Part V: Rebuild, Lead, and Live.
A crisp breeze danced through the desecrated city as three figures emerged from the cold depths of Tamriel. The lead figure grasped a glowing white sword in his gauntleted hand as the trio wound their way through the ruins to the dusk-blanketed beach. The only sound defying the sacred city was the wind whistling through ebony helms and the soft crunch of sand under heavy boots. Arronax looked out over the calm hypnotic water before gripping the boat in an attempt to push it free of its sandy harness. The two remaining soldiers came alongside to help ease the wooden vessel into the sea.
Do not tread the ground like a beast or follow the ocean currents. Take flight, Arronax; join the feathered rulers of the sky.
The Imperial stopped mid-push, stood, and quickly scanned the area. Renwick and Radont watched as their leader's gaze moved awkwardly from horizon to beach then into the city.
"Something wrong boss?" Renwick asked.
"Did... did you just hear that?"
Renwick's slanted eyebrows came together in confusion, "What, the wind?"
Arronax shook his head, "No, that voice, it told me to... fly."
Silence.
Steel is my cloak and magic my blood, I communicate not by voice but by thought. Think and I will move you, breathe a command and I will respond.
Arronax stared at the brilliant white hue of Stradyn as he repeated the line in his head. The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning, numbing fear and an electric excitement both fought for control but neither won. A thread of logic weaved through the emotion and tugged at his attention. Surely that's not possible. Is it?
It is.
The ebony clad soldier dropped Stradyn and jumped back, more out of revelatory shock than of a desire to let go. Radont lifted his eyebrows, Renwick's mouth opened to speak but Arronax was quick to explain his discovery, if only to prove or disprove his madness.
"I think that sword talks, well, not talks but communicates somehow-like I'm linked to him, it, like I'm linked to it. It hears both my thoughts and my spoken words. It said 'Think and I will move you, breathe a command and I will respond'."
Arronax reclaimed the blade from the white sand. "Renwick, loose an arrow at me as if I were a mortal enemy."
"Are you sure," Renwick cautioned, "because I did kill four werewolves with four arrows."
A slight smile tugged at the Imperial's lips as he planted his feet and held Stradyn in front of him, "I'm sure. I'll be fine."
Renwick shrugged and separated himself from Arronax by fifty paces. Radont folded his arms across his chest and watched.
"Ready?" Renwick called.
A nod.
The elf reluctantly procured a wooden arrow from the ebony quiver on his back and notched it. With deliberate slowness he drew back on the bowstring, breathed, and released. The arrow whistled through the air at the Imperial, it was a good shot, a perfect shot. At first it seemed Arronax was frozen, he watched with an expressionless gaze as the arrow sped through the air intent on burying itself between his brown eyes. Then, with the speed of a god, Arronax sidestepped the missile and brought Stradyn down in a blurred slash, Renwick's arrow fell, cleaved in two.
Radont's mouth dropped open. Renwick nearly dropped his bow. Arronax looked at the broken arrow then at Renwick.
"Again," he commanded.
Renwick notched another arrow, drew, and fired. The second arrow met the same fate as the first. A third arrow joined the first two. No matter how fast Renwick unleashed the deadly iron-tipped projectiles Arronax managed to cut or deflect each one with the ease of a skilled sailor piloting a vessel on glassy calm water. The elf let loose his last arrow, the Imperial soldier fifty paces away didn't sidestep, duck, or even blink. With his free hand he snatched the arrow from the air and tossed it casually into the growing pile of hewn bolts.
Renwick slung the bow over his shoulder and marched down the beach. "I think it's time we found us a conquering madman."
"Aye, Nalik will know where to look." Arronax launched himself into the air with a simple levitation spell then dragged Radont and Renwick after him using telekinesis. Through the darkening sky they flew, over clear water, rolling grassy hills, and the peaks of the tallest mountains.
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Captain Barus stood on the battlements of Fort Monmooth looking into the inky night. The silence was unsettling, the breeze that usually rushed off Red Mountain was absent, and no animals of the night would venture near the fort-they knew death was approaching on rotting feet. Despite the lack of breeze, Barus was cold, shivering slightly as he waited for the undead horde.
Barus' eyes widened as the first fireball from an unseen hand illuminated the night. The crackling ball of flame sped towards the battlements casting a flickering glow over the landscape and causing menacing shadows to dance on the outskirts of the light. Barus and the hundred archers braced themselves as the fireball crashed into the high stone wall causing it to tremble under the impact. Heat flared on the soldier's faces as they regained balance. The captain looked back over the wall in time to see a second fireball sprinting towards them.
This time he caught a glimpse of the skeletal mage that cast it. For a brief moment the army of undead was lit by the fiery mass, a handful of mages stood in a tight formation, the rest of the army was either out of range of the light or circling around to the front gate.
"There! Fire there!" Barus commanded, pointing to where the fireball had come from. The archers complied; silence was broken by the twang of bows and the soft whisper of arrows flying towards lifeless targets. Three rounds of bolts were fired before Barus gave the cease fire command.
Silence. Nothing stirred.
"Make ready on the ground!" Barus called to the soldiers in front of the door. The metallic ding of armor being checked could be heard along with brief murmurings. Nalik tightened his grip on the heavy mace and checked the steel kite shield strapped securely to his arm. Three seconds later a magical blast collided with the thick wooden gate. The barricade shattered, sending splinters and beams into the mass of soldiers. Shields were raised to block the wooden shards, when the steel was lowered two hundred pairs of eyes set their collective gaze on the undead army.
Before charging, a skeletal mage cast burden on the human soldiers. The Imperial men-at-arms slowed, swords and maces were heavy in gauntleted hands. The armor that normally saved now became an unbearable hindrance. From the top of the battlements Barus saw his men collapsing and knew immediately what was happening.
"Dispel!" The captain of Fort Monmooth yelled to Ferrick.
The ranking Breton battlemage stationed on an adjacent wall nodded and echoed the command to his band of underlings. The group of armor clad spell casters weaved their hands in the air and threw the magic into the crowd of soldiers. With the burden spell trumped the collapsing soldiers stood resolutely and braced themselves for the charge of undead.
Barus heard the crackling of fire behind him and turned in time to see another ball of flame impact the top of the battlements directly in front of him. This time the magic exploded, flinging archers like rag dolls and sending lethal slabs of brick raining onto unsuspecting soldiers. Barus was knocked backwards but managed to loop his arm around a jagged piece of brick before falling. He dangled over the courtyard for a moment before Ferrick came to his aid with a strength spell. Barus, with the help of the spell, pulled himself up onto what was left of the wall. The Imperial clenched his teeth and unsheathed his sword. The horde would pay for that. This was his fort and those were his men, undead or not the enemy would feel the wrath of his blade and the sting of his fury.
"Concentrate your fire on those mages," Barus commanded over his shoulder to the remnant of archers as he sprinted down the stairs.
Captain Barus' steel boots touched the soft Tamriel earth as the first wave of undead engaged his soldiers. The Imperial Legionaries were well trained but the horde had superior numbers. Like a horizontal avalanche they poured through the opening. A metallic symphony ensued as swords clashed with shields. Captain Barus cleaved his way through the mass to the front lines. His sword thrusts were fast and sure, the steel kite shield strapped to his arm deflected sword, mace, spear, and club. Deftly sidestepping an overhead swing, the captain severed an arm, then a leg, and finally the head of his opponent. With a morale boosting roar Barus and a handful of brave swordsmen charged deep into the ranks of ever-grinning skeletons in an attempt to loosen the hordes defenses.
The living corpses managed to circle the captain and his men at the cost of two dozen swordsmen. Now the cluster of humans stood in a tight circle surrounded by hideous leering faces from the grave. The Imperials wouldn't strike for fear of leaving a flank open; the undead warriors were equally entrenched, fearing the gleaming blades gripped in strong, adept hands. From his vantage point high above the battle Ferrick saw the stalemate. With a smooth Breton voice the mage uttered a turn undead spell knowing it would be dispelled by the opposing undead mages almost instantly. An instant is all Barus needed. The undead soldiers turned to run in fear but regained their courage and spun back to face the threat only to have their skulls cleaved from their shoulders by Imperial blades or crushed by the weight of a steel mace. The group of human soldiers hacked their way through the horde to rejoin the main army.
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At first sight of the undead army Nalik took a step back. One skeleton in his home he could deal with, but over a thousand of the skinless atrocities was more than the archeologist could handle. A sword-wielding steel clad skeleton rushed at the old Imperial, swinging his weapon with unequaled strength. Out of reflex Nalik lifted his shield arm. The arm numbing collision forced the Imperial to the ground; another strike snapped bones despite the shield and sent sharp pain up his arm. Out of desperation Nalik swung his mace at his attacker; he connected and smashed one of its bony feet. The undead menace jumped back in surprise but lost balance on its crushed foot and toppled forward. Nalik heard the roar of Barus and stood despite the throbbing in his shield arm. With strength he didn't realize he possessed the archeologist swung and shattered the dirty white skull into a thousand fragments.
Another living carcass rushed the old Imperial. Nalik turned his face away from the gruesome enemy and swung blindly. He connected, sending the atrocity flipping through the air and into the midst of another skirmish. Nalik looked down at the steel mace, confused at his strength. He knew it was enchanted but... The armor clad archeologist turned and glanced up to where Ferrick was diligently casting spells. Strength spell, I should have known. The mage saw the Imperial's broken arm and healed it from the top of the battlements.
Nalik turned his attention back to the battlefield and was immediately beset by three more enemies. This time he didn't hesitate, didn't falter. The fear that gripped him with paralyzing fingers during the initial onslaught was gone. The archeologist-turned-warrior narrowed his eyes, tightened the grip on his mace, and with a Barus caliber roar plunged into the midst of his attackers.
One unlucky skeleton was dispatched immediately with a blow to its exposed ribs. The bones flew through the air with the velocity of an arrow and wedged themselves into the soft flesh of a shambling zombie. Ducking a horizontal slash, Nalik stood, jumped, and ended the unlife of another soldier. The nimble soldier rolled onto his shield to avoid the broad swing of the last assailant. Coming up behind the enemy, the determined archeologist swung and snapped the spine of the skeleton as if it were a thin, dry twig.
Nalik turned with his lips curled back in a snarl looking for more enemies but all he saw was a large group of awe-struck human soldiers. They stood waiting for a command, Nalik didn't disappoint.
"Folow me," he bellowed, "We move to attack their open flank."
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Ferrick cast healing spells as fast as his thin nimble hands would allow. Under the battlemage's watchful eye, along with his charge of spell weavers, only three soldiers had met their eternal fate. The Breton's brow creased in concentration as he skillfully reattached a soldiers arm from afar. He would be able to keep healing for an hour at most before his stamina abandoned him.
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After the first surge of undead rolled through the gate, and after a brief Imperial retaliation push, both sides fought to an impasse. Neither human nor undead could gain ground. Every time a Legionary destroyed an undead warrior three more would take its place. The undead were equally frustrated. The Imperial army was unnaturally quick: dodging slashes, blocking swings, and turning away thrusts with ease. Limbs were reattached seconds after being severed.
The battle raged for another hour, soldiers of both sides were now knee deep in rotting zombie corpses and the remnants of skeletal warriors. The Imperial army tried another push, the undead horde pushed back, no ground was gained. Human soldiers began to fall to the blades of the unrelenting enemy. Barus shot a fleeting look to where Ferrick was stationed; the mage was sprinting down stone stairs with blade in hand, his magic reserves were depleted.
The captain returned his attention to the battle collapsing two more skeletons. At least we'll have one fresh sword arm he thought as he blocked another blow. The Imperial's sword felt like a lead weight, his shoulders slumped as his body temperature rose under the weight of protective platemail. Even Nalik was exhausted, the strength spell had long since expired leaving the archeologist to work twice as hard for his kills.
Two more human soldiers fell at Barus' side. Doubt crept into the captain's mind like a black cloud creeping over the horizon. How could they win against an enemy with seemingly infinite resources? His answer came in the form of a trumpet.
A long blast caused human and undead alike to stop and look to where the sound had come from. The Imperial army couldn't see anything from inside the walls of the Fort, but the undead soldiers still waiting to come through the small opening could. They stirred, made growling noise and clicked their exposed teeth together. Another blast form the trumpet elicited otherworldly screams from the horde. Over the din of undead chaos Barus heard armor clad horses galloping closer to the fort.
Like a rock launched from a trebuchet the horse-bound army slammed into the flank of the horde crushing them under armored hoof while their riders swung maces, swords, and morning stars. The armor of the horses and that of their riders glinted in the moonlight as they sprinted past the opening. Captain Barus and every Imperial Legionary in Fort Monmooth lifter their armor clad fists into the air and yelled their approval of the slaughter. With renewed vigor the Imperial army cut their way through the horde to the opening. When at last they reached the gate and pushed through they were greeted by a sight both horrific and hopeful.
A field of undead remains lay strewn across the rocky landscape, over three hundred great steeds of battle and their steel clad riders stood over the bodies like gray ghostly conquerors. Barus further crushed fragmented bones as he walked out to meet a rider coming towards the fort.
The rider gracefully dismounted and removed the face covering helm. Barus was surprised to see an attractive woman under the protective steel. Dark straight hair flowed down to her shoulders, she moved with unquestioned authority.
"Hail, friend," Barus greeted with a raised sword, "I am Barus, captain of Fort Monmooth, from what fort did you ride from?"
The soldier's voice was smooth and comforting, "I am called Mabrelle, we were sent here from Hawkmoth Legion Fort in Ebonheart."
"That is a long ride indeed; you and your men must be tired. We don't have stables here but our courtyard is wide and our beds are soft. Balmora has been taken by an undead army, we can discuss more inside. Please, have your men and their steeds come into the safety of the fort."
Mabrelle nodded, remounted her horse, and rode into the midst of the riders. Barus turned and reentered the fort. He ordered his men to prepare beds, find straw, and gather the dead for burial.
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The stench hit Arronax long before he got to Balmora. Alighting gently on the soft grass-covered earth the Imperial sniffed the air.
"Do you smell that?" He asked.
The two soldiers nodded, they had been in the company of death enough to know that smell. The acrid fumes of rotting flesh grew stronger as they approached the overrun city.
"Renwick, can you see anything?"
The elf scaled a high rock and scanned the city. A frown. "The skeletons and zombies are all well armed. I see many fallen citizens littering the streets."
Arronax stepped back and collapsed onto a short flat rock, one arm on a knee and a hand holding his forehead. "All those people..."
A long awkward silence ensued before Arronax finally spoke up, "The survivors, if there are any, would have made their way to Fort Monmooth. We should head that way."
Arronax didn't wait for the nods of approval before taking to the air again. It was a short trip over the hills and rocky outcroppings to the fort. The first sight to greet The Ghosts was the bodies, or what remained of them. Hacked zombie corpses and remnants of a thousand skeletons lay scattered over two hundred yards outside the fort and led to the entrance like a twisted road of death.
The three soldiers crunched their way to the front gate where they were stopped by three over zealous guards still jumpy from the battle.
"Halt! Who goes there," the lead guard asked as he brandished a gleaming blade. The two remaining guards trained their intimidating arrows on Radont and Renwick.
Arronax thought up a calm humanoid spell, Stradyn made it happen.
"Peace to you, guardians of the Fort. We are friends," Arronax ensured them as he held up his hands in submission.
The steel blade was sheathed and arrows returned to quivers. "Very well, you may enter."
Arronax nodded his thanks to the guard as he walked through the unbarred opening into the courtyard. The Ghosts walked over, around, and through more piles of bodies to a reinforced oak door. Arronax clasped an ebony gauntleted hand around the handle, turned and entered. The main hall was spacious with two stone pillars in the center to break up the space. Fire crackled and danced on wax candles lighting and warming the room. Black banners bearing a golden dragon hung proudly on either side of the door. Two hallways exited the room to the right and left leading to the barracks and armory. Past the stone pillars Captain Barus, Nalik, and a female Imperial Officer poured intently over a map of Balmora.
"...and we can put archers all over this mountain to support the troops moving in," Barus said as The Ghosts entered from the night.
Barus and Nalik glanced up at the sound of the door opening; Mabrelle continued to study the map.
"Arronax!" Nalik exclaimed with surprise, "you're timing is impeccable my friend, we were just planning our attack on Balmora." The archeologist moved closer, "is... is that..."
The leader of The Ghosts held the gleaming white blade out, "it is."
Nalik gingerly took the sword and ran his finger along the blade. He whistled as he handed it back, "that is a beautiful weapon."
Arronax nodded to Barus, "Captain."
"I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it back soldier," Barus commented as he walked across the stone floor. "Nalik told me about the sword," his eyes fell briefly, "if it is as powerful as he says it is then we have a problem."
The soldier's brow creased in confusion. "Problem?"
"Aye, a might problem. That armor that Halldin is wearing, do you know what it is?"
"It's used to control Stradyn. If the line of Channelers was broken then it could harness the power of the sword in times of trouble without endangering the wielder."
Nalik spoke up, "No, Arronax, the armor is a direct contradiction to the sword. If Stradyn was made for good, the armor was meticulously crafted for evil. Halldin is just as powerful as you are."
Barus waited for Arronax's shoulders to slump in despair. Instead, resoluteness etched its signature on the Imperial's face.
"Well then I guess we should do some planning. Show me what you have so far."
The Captain of Fort Monmooth glanced at Nalik, eyebrows raised. A slight smile played on the archeologist's lips, they had found their hero.
"Yes, of course, we have a map just over here," Barus said, gesturing with an open hand to the table in the back of the room. He took two steps, stopped, and turned back to The Ghosts, "I almost forgot to introduce you, this is..."
Radont finished the Captain's sentence, "Mabrelle."
The Breton turned to face the group of soldiers but only looked at one, "Radont, it's about time you got here," she said, smiling with full red lips.
Radont was hooked; he stared into the intense blue eyes of the former vampire. The dark hair that was pulled back into a ponytail and hung past her shoulders betrayed a hint of auburn in the flickering candlelight. Mabrelle's eyebrows slanted slightly giving her an elven elegance. Soft alluring skin was covered by hard, cold steel. Yet even under the weight of armor the warrioress stood proud and tall. Her movements, however small and subtle, were graceful and natural. The Breton held Radont's gaze as she tucked a strand of hair behind an ear.
Barus spoke up to end the awkward silence, "So you've met."
The young Imperial nodded, "yes, briefly."
Barus gestured to the table after another pause, "our strategy awaits."
Once the soldiers were gathered around the map Barus laid out his plan.
"We're going to have three separate forces. For the past two hours troops have been arriving form the outlying forts, I want no less than three hundred archers spread over this mountainside here." Barus pointed to the west of Balmora. "Can you lead that force Renwick?"
"My bow is yours, sir."
The Captain continued, "I'll take five hundred troops through the south gate, that leaves Mabrelle with five hundred soldiers to march through the north gate. The city is tight, no room for mounted combat, unfortunately. Radont, I want you to be in Mabrelle's group."
The young Imperial nodded, he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Arronax, your only objective is to find Halldin and, at the very least, keep him occupied while we clear the city. Can you do that?"
The wielder of Stradyn returned the captain's gaze, "I will not fail." He said the words slowly and deliberately, annunciating each word to drive the point home. It worked.
Barus nodded with newfound respect for the man in front of him. "Very well, we move out in three hours. I suggest you get some sleep."
The group disbanded and headed to the barracks, Radont walked past to the end of the hall, up a flight of stone stairs and out onto the star covered battlements. The Imperial looked over the edge and watched with disinterest a group of soldiers on patrol and another group trying to fix the destroyed gate. Radont always got restless before a major battle and being out under the stars in the relative safety of the fort helped put his mind at ease. A door creaked open behind him, Radont didn't turn.
"You're not tired?" A smooth female voice asked.
Radont spun quickly. Sweet. Beautiful. Mabrelle.
The Breton crossed the battlements and stood close to Radont. The Imperial returned his gaze reluctantly to the activity below.
"Just trying to clear my mind, it's a pre-battle ritual." Then he added, "That armor suits you."
Mabrelle smiled. Perfect white teeth displayed proudly behind red lips. "It's been a long time since I've had the chance to battle, I wasn't sure it would even still fit," she said, looking down at her steel armor.
Radont resisted the urge to tell her just how well it fit. Instead he asked, "How did you come to lead the soldiers here? I thought Captain Sarus was in charge of Ebonheart."
"You can learn a lot in four lifetimes of men. When I wasn't feeding on victims I was reading the books they carried, most of the books happened to be about battle tactics. Plus, I can be very persuasive if I have to be and I..." She paused, Radont turned to look into her clear blue eyes, "I wanted to see you again."
Radont raised his eyebrows, "Me?"
Mabrelle moved closer, "Yes, Radont. Until you came along I was without hope, cursed to live alone feeding on the very citizens I swore to protect. After you left I vowed to find you, I would follow your trail until at last I caught up."
"And now that you've found me, what happens next?"
Mabrelle moved closer still and slipped her hands around the Imperials armored waist, "Now I don't let go."
Radont brushed a strand of hair from the Breton's face then gently placed his hands behind her neck. They leaned in, foreheads touched, then noses, and finally lips met in an electric embrace. For three intense seconds they forgot about the impending battle and became the only people in all of Tamriel. Mabrelle pulled her head back then wrapped her arms tightly around the Ebony clad soldier.
"Be careful tonight," she whispered into his ear before letting go. Mabrelle turned and headed back into the fort. Radont's eyes followed her until she disappeared behind the wooden door. The feel of the kiss lingered on the Imperial's lips as he turned his attention back to the construction of the door without really looking at it. With his mind at ease, Radont went to the barracks and promptly fell asleep.
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Three hours later the archers on the mountainside were ready. They sat behind rocky crags in the quiet night listening to skeletal feet click over the stone roads of Balmora. Renwick had led them in a wide circle around the city then over the rock filled landscape to their current position. The Wood Elf scanned the city confirming what he had seen earlier-a slaughter. Bodies of crushed victims lay scattered through the city like common trash. Skeletal patrols marched through the streets in pairs while the main body of soldiers waited in two large masses by the north and south gates. Renwick estimated the horde to be roughly two thousand strong, not enough to stand against the might of a vengeful Imperial force.
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Radont stood next to Mabrelle just beyond the Northern wall of the city, behind them were five hundred soldiers clad in Imperial steel and armed with all manner of weapons. Their approach to the city was deliberately loud and defiant, they were here to rid the city of the undead scourge and didn't care who knew.
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Captain Barus had done the same coming up to the south entrance. If the undead were frightened they didn't show it. They would be soon enough. More soldiers had arrived from outlying forts and now over a thousand troops dotted the landscape behind the captain like a sea of glinting stars in an inky sky. Barus began banging his steel sword on the shield strapped to his left arm. More soldiers joined and soon the silent night was alive with the intimidating sounds of steel on steel.
The undead horde wasn't impressed-not until the arrows started flying. From the mountain west of the city a barrage of iron tipped bolts flew silently into the city. The archers aim was sure as arrows buried themselves into the craniums of hundreds of horde soldiers. The relentless barrage lasted five minutes before Barus barked out a command to Ferrick. The mage gestured to his band of spell casters. Six fireballs escaped the group of mages and screamed through the night towards the southern wall of Balmora. The impact was satisfyingly brilliant as massive chunks of rock crash inward on the waiting undead.
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Immediately after releasing the destructive fire the mages teleported to the north side of the city and dismantled the wall with similar results. Mabrelle gave the call to charge and a flood of steel poured into the city. They managed to run a third of the way in before meeting resistance, the horde had sprinted to the opposite wall to help contain the soldiers entering from the south.
The undead army heard the pounding of steel encased boots on stone roads and turned to engage them. A helmless Radont reached the horde first, with superior speed he cleaved three heads from undead necks before the abominations had time to react. Their reactions were futile. The Imperial hacked, spun, slashed, dodged, and parried with vengeful ease. His enemies fell quickly and numerously at his ebony clad feet.
Mabrelle was equally effective at sending the undead to the afterlife. She swung a steel mace with the ferocity of a mother protecting a child and the accuracy of a skilled warrior. Any skeletal soldier unlucky enough to get near the blurring mace was summarily crushed under its heft. The Breton turned just as a sword clutched tightly in a bony hand was bearing down on her. With no time to raise her shield she would have to give the blow up to the steel armor. A hair's breath before the blade made contact an ebony blur filled the Breton's vision knocking the sword away. Radont. The Imperial soldier vengefully separated each limb from the undead body before crushing the skull under his boot. The Ghost turned to Mabrelle, winked, and sprinted to join another skirmish with all the enthusiasm of a boy running home with a new toy.
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Arrow after deadly arrow sliced through the air and connected with an undead soldier. Renwick reached back for another arrow but grabbed air. His quiver was empty. The elf stole a glance along the mountainside; no arrows flew through the air. Everyone was empty.
Renwick slipped the ebony bow onto his back and procured a steel dagger. The Legionary called out to his band of archers, "Into the city, it is time we helped our brothers carve the undead with steel!"
Two hundred soldiers donned in black cloth swept into the city like a rain cloud. The already confused undead panicked at the sight of more soldiers entering from yet another flank. The black clad archers dodged, flipped, and ducked acrobatically as clumsy zombies tried in vain to cleave the elusive targets.
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Barus grew more confident with each swing of his sword. The initial volley of arrows and the subsequent collapsing of the wall had left the horde severely outnumbered by a better trained, better armored Imperial force. The captain effortlessly cut his way deeper into the city as his men pushed the undead toward Mabrelle's force.
Nalik fearlessly followed Barus into the depths of undead crushing skulls with aplomb. In the heat of battle with enemies falling under the power of his mace it was easy to forget the real threat. Only a handful of undead remained when the image of golden armor invaded the archeologists mind like a piercing arrow. Halldin.
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Radont saw him first, descending the mountain like a falling meteor the former Ghost landed with enough force to crack the roads and shake the foundations of houses. The Nord had always been big, but to Radont he now seemed like a god towering over his subjects. The golden armor shone with the brilliance of the sun; in his right hand he gripped an intimidating blood-red war hammer. The head of the hammer was flat on one side and came to a sharp gleaming point on the other.
The Legonaries charged the solitary enemy from every angle. Halldin stood unmoving despite the trembling of the ground until the first soldiers were in range. With unearthly speed the Nord swung his powerful hammer in a wide arc. Seven soldiers died instantly from the impact, three more were thrown into the air only to come crashing down like steel boulders. The Legion didn't relent; wave after fruitless wave attacked the Nord with similar results. Finally they managed to push Halldin back against a tall building but they would go no farther. Barus ordered his army to form ranks and give the Nord a wide berth.
Radont had seen enough, he tightened his grip on the ebony katana and sprinted at the behemoth in the center of the city before Mabrelle had time to protest. Halldin saw the threat and swung horizontally. Radont rolled under the hammer and righted himself behind the Nord. Too easy, the Imperial thought. He stepped forward to thrust the blade through the golden armor but Halldin turned with blinding speed and struck the young soldier in his exposed side. Radont tumbled across the rocky ground and slammed into the side of a house with a sickening crunch.
Halldin was on the soldier instantly. He swung from overhead; Radont summoned enough strength to roll once as the flat side of the hammer cracked the stones inches from his head. The imperial lay on his back, ears ringing. Halldin flipped his weapon and swung again, this time impaling Radont through the abdomen with the point of the hammer. An anguished riddled scream burst from the crippled Ghost. The Nord laughed as he held his hammer high so all could see the soldier hanging from the end of it. Mabrelle gasped and covered her mouth as tears formed at the edge of her eyes.
"You see," Halldin bellowed, "not even your Ghosts can stand against the power of Ballgore!"
With a mighty swing Halldin launched Radont thirty feet into the air. The young soldier was conscious only of the wind blowing through his brown hair. The wind stopped but instead of hitting the ground the Imperial hung in mid air.
Arronax stood on the roof of a nearby house with his hand outstretched. He had caught Radont using telekinesis and gently eased him away from the Nord. Mabrelle was at the Imperial's side before he touched the ground. She tore the helm from her head and pulled Radont close as she looked frantically for Ferrick. There was no need for the mage; a soft word from the Channeler healed the soldier.
Arronax leapt from the roof and sprinted towards Halldin as soon as his feet touched the ground. The Nord sprinted with equal speed. The gold and ebony blurs slammed into each other with enough force to create a shockwave that tore through the city toppling buildings, crushing bridges, and sending any soldiers within forty feet tumbling backwards.
With unequalled speed the beast and the Imperial swung, blocked, and counterattacked in an ugly dance of death. No one dared help for fear of being crushed in the fury of the battle. Arronax leapt back, telekinetically lifted a boulder and hurled it at his gold clad opponent. Halldin crushed the rock with a violent swing of his war hammer. The Nord used his own magic to grab Arronax and heave him towards a pile of jagged rubble. The Ghost stopped himself mid-air by using levitation. Another flurry of strikes and counterstrikes resulted in another stalemate.
Halldin swung wide; Arronax ducked and whispered a strength spell. With his free hand Arronax grasped the Nord's ankle, swung him into the air and slammed the armored Nord onto the ground. Halldin moaned, Arronax didn't relent. The Imperial clasped an armored hand around Halldin's neck and flung him through the brick wall of an expensive house. Arronax darted through the opening to finish his opponent off but the spacious and lavishly decorated living room was empty. He heard the crack of wood from above him and moved to ascend a flight of richly carpeted stairs. The Channeler was half way up when the entire house collapsed around him from the force of a magical blast. From under the pile of ruble he heard the Nord laughing.
"Fool, you never were much of a fighter."
Arronax struggled free of the debris but Halldin held him tightly in a telekinetic grip. The Nord grinned wickedly beneath the helm as he raised the hammer to crush the helpless Imperial.
Willing to risk the rage of a possessed Nord for his leader, Renwick ran up silently behind Halldin on soft elven feet. The nimble Legionary leapt onto the Nord's shoulders and tugged at the helm. The gold piece of armor came free as the Bosmer pushed off in time to jump over an angered swing from Halldin. It was enough of a distraction for the magical hold on Arronax to wane. Free of the binding spell, Arronax leapt at the distracted Nord and plunged Stradyn straight through his skull. Halldin clawed in fruitlessly at the blade wedged at a downward angle as he roared in pain.
Finally his motions grew sluggish, like a drunk attempting to swat a fly. Halldin toppled forward. Arronax stared at the body of his best friend lying in a pool of blood at his ebony clad feet. Renwick stood solemnly by his leader and clasped his shoulder.
"You did what you had to Arronax."
Radont made his way to where Halldin lay, "That wasn't Halldin," the Imperial said looking at the body. He looked up, "Halldin died a week ago in that training building." He pointed to a pile of rubble.
Arronax nodded weakly, "You speak the truth. He did not die by my hand but by a power not of this realm. He was the last slave of Ballgore."
Nalik joined the group of soldiers carrying a thick, jagged plank of wood roughly four feet wide and seven feet long. The archeologist placed it gently next to Halldin's body and stepped back. He let the respectful silence linger before speaking.
"He deserves to be buried with his family. It would honor me, Arronax, if you would let me help bear him to his ancestral tomb."
Arronax faced the old archeologist with a deepening respect, "it is I who am honored by your offer, friend."
Arronax knelt down to retrieve Stradyn but the blade shimmered and disappeared. In its place was Halldin, no marks disfigured his face where the blade had been. Thank you, Stradyn, Arronax whispered as he closed Halldin's eyes.
With the help of Nalik and the other two Ghosts, Arronax managed to move Halldin onto the plank. The quartet of men lifted the Nord onto their shoulders and bore him through a parting sea of Legionaries. Helms were removed and heads bowed in respect as the procession made its way out of the city.
The entire Legion army waited outside as the four soldiers entered the tomb. They gently eased Halldin into the sarcophagi and sealed the stone lid. Renwick set the helm on the ground next to the chiseled casket.
Arronax put his hands on the cold stone and breathed deeply.
"Be at peace now my friend, rest forevermore."
A solitary tear slid down the Imperial's cheek as he and his companions exited.
"Ferrick, seal the tomb with your most powerful incantation, I don't want the power of that armor unleashed again."
The mage nodded solemnly and weaved his hands in the air. With a final commanding word the door to the tomb glowed with an ethereal blue hue.
Mabrelle joined the group and took Radont's hand in her own. She spoke compassionately to Arronax, "what will you do now?"
Her smooth voice helped sooth the Ghost's broken spirit. Arronax looked up; a sliver of a smile crossed his lips.
"Now I will rebuild Balmora, lead The Ghosts, and live."
(c) 2005 Sir Radont