Sweat was quite literally running off me in streams and dripping from my face, leaving little more than the taste of salt on my lips as I breathed out heavily and bent my arms. As I had for the weeks before I was training alongside the knights and men-at-arms and as the days continued to steadily march along, the intensity of our training sessions increased. There was something strange and unnerving about the way how I had to force myself to remain entirely human while undertaking such exercises, bending the strength of the vampire into the depths of my soul as we all trained otherwise I could have continued on for hours with very little to show for it. Somehow it was calming forcing myself to rely upon my mortal form and strength, even though it left me trembling and sore with exertion.

  “Raise!”

  “Twenty-Nine!” Roared over a hundred throats in a staggered unison of fatigue. I, like the rest of them shouted the number as though words would be enough to force my arms straight again.

  “Lower!” Chanted Carodus a few meters to my right. Despite the fact that a vast majority of the men and women present were more than half his age, the retired Centurion continued to lead the soldiers of the Nine in the training, lowering his body down in the push-up and holding it with only hints of trembling in his aged frame.

  Looking up and over the ranks of people now in a similar position his eyes were ever searching, seeking out anyone who dared to drop to their knees or sag until their bellies touched the grass. Satisfied that no one was doing anything more than shaking and groaning in the effort to keep themselves steady his smirk grew larger. “Raise!”

  “Thirty!”

  “On your feet!”

  In various speeds everyone staggered upwards, panting and sweating in the early morning sun and feeling the coolness of the air and dew competing for space of flesh drenched in sweat. Like Carodus I was one of the first to stand and allowed me to look over the mass of soldiers in front of us. Most were men-at-arms but there were knights scattered about, all dressed in rough, short sleeved tunics and pants that would normally be worn under their armour. To an individual they were all darkened and drenched in moisture, with dirt and grass sticking to places from the various exercises we all had done.

  Carodus as always seemed ready to continue, beginning his usual pacing up and down the rows of soldiers and controlling his own breathing from a literal lifetime of experience. For the likes of myself and the few who had Legion experience this was almost akin to a homecoming but we were also experienced enough to see that his easy confidence and indefatigable attitude was mostly willpower and an utter refusal to show any kind of weakness. I knew that Carodus was the regular patient to Brellin and the other healers and that the only reason why he was able to run the three exercise sessions per day was a huge amount of restoration magicka and stamina potions.

  The training and his role in it however was working exactly as intended. To the collection of recruits, volunteers and the men-at-arms that had arrived with the Duke, the sixty-three-year-old was a relentless elemental force with the sturdiness of a mountain. While Viconia was technically the infantry commander, Carodus would be the one who would lead them in the heat of battle and his every action was bent towards proving to all of them that he could do whatever they could do. If not better.

  It was proving very effective in all manners of ways. Especially the newcomers who for the most part had never received much training at all in Highrock it was quickly bringing them all to something resembling battle readiness. It was also forming many bonds, not only between the men-at-arms and those who were to be their commanders like Carodus and myself but also between each other. Every set of exercises forced them all to split themselves up into groups and forced them to work together. Those who didn’t put effort in or work as a team were collectively punished, and those who worked well and did their best were praised.

  Almost every detail, no matter how tiny was taken from the Legions and it was proving its worth in training the Order of the Nine. In the three weeks since the Duke’s arrival the men-at-arms had been constantly trained, despite the Duke’s and his cronies’ hesitation and utter lack of interest in the infantry and it was beginning to show its worth. Three bouts of intense physical activities every day, one on the crack of dawn, one shortly before mid-day before lunch and a third as night encroached ensured that everyone was in a perpetual state of fatigue and exhaustion but it was improving them all. After each session Brellin and the other healers would use a combination of restoration magicka and fresh healing potions to heal the aches and pains, and in doing so would accelerate the muscle development and fitness of everyone.

  Without magicka we would have been forced to train once, maybe twice a day and alternate the activities each time. Instead the men-at-arms and attending knights improved at an incredible rate, easily growing stronger and fitter in a week than what they would have been able to in over a month. Unfortunately, the fitness, teamwork and mental resilience that the men-at-arms were gaining was about the only true victory that we were having since the Duke’s arrival.

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  Controlling my breathing and looking over the ranks of panting, exhausted soldiers my mind was left to wander. A trick learned during the first weeks in the Legion allowed me to take a step away from the fatigue and pain of my aching body and concentrate on other matters but it wasn’t bringing me any succour. I faintly heard Carodus give praises and advice for some of the soldiers as we began to stretch out our aching limbs, feeling each and every set of exercises that we had just preformed as we did so.

  My mind however was everywhere else. My nerves were especially not helping as with each passing day drew the arrival of the Black Knights every closer, and with it the almost guaranteed conflict that would result. Falid’s stated fact that the Order of Talos would claim the relics was ever fresh in my mind but so far a solution had not presented itself.

  The Duke was a damaging force and the two weeks had seen a mass of desertions and departures of various people. A large number of the labourers and craftsmen had left as a result of the Host of the Horn’s bullying tactics and constant shakedown of coins and wealth and now that they had established themselves they had begun to spread in the local area. In the past week and at the Duke’s behest a number of the knights had left for the nearest towns and villages and had returned with a handful of coffers filled with various coins. If their dealings with those who had been at the priory was anything to go by then there would have most likely been some blood spilt in the process.

  It was infuriating being utterly unable to act or have anything that I could do and every day left me with a little more of my authority scraped away. I knew that there was a growing number of men-at-arms and even knights who were supporting me instead of the Duke, Baron Jaseton and Sir Wirile. The constant efforts of training the Order and ensuring justice for everyone was winning over many, including a handful of the Host of the Horn surprisingly enough.

  There had been too many close calls though. Viconia had been left with a black eye as a trio of ‘unknown assailants’ assaulted her as she walked through the camp one night. No one had been identified or punished and the Duke’s official statement was that it was some of the men-at-arms who were responsible, not to mention his opinion that women were not meant to wander about unescorted anyway. The fact that three of Baron Jaseton’s knights appeared the following morning in the pest tent after ‘falling off their horses’ also apparently had no connection to the attack on Viconia but highlighted exactly what had happened during the night. No one was saying anything, especially two of the knights who were incapable of eating anything more than soup despite Brellin’s skills.

  The incident with Viconia aside, their intrigues were subtle and while there was considerable intimidation and friction between his followers and the Order of the Nine it was steadily growing worse. Tents and personal items would be damaged, men and women would be accosted during the dark hours and every day the freshly built vault in the ground floor of the priory was filling with money.

  “Sir Desin,” Carodus’ voice snapped my mind back inside of my body and I lowered my arms from where I was stretching out the aches as best I could. “Do you have any words for the cohort?”

  ‘Cohort’ was a bit of a stretch as the number of men-at-arms was well over the Legion ‘standard’ of a hundred legionaries, not including the two or three dozen knights with us. I did nod however, shaking my arms out and stepping forward to face them all.

  “An excellent turnout this morning and I hope that you all can see some improvements in yourselves since last week. Today will be formations training in full armour. Don’t dawdle and don’t forget anything because I don’t feel like doing another fifty squat thrusts, I’m looking at you Murir.”

  The tall Altmer, wearing the faded heraldry of the Host of the Horn on his chest gave an embarrassed smile but didn’t have the breath to reply. There was some amused laughter from among the group as it was something of a running joke how the High Elf seemed entirely capable of losing his head if not for the way it was stuck to his shoulders. One of the nearby men-at-arms gave him a light bump on an arm with a fist and I kept my smile hidden at how far they had come in the past weeks. Initially there had been a lot of resistance and suspicion between the two groups of men-at-arms but Carodus’ training and the leadership of those under my command had done wonders breaking the barriers down. The infantry were very close to being ready for battle.

  Unfortunately, the cavalry wasn’t as coherent and other than the knights who had followed me from Leyawiin and the likes of Avita who had joined up before the Duke’s arrival there were distinct groups. Many of the Host of the Horn and especially Baron Jaseton’s knights avoided any of the training like it would infect them with bloodlung or the plague, and many I doubted had undertaken any form of training at all during their time at the priory, if at all in their lives. While there were definitely some who were having their loyalties tested and were choosing to align themselves with the Order of the Nine, I suspected many of them did so because they had been ordered to by Baron Jaseton and Sir Wirile.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the familiar shape of Sepula hovering close enough to show that he was seeking me out, but far enough away that he wasn’t getting directly involved and I held back a sigh. He and his services had been almost entirely claimed by the Duke and while I knew that the scribe held no love for him, his appearance always heralded some task or duty.

  “Centurion Carodus, thank you for this morning’s session. I will see you all for training.”