There was no such thing as silence after a battle. For those who spoke of such things, even those who had participated in such battles there was an absence of noise rather than true silence. I had experienced such things numerous times, especially in the previous months but I was also experienced enough to know that what I was truly hearing in the cathedral at that moment was the lack of fighting.

  It was quieter yes, but it was not truly quiet. Men and women were moaning in pain or weeping at wounded and dead friends and family. Many were simply sitting or standing mutely, unable to comprehend not only the events that had just unfolded but also the fact that they were over. Dozens had died and just as many were wounded but with the banishment of the daedra the shock was already setting in.

  Post battle shock was something that I was not impressed with how regular it was occurring to me but despite its regularity it still hit with full force. Familiarity was not lessening the blow and all I desired at that very moment was to find somewhere quiet and hide away from it all. Instead, experience and a measure of Legion training took over and I futilely wiped at the gore staining my face.

  “Sir Vanevius.”

  Alexi’s expression was one of his very best ‘oh shit’ ones at the tone of my voice and my formality but he still moved with considerable haste over to me. “Sir?”

  “I want everyone who isn’t wounded, a fighter or a healer out of here right now.” Pausing for a moment I looked over the handful of knights closest to me and made a quick count. There weren’t many, but they would have to do. “Sir Antentia?”

  Wearing the dual heraldry of the Knights of the White Stallion and the Order of the Nine, the heavyset Imperial raised his visor. Underneath the layers of metal and leather, the man was sweating and pale but there was still determination in his eyes. “Sir?”

  “I want word sent to the Stallion Lodge. Sir Ramauld needs to put the Order on high alert and we will need additional troops here and to escort the Relics.” My eyes lingered over the bodies nearest to me as the dozens of survivors began realising that it was truly over and alternatively milled around in shock or took the opportunity to flee. Unfortunately, there were dozens dead and wounded throughout the cathedral, including some of those who had only recently come under my command. Strangely enough, in amongst the surprise of being attacked in such a place and by such monstrous foes, at that moment all I could think of was that some of those under my command who had died I didn’t know the names of. One of the dead Knights of the Nine was laying on his back, motionless and with gore slowly pulsating out from the breathing holes in his helm.

  There was something strange in the way that he was laying, his great helm stove in by a blow of a severed arm of a Knight of Iron and out of all the emotions I should’ve been expecting to feel, regret was not one of them. He had been one of the handful of men and women under my command and he had died in the service to me and the Nine and I didn’t even know his name.

  One of the other Knights, wearing the hastily sewn red diamond on his surcoat followed my gaze over our fallen brother and I struggled to hold my composure. Attempting to wipe my face clean of the blood of men and daedra alike, I instead frowned at myself and vowed that I would learn each and every person within the Order of the Nine while gestured between them.

  “Recover the body and the bodies of any others who have fallen. We will honour any wishes for their funerals at the first opportunity, otherwise we will take them to the Priory of the Nine with us.”

  “Yes commander.” The Knight said with a determined growl of approval and I turned away, trying my best to keep my mind focussed and away from the usual darker thoughts that plagued me during such situations. It was something of a losing battle, as I couldn’t turn in any direction without seeing something that left the vampire roiling under my flesh and my fists tightening with a burning rage.

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  Men, women, and children alike had been killed by the daedra and there were very few places that weren’t covered in blood and gore. Tiny bodies were strewn about amongst the adults and all had their parents nearby whether they were wailing and crying or laying just as still. Most of the dead whether they were young or old were in pieces from the fury of the daedric assault, but the number of wounded outnumbered them all. With ever second that passed, the noise within the cathedral was growing louder and louder as those with injuries began to feel the pain over the shock and adrenaline, those without began shouting for assistance and everyone else was shouting to everyone to leave or to let them out.

  Walking over to where the elegant hilt of the Light of Dawn rose out of the bloodstained floor, I saw how there were small measures of calm in the cathedral. Despite everything around them, some of the survivors were sitting or kneeling quietly as they went about triage and comforting others. Some did so without thought or hesitation and I could see men and women of all races and walks of life taking solace in each other’s presence. A noblewoman in a ripped silken dress was holding a pair of commoners close as they wept at the sight of their injured child being treated by one of the priests. Further away, a beggar was tearing a strip of his sackcloth tunic away to use as a makeshift bandage on a wounded city guard and closer to where I stood, a young family sat as one of the priests began seeing to another Knight under my command.

  Mazoga was sitting upright, her legs outstretched as the priest and local man carefully pried her battered armour away to reveal her clothes underneath. Pain it seemed had finally caught up with her and she was sitting quietly, eyes unfocussed and staring and thick, bloody drool flowing out of her tusked jaw. The Auroran’s stomp had been powerful enough to dent orichalcum, and judging by her rasping breathing and the blood she was spitting it had broken ribs as well.

  “Making you a Knight is probably going to be the best thing I’ll ever do.”

  Painfully, her head turned and eyes briefly met mine and there was triumph in her pale expression and unfocussed eyes. The grin was unmistakable, appearing somewhat goofy despite her tusks and the blood dripping down over her chin. She was unable to speak, or unable to decide on what to say and instead made a slight shudder that could be identified as a shrug and looking back down at her outstretched legs. For only a few moments did I linger near her and the couple of people kneeling or sitting close to her, hearing the amazement in the priest’s voice as he noted her injuries and the fact she was still conscious and the relief of the others at she wasn’t dying anytime soon. As I turned, I couldn’t help but smile at the way that the young girl that Mazoga had saved sat as close as she could to her orcish saviour, her mother’s arms wrapping tightly around her and a single, dainty hand only just managing to wrap her fingers around an enormous gauntleted finger.

  The cathedral was slowly beginning to empty of everyone who were only getting in the way and my attentions were moving about to the others who had accompanied me to the cathedral. Falid was standing as still as a statue in a position specially chosen to allow him to respond to any new threats, and Viconia was busy marshalling the remaining, unwounded Men-at-arms to assist their comrades and the numerous other wounded. When her eyes met mine across the gap between us I saw the slight incline of a head and knew exactly who she was referring to and the meaning when she patted the pack on her back containing the Boots of the Crusader.

  Standing almost knee deep in corpses, the young man who had so thoroughly defeated the Auroran’s was truly a statue, his eyes staring and mouth hanging slackly as he looked about the devastation around him. Each of the giant golden daedra were little more than ruined piles of incomprehensible flesh, leaking their silvery gore that floated and evaporated in the air but his eyes were on the mortals who had died attempting to stop them.

  Despite everything else that had occurred and was occurring within the cathedral, the Mace of the Crusader was still flawless and didn’t have the slightest trace of blood or daedric essence staining its flanged head. It was hanging loosely in the young man’s hand, faint traces of witch-light playing up the metallic shaft being the only evidence of the energies that had scoured almost all of the daedra from the Cathedral. With my own weapons sheathed and with a surprising amount of nervousness, I approached the young man who failed to notice my presence until I was almost within arm’s length.

  His eyes were almost entirely white from ever-increasing shock but as I squelched through the thickening pools of blood he turned them at me with an expression that changed from shock, to sorrow, to a sudden and surprising fear. As though it had suddenly burned him as it had Viconia and myself, he dropped the mace into the mess at his feet and immediately bowed.

  “My lord. I… I apologise and submit myself to your judgement.”