The ground heaved under Trygve and I could feel every shuddering jolt of his hooves striking the ground with the force of a smithing hammer. Every impact drove its way up my legs, through my very bones and into my spine and I swore that he was cracking Tamriel from the force of his charge. This was what he was bred for, the very meaning of his birth and hundreds, if not thousands of generations had instilled this instinctual understanding of his reason for being and he revelled in it. For myself perched in his saddle I could do little more than hang on as tightly as I could as all eleven hundred kilograms of warhorse charged with all the speed that he could muster.

  His size and his strength was what set apart knights from other cavalry throughout the Empire and in en masse there was very little that would be able to stop them. While fully armoured such as he was and with me on his back, he was fully capable of charging a spear wall or Legion shield wall and break it apart and with others of his kind by his side they would ride over the top of any foe. He was one of many horses within the world that had faced down daedra in battle, and while his original rider had been slain during the defence of Leyawiin he had been part of the proof that there was very little that could stand up to knights.

  My entire world though was compressed into a slit half the width of my finger wide across my eyes, a sliver of colour amidst the darkness of my helmet. Besides the rumbling of the ground under Trygve’s hooves I could see and hear little besides my own thunderous heart, shuddering breaths and the creaking and clanking of all the metal that I was clad in. I felt entombed in the layers and trapped within the hindering confines but through the vison slit I could see my adversary, rapidly closing on top of his own armour plated steed. My world compressed even further until all that I could see was our dual lances, the points lowering and aiming at each other’s hearts across the fence separating us.

  For those brief moments before we came together I felt my heart begin to hammer until it threated to burst, my mouth growing dry and my entire body tensing with expectation even as I struggled to keep the tip of my lance steady. It was far too long, far too heavy and far heavier than even the largest of greatswords as the weighted tip wavered and bounced up and down with every stride. There was a flash of realisation and I tried not to cry out as we came together and my world exploded.

  It was as though one of the gods had stepped down from oblivion and punched me in the chest, and not one of the nicer gods but the likes of Malacath or perhaps even Mehrunes Dagon. Even though I tried to twist and roll my shoulder as I had been taught it was to no avail and one second I was seated in Trygve’s saddle, the next my world was transformed into agonised breathing and tumbling green and blue as sky and earth merged as one.

  The second impact on my back and spine drove the last clinging remnants of my breath out of my lungs and despite the vison slit my sight turned to black. My entire universe had somehow managed to shrink even further until all that remained was blackness and a body consumed with agony and I struggled to breathe, let alone move.

  Time itself lost all meaning as I lay on the solid surface that my mind was mistakenly identifying to be the sky and all I could do was lay there, feeling the crawling pinprick sensation across my chest that transformed into a cold spike of pain with every breath. The fact that a rib was broken was somehow less galling than the fact that I could barely move at all, my limbs and body refusing to rise even as I could feel shudders drawing closer.

  Without warning the darkness was wrenched away with a click of metal and I found myself staring up into the clouds, and my armoured opponent looking down over me atop his own steed.

  “How you feeling?”

  “Like I just took a couched lance to the chest.” I said, gasping and groaning in agony as the broken rib or two made themselves felt. “I have broken ribs.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Alexi said good humorously as he twisted and dropped the butt of his lance into the leather holster on his saddle. “You practically threw yourself on it.”

  Before I could finish gathering my thoughts hands were grasping and tugging on my armour and checking me over before carefully lifting me up. If it wasn’t for my vampirism I would have struggled to hear them at all through the thick padding and heavy sallet helm I wore but they seemed content that my injuries were minor.

  “Good thing they gift you legionaries with thick skulls.” A crate was dragged over at his gestured command and another pair of knights moved over and assisted Alexi in climbing out of his saddle. The fact that he was almost perpetually grinning and struggling not to laugh was not helping my painful mood.

  “I certainly would prefer having my feet on the ground. It seems safer.”

  “But you are getting better though. You actually hit me this time and not many people manage that.”

  “Getting myself unhorsed is an instant win for you though, right?”

  “In a tournament maybe, but this is still just training.”

  My helm was tugged free of the grip of the padded coif that had stuck to my scalp with sweat and with it my hearing improved to the point of no longer needing my vampirism to properly hear everyone. Breathing was still difficult but it did become easier as straps were released and leather belts undone and the layers were lifted away from my body. Unlike my normal daedroth scalemail and ebony-mithril breastplate the armour I wore was overwhelmingly heavy and was very close to my total bodyweight. Without vampirism I would have struggled to stand or walk and getting into a saddle, especially on a horse of Trygve’s size was outright impossible. The increased padding also ensured that I couldn’t even reach down to grasp my belt let alone bend over or anything of the sort.

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  “Training is still painful enough.”

  Everyone, including Alexi laughed at my grim humour but they knew that it was true. The men and women assisting us were all Knights of the Nine themselves and had also gone through similar training over the previous weeks. At seventy kilograms, the armour was crude, heavy and unyielding and the padding made it impossible to move but it also ensured that injuries were kept to a minimum. Even using blunted tips on the lances and weaker types of wood that splintered and cracked easily, there were very few days without an injury like broken bones or dislocations.

  Learning to fight on horseback was a challenge and while I enjoyed learning something new I couldn’t help but feel comfortable with my feet on the ground and in my lighter armour that allowed free range of movement. In battle the knights would be wearing lighter, thinner armour in comparison to allow them to change to swords and other close weapons where required but again; the heavy training plate proved its worth. When the time came that we would fight in formation against a true foe, the experience of being weighted down would leave our normal armour feeling as light as cloth.

  Eyeing my battered breastplate where Alexi’s lance had struck it, I could see the dent that had been added to the number it had already gained over the previous weeks and grimaced. As far as I could tell by the pain in my chest, at least one of my ribs were broken, and one or two more could possibly have hairline fractures. Nothing the handful of healers among the people supporting our order couldn’t fix, but it ensured that my lance practice was over for the day.

  It was proving very effective in showing just how deadly it would be on the battlefield. A blunted lance, with the full weight of warhorse, its rider and their collective armour behind it could still break bones through several inches of padding and reinforced plate armour. It was a grim thought in my mind when I considered what would happen when a dedicated combat lance, reinforced with metal and tipped in steel would hit a lighter armed opponent with a tonne and a half of flesh and metal behind it. There was no longer any doubt in my mind how three hundred Knights of the White Stallion had charged into an Oblivion gate through the daedric hordes pouring out of it and won with only two fatalities.

  Despite my misgivings and initial inclination not to learn to ride and tilt, I knew I didn’t really have a choice. As Knight-Commander I would be required to lead the Order in battle and as the Order’s entire strategy revolved around the knights I had to become one of them. Viconia was finding it immensely enjoyable watching my efforts in the saddle, as each and every one of those I had knighted regularly knocked me out of the saddle. Given the time we had available and the increasingly forceful demands for the Order’s assistance from throughout the Empire I was again thankful for my vampirism. It would have taken me months to learn how to ride if not for my unnatural strength and agility and while it was a balancing act keeping such skills hidden every time I sat in the saddle I knew that I was getting better.

  A crude wooden stool was dragged over and a soft, but firm hand on my shoulder lowered me into it. One of the many new arrivals since the Order’s founding, Brellin was a soft spoken Bosmer with far too many lines etched into his face. Wrinkles and ritualistic tattoos covered most of his flesh but unlike many of us he was no knight or soldier despite his proficiency with a sword. Many years before he had been one of the up and coming champions in the Imperial City’s arena until he retired and he had arrived to offer his services as a healer rather than with his sword.

  “Fell off a horse again commander?”

  “You know me Brellin. My boots are better suited tasting dirt.”

  Dragging over his own stool he sat down and began lightly prodding the padded tunic I wore and taking note of the slightest of winces or reactions from myself. “You know this would be a lot easier if you and the other ex-legionaries would actually show pain.”

  “Sounds like a common issue.”

  “Oh it is.” His tone was light as he carefully lifted up part of the tunic and gazed at the fresh purple-black bruising that was already blooming underneath. “Thankfully I could count all the ex-legionaries in this Order on one hand but you all seem to be my regular patients. I thought the Arena was tough, but the way they train you all still astounds me.”

  As I pulled off one of my cotton gloves off with my teeth I felt the chilled touch of his fingers that was not of a result of his body heat. The tingle of magicka and the pressure in the back of my skull spoke of the magicka he was using but instead of a simple restoration spell he was using something different.

  “So how bad is it this time?”

  “Two broken ribs and a pair of greenstick fractures.” He said, gazing at the pulsating collection of muscles, bones, veins and the odd organ or two in my chest. It was always disconcerting watching his illusion magicka strip back the layers of someone’s body with invisibility spells. He had enough control that he could peer inside of someone one millimetre at a time and was skilled enough to be able to identify exactly what the injury or illness was with one hand while directing healing magicka through the other.

  Lowering my shirt and dissipating the magicka that had turned the outer layers of my chest invisible he sighed and gave me an expression of mild annoyance. “I’ve done what I can but I would recommend not taking a lance to the chest until the day after tomorrow. There’s nothing stopping you partaking in normal training but if you aggravate the injury don’t come crying to me.”

  “Thanks Brellin.”

  “No need to thank me Commander. Auri-El guides my hand and brought me here to serve. I’m proud to serve the Knights of the Nine.”

  “And we’re certainly glad to have you. How are your assistants faring?”

  He shrugged. “Malvssa needs more confidence in her abilities but she will become a fine healer. Enronriel is also doing well even after last week.”

  “Finding yourself faced with a sucking chest wound can ruin your day.”

  As he collected his bag and tucked the strap over a shoulder he laughed darkly. “The problem with healers is for the most part we never see, let alone deal with true injuries. Sprains and strains, fevers and sicknesses and maybe the odd plague or two is about the most of it. Many of those who come here seeking to help may find their faith tested, both in themselves and in the Nine.”

  “But not you?”

  Brellin shook his head but the smile was darker. “My faith has already been tested. Numerous times in fact. I share memories of dark times and terrible events and like you and your Knights I am prepared for what is to come. There are others that all I can do is guide and pray for them.”

  “As I have said, I am glad that you are with us.”

  “Thank you Commander. Maybe next time you get injured you could at least act like it for me? It’s disconcerting seeing someone with broken ribs sitting calmly and talking.”

  “I think I suffered a broken bone every week for six months when I joined the Legion.” I replied, rising to my feet and feeling the aching of horribly bruised flesh across my chest. “and I have been injured far worse in the past twelve months.”

  “Legionaries....” He said, this time laughing a true laugh as he bowed and moved on to the next of his patients nearby. “I will never understand any of you.”