken and fallen in on themselves, leaving a pile of broken bricks, stones, roof tiles and wooden beams to block the staircases and partially hold up what little remained. Inside the ground floor though the stone ceiling/floor of the first level was robust and heavily reinforced, bearing the subsided levels with little strain and leaving the interior surprisingly intact. While not broken by fire or damage, there were obvious traces of the slaughter that had occurred when daedra had beaten down the doors to get at those huddling inside. While none of the bodies remained, the stench of death, blood and voided bowels had ensured that Viconia was the sole inhabitant until I walked inside.

  Carefully picking my way through the remains of the broken door and the shattered remains of the barricade of tables and chairs I walked over to her, keeping my hands visible at all times. Her glance in my direction and sudden and obvious trepidation rain through her like she had been hit with a bolt of conjured lightning and with cold yellow eyes she watched my every move.

  “What do you want Jaluk?” she spat as she leant against the least damaged portion of the bar, a gleaming dagger resting on the scratched surface. She had been carefully pulling her pack and outer layers of around apart and cleaning and repairing them as best she could, using the dagger’s edge to scrape away at the layers of blood.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  Her hair floated in the air slightly as she turned, resting a hand on her shapely hips and sneering while the other drummed her fingers against the daggers hilt. “I doubt it. What is there to talk about?”

  “Why didn’t you leave me in the portal?”

  A moment of indecision gripped her and she froze, staring at me as I moved inside while ensuring a sizable distance remained between us. “The thought had definitely occurred to me.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “No, it’s not.” The cold calculating look in her eyes only grew in intensity. “I watched you tear several errdegahren apart with little more than your bare hands after transforming into Shar-knows-what. While I myself have partaken in the drinking of blood it has only been for ritualistic or religious ceremonies. You ate that thing’s flesh and consumed it in a hunger that I have never seen. Not even from a starved illithid.”

  “I have no idea what an illithid is, but I know what you mean.” I paused, chewing my lip nervously as she seemed to stare into the recesses of my soul. “I am a Vampire.”

  “Vam-pyre?” she asked, brow furrowing and her fingers drumming on the hilt of the knife somewhat slower. She seemed unfamiliar with the word but not of what it represented.

  “There are stories in the Underdark of beasts that hunt in the depths, preying on the weak or those who lose their way. Even the duergar and illithids fear those that prowl the darkness. Bodies are occasionally found drained of all their vlos; their life-force stolen and consumed by the creatures. The bestial slaggiss kill in an orgy of dismemberment while stories of the invisible heethir'ku and their myriad of forms are told in hushed whispers.”

  “You however,” her finger pointed directly at my chest. “You are something different.”

  “I am a vampire. My curse is now to live off the blood of those I kill or feed upon, left to be nothing more than a nocturnal parasite and unable to exist in the sun for the rest of my life.” With a dark snigger I nodded to her. “at least in that regards we almost have something in common now.”

  The sudden look of confusion was not lost on me and she tilted her head. “Unable to exist in sunlight? What nonsense do you speak?”

  “I can’t exist in sunlight. There are dozens, if not hundreds of different tales of vampires throughout Tamriel but there is only one definite fact for certain. Vampires cannot exist in sunlight at all, not for anything more than a handful of seconds.”

  “You lie.”

  “I don’t bloody lie! Why by the Nine would I lie about something like this?”

  “I cannot ascertain your reasons within that enfeebled mind of yours Jaluk, but I know this. While you were sleeping earlier the sun managed to break through the clouds and the smoke for the better part of an hour. That other than the fact to get away from the sycophants that have dogged my steps since entering the city is the reason why I came in here. The light still gives me pain and burns my eyes, but you?”

  Her eyes were narrow and face turned into a snarl. “You bathed in its radiance without the slightest blemish to show for it! You can’t stand before me and say that it can do you harm and kill you. I know what I saw.”

  I stood there stunned, looking between her, out the door and at my hands still clad in their destroyed gloves. For what felt like an age I tried to comprehend what she had told me, trying to believe that she was lying or deceiving me. While she may be harsh and arrogant she was openly honest to the point of blunt rudeness about most things.

  “It matters not.” She said before I could press her further. “I carried your useless body out of that hell as I still have need of you. The fact that you drained that creature is nothing compared to what you did to it and its kindred afterwards. I underestimated you and although I know that you are not the same being as the one that entered my prison a fortnight ago you are still the best chance of me surviving the surfaceworld. This is an alliance of convenience and your eventual betrayal has changed form, not changed in its likelihood.”

  With a dexterous twirl the dagger flipped in the palm of her hand and she slid it into its sheath. “You will betray me, like all the others but instead of hungering for my body you’ll hunger for my flesh and blood.” A bitter laugh echoed in the room. “And this at least explains you actions and strange looks you have been giving me since we met.”

  “I don’t intend to betray you Viconia.”

  “The Man may or may not, but the animal inside you? That’s different. I will continue to accompany you but I am better prepared to face you now that I know what your true nature is.”

  She deftly gathered the pieces of her equipment off the bench, attaching it back to her belt or stuffing it into pouches muttering to herself in her native tongue. “Nindyn vel’uss kyorl nind ratha thalra elghinn dal lil alust.”

  “If we continue to spend time together then I guess I will have to learn to speak Drow.”

  “Good luck with that Jaluk.” Her tone was half superiority and a tiny part challenge, throwing the straps of her pack over a shoulder casually. “Now let’s go find this priest.”