Padomay's blood

«Что значит, не можете меня пропустить?» — возмутился Кирг. «Говорю вам, я приехал из провинции Хай-Рок с торговой миссией, и меня зовут Кирг Амедей. Два дня пути по этой проклятой промёрзшей земле. Ни деревца, ни даже кустика, чтобы развести костёр. И теперь, когда я наконец добрался до вашей захудалой деревни, вы меня не пускаете?»

Перед ним стояли двое стражников. У каждого на груди, поверх кольчуги, красовался герб лорда. Один, с густой рыжей бородой и ростом не менее шести с половиной футов, держал под уздцы коня Кирга, а другой развернул длинный, засаленный пергамент и попытался записать его имя.

«Не шумите, иначе мы бросим вас в темницу», — пригрозил рыжебородый. «У нас есть правило: ночью могут входить только те, кто в списке, остальные — днём».

«Брось! Покажи мне, где твоя темница, и я брошусь туда. Лучше уж так, чем мерзнуть у ворот».

«Кирт Аргреди?» — снова спросил другой.

«Кирг А-МИ-ДИ».

Охранник нахмурился и снова принялся медленно записывать слова на пергаменте.

«Мы не сразу познакомились, джентльмены. Я прибыл из Даггерфолла с торговой миссией. В дне пути от порта Штормбрингер наш корабль попал в шторм. Теперь я ужасно замёрз и буду очень признателен, если вы меня впустите», — Кирг вытащил из-за пояса небольшой кожаный мешочек, который слегка загремел, когда он вложил его ему в руку.

«Думаешь, сможешь нас подкупить?» — Рыжебородый покачал головой. — «Мы обойдемся без подачек полуэльфа».

«Я бретонец», — возмущенно сказал Кирг.

«Ты наполовину эльф», — кивнул другой, сворачивая кусок пергамента.

«Мы записали ваше имя. Утром вы сможете войти в город», — сказал рыжебородый, но не отпустил коня.

«Вы не пустите меня?» — взмолился Кирг.

«Не волнуйтесь, вам не нужна наша захудалая деревня. Разведите костёр у ворот, под той сосной, и утром мы вас пустим».

«Если ты не замерзнешь», — ухмыльнулся другой.

«Друзья, если вы обиделись, то, видимо, за то, что я отморозил язык и нес чушь. Деревня у вас не захудалая, а очень даже славная.

«Мы вам не друзья, — сплюнул стражник в снег. — Вам, полуэльфам, не нравятся наши деревни. У вас должны быть только каменные дворцы и крепости».

«Впустите меня, и я пойду прямо в ту прекрасную таверну. Я даже вижу, как оттуда идёт белый дым. И я помогу вам в вашем трудном деле», — не сдавался Кирг.

«Ты будешь торговаться с кем-то другим», — сказал стражник с пергаментом.

«Подожди, Хальв, — сказал рыжебородый. — В каком сложном деле ты собираешься нам помочь?»

«Я не понимал, почему вы пускаете людей в деревню только днём. Теперь понятно, из-за полуночников, не так ли?»

The guards didn't answer, only frowned.

Kirg realized that he hit the bull's-eye.

‘I'm Breton... half elf, I mean. And we know a thing or two about magic. I have an amulet,’ he said, reaching into his duffel bag. ‘Just for vampires. You'll know when you look at a bloodsucker. It will be useful in a fight, too, as protection.’

Kirg took the stretched leather pouch from his bag and held it out to the guard. He took a step back. Kirg took off his glove and placed the amulet in his palm.

‘It was a great thing, no tricks. I would keep it, but my horse is already falling down, and I am so cold that I cannot feel my feet to the waist. You need it more, take it as an apology for my rash words.’

The red-bearded man took the amulet carefully, twirled it in his hands, and handed it to the other man. The vampires must really bother them.

‘All right, be it so, Kirg Amedee of Daggerfall, you may pass,’ the guard released the bridle and stepped aside.

‘And remember our kindness,’ said the other, hiding the amulet under his chainmail.

Kirg did not reply but spurred his horse before the two men could change their minds

***

The tavern looked more like a stable than a decent place. Kirg immediately rented a room and ordered himself a drink and a meal. Nord mead was better than he had expected, and for a good price, the owner even served him real deer meat instead of skeevers. For the next half an hour he only ate and drank. When the deer leg was done, he did not linger and went straight up to his room.

He lost his amulet because of the damned guards. He spent a long time enchanting it himself, but he didn't regret it. A snowstorm howled outside the window, and Kirg imagined how he would have slept under that pine tree by the gate had it not been for the amulet, and he shuddered. The candlelight cast a peculiar shadow on the walls. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, where a dark, smudged spot was looming. By his calculations, it was the second day of Sun’s Dusk. It had been a week since he had sailed from Daggerfall to the port of Stormcloak on a merchant ship. The village in whose tavern he was now, was situated in Haafingar, which meant he still had at least three days' journey ahead of him.

***

‘It's a fine Nord horse, and I wouldn't give a hundred septims for yours,’ the gray-haired, balding owner of the stable put his hands to his sides.

‘I have no more, and I have supplies to buy. You can have her for half the price.’

‘I tell you, I don't need it.’

‘All right, take it for free. Just make sure this one's properly padded.’

‘I’ll do it,’ he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and took the heavy sack from Kirg's hands.

The morning was cold. Kirg could not get used to the harsh weather of this place, though he had been to Skyrim before. It had been in the month of the Second Seed when the land was little different from the green hills of High Rock. He went in search of provisions while they prepared his horse. Gray clouds covered the sky, and sparse snow fell on the frozen ground. Kirg strolled through the shops of the local merchants and tried to fill his traveling bag as tightly as possible.

At one shop he bought a quarter of goat's cheese and a few pieces of salted venison. The locals at this time of year ate mostly these foods, but Kirg was not accustomed to such a meager diet. It cost him a lot of effort to get a pot of pickled cabbage. He managed to pay the grocer extra and he personally took him to his cellar, selling him four green apples from his stock. Just as he got through, his horse was ready. By noon he was on his way northwest along the tract toward the snowy mountain range that loomed on the horizon.

Kirg rode all day, stopping only to check the direction. Gradually the road began to narrow and then parted in two. The main part of the road went eastward toward Solitude, while the other continued up into the mountains in a thin strip. Kirg's path was not to Solitude, and he hid his face from the icy wind in his hood and led his horse along the narrow path. The road was quite decent at first. In some places it was crossed by streams running from cracks in the rocks, in other places it intersected with animal trails, but it was still well distinguishable among sparse grass and lonely boulders.

Kirg spent the night sheltering from the incessant wind behind a hillside overgrown with moss and rotten grass. As time passed, the trail grew narrower and less visible. That was what he feared most. Finding the place he needed on the steppes of Skyrim with navigation alone would have been easy. But this part of the province was in mountainous terrain and only knowledge of the area could lead him accurately to his goal. He had to hurry, the gray sky was still holding and Kirg tried to find the right direction before the dense blanket of snow lay in his path.

By mid-afternoon, he had to stop his horse and climb a hill for better visibility. If he'd been a complete novice at this sort of thing, he would never have been sent on such a journey. Kirg knew well that sometimes it was easier to find a path by looking from the side than by trying to find it by looking under the horse's hooves. What he saw did not please him. The path, winding and sliding between the rocks, went into the gorge in a thin but still clearly visible line. Apparently, this was the only way and he had no other options. Hoping not to encounter any looters in these places, he still secured his sword on his belt and moved forward. The snowfall caught him in the evening right in the gorge. Kirg knew that he was unlikely to see warm sunshine and green grass anytime soon from now on. These places were the harshest part of the province. Eternal winter reigned here.

The horse was making its way through the snow, breathing in the cold air heavily with powerful nostrils. His strong neck with its blond mane bent and straightened like a sturdy tree trunk in the gusts of wind. The groom had not deceived him; it was a fine animal. A true Nord breed of horse, sturdy and rugged as anything that lived here. Any horse from Hammerfell could not boast such endurance, strength, and resilience to bad weather, having already collapsed into the snow with its rider. Kirg decided to dismount, giving the horse some rest. He saw the dangers. The rocks sheltered him from the wind, and he could not be afraid of rockslides for now. But still, it was a mistake.

As soon as he dismounted and took hold of the horse's reins, a howl echoed through the gorge. A black wolf the size of a young deer loomed up ahead. There were no such wolves in High Rock. Kirg tried to jump up on his horse, but he failed. The horse galloped back immediately as the monster roared. He was jerked sharply forward and Kirg collapsed face-first into the snow but jumped to his feet immediately. The horse tried to break through, but his path was blocked by two more large figures with grinning muzzles. He sprang to his feet. He had no chance against the pack. Kirg drew his blade from its sheath and took a stance as he had been taught.

An arrow whistled through the air over his head and went silently into the snow. Kirg instinctively ducked his head, looking around. The next one, just inches from the beast's muzzle, struck the rock and broke in two. Kirg finally spotted a figure on one of the ledges. The shooter was clearly not aiming at him. The third arrow hit its target. One of the wolves jumped up and with a clang of its jaw took off. The archer with two deft jumps went down into the gorge and with a menacing roar, waving his heavy bow, dispersed the rest of the attackers.

‘Catch the horse, you fool, it’s getting away!’ he shouted to Kirg.

Kirg, not even hiding his sword in its sheath, rushed to catch his property. After a few minutes, he was able to catch the frightened animal and bring it back. His savior was waiting for him with a broad smile on his thick bearded face.

‘Lodmund,’ the man barked. A heavy cloak of coarse white fur lay on his massive shoulders. Kirg had never seen anything like it before. A hood of fox fur covered his head. He held two arrows in his hands, one broken.

‘Kirg Amedee.’

Lodmund's eyebrows shot upward.

‘No way, you are Breton. In our part of the world.’

‘That's right. I am grateful to you for saving me and my horse.’

‘You're welcome, but I don't have enough arrows for all of you,’ he grinned. ‘Come on, I have a camp not far from here, and we'll talk there.’

The man led Kirg up the gorge and they soon came to a high ground, covered with a small forest. Kirg could see a tent among the trees, well hidden beneath part of the hill. Anyone who passed through here would never notice that camp.

‘Tie your horse over there,’ Lodmund pointed to a fallen pine tree by which another horse was standing.

Kirg undid the girth, took off the horse's saddle, bridle, and harness, and fed the animal, sparing the whole apple as a reward. Then they seated by the fire, and he was able to get a closer look at his companion.

He was not a young man with a slight gray in his beard. In the gorge, Kirg couldn't see it because of the snow.

‘Are you a hunter?’ he asked, handing him a piece of goat cheese and some salted venison.

‘You guessed right. But you're certainly not a hunter, and you've never been in these parts before.’

‘How did you know?’

‘The way you held up against the wolves,’ Lodmund smiled.

‘Did I look that confused?’ Kirg sounded insulted.

‘No, you were very brave. I would even say recklessly brave. I understood that because you didn't even have a shield. An indispensable thing in these places. Not much use against a troll, of course, but against wolves with a shield, it's much more likely to do the trick.’

‘I'm used to keeping my left hand free.’

‘I noticed,’ Lodmund grinned again. ‘But magic wouldn't help you. The fur and skin of those things are too thick for a charge. Unless you were going to burn them.’

‘Yes,’ Kirg confirmed. ‘That's what I was going to do.’

‘Not a good idea, with all this snow.’

Kirg realized that he could not win this argument, so he decided to change the subject.

‘Aren't you afraid of hunting alone in these parts? You have a good bow, it can pierce the skin of a troll. But you won't be able to fight a pack of wolves on your own.’

‘I'm used to hunting alone. Alone for six years,’ Lodmund lowered his head.

He was silent for a moment, and then he spoke again.

‘I'm not going to argue with you about the troll, but I do have a great bow. Do you see my cloak?’ he swung his shoulder so the firelight would better illuminate the white, coarse fur.

‘I don't know whose fur it is.’

‘So it is frost troll. Not even a sabre cat comes close, not to mention a wolf.’

‘So that's why they were running away,’ Kirg couldn't hide his admiration. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘I traded it with the Necromancers," said Lodmund quietly. ‘They may be outlaws, but by Talos, I swear to you, there's no law against dealing with them.’

‘Necromancy is one of the leading branches of magic in High Rock.’

‘So you're a Breton,’ Lodmund was still smiling, though his eyes glittered.

‘I'm not a spy,’ Kirg guessed his thoughts. ‘I know almost all the prejudices associated with Bretons. Half-Elves are great wizards and spies, too. The first doesn't make much sense, though.’

Lodmund laughed out loud.

‘I like you, Amedee, even if you are a spy. Though if you were a spy, we would have met you in Solitude, or Windhelm, rather than in this neck of the woods. What brought you here alone?’

‘Well, there are no secrets in that. I am looking for the home of a man named Quintus Dekimius. I am told he lives in these parts.’

‘I know him. An old man who lives alone in a hut at the foot of Mount Salot, just west of here. I used to visit him sometimes, sold him hides and meat.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Last time was about five months ago. Only if you're looking for his hut, you're too far to the right. On the main trail, you should have gone farther, to the fork of the three stones, and only there turned into the mountains.’

Lodmund saw the disappointment on Kirg's face and added.

‘That's all right, I'll take you up tomorrow and show you another way. No need to go back. You're lucky it hasn't snowed too much yet, and the road is still relatively safe.’

***

It did not stop snowing, and the horses fell into the drifts up to their knees. He now had a reliable and strong companion with him, but still, Kirg did not risk dismounting. They climbed higher and higher, between the massive rocks and icy stone ledges, going up and then down. Somewhere the wind only lightly shook the horses' manes, and somewhere it was as if it was trying to knock them out of the saddle. Kirg felt how high up they had climbed and imagined how beautiful the view must have been if it hadn't been for the snowfall. Lodmund led them confidently, never stopping, remembering every turn and every stone, even despite the meter-high drifts and poor visibility.

By noon the wind had died down and the snowfall had stopped. They took a break and warmed up by the fire. By the afternoon, the travelers had reached the icy plateau, where they had a truly wonderful view of the vastness of the land. Kirg loved his region of High Rock and thought it was the most beautiful of all the provinces. But he too could not contain his admiration for the view. From here he could see the vast expanse of snowy steppes with a mighty mountain range to the east. Now, the tops of those mountains were hidden in a white curtain of clouds. Those clouds ran southward with its inhospitable and dry winds, with golden birch forests and silver lakes. From south to north stretched the Kart River, which began in the mountains of Dragon's Tail, it was cutting through mountain ranges. Somewhere far to the north, it empties into the sea of ghosts, carrying massive icebergs that destroy sailors.

‘There will be a road behind that mountain. It is clearly visible even in this weather. There are rocks at every turn; you can't miss it. I'll ride with you to it, and then we'll have to say goodbye.’

‘Thank you, Lodmund. If fate brings us together again, I will try to return the favor.’

The hunter smiled and clutched his traveling bag tighter.

‘Well, let's be on our way. We have to get you to the turnoff at Mount Salot before nightfall.’

They rode on in silence for some time. There was no wind and even the gray sky cleared a little.

‘Three days ago I was in the village at the foot,’ Kirg began. ‘I arrived there at night and they wouldn't let me in.’

‘I know the story,’ nodded Lodmund. ‘I'm well known there, and other hunters have had such incidents.’

‘What happened there that the Jarl had to take such measures?’

‘You're not stupid, you must have understood it yourself. But the story itself, unfortunately, I can't tell you. I have heard only a little and it is not clear if it is true. But what I do know is that the demand for silver in that county has gone up a lot. That gives me something else to think about.’

Kirg looked at Lodmund, and he explained.

‘You want my opinion? No vampires have ever settled in Haafingar. The only thing that has settled there is a rumor, cleverly spread by some people close to the Jarl himself. The political situation in Haafingar is not simple right now, and all these stories are just part of it, nothing more. Prohibitions of this kind are strict rules above all for outsiders. And who are they? Merchants first and foremost. War can be fought not only with sword and axe.’

For a hunter, Lodmund was perfectly aware of political issues. Now Kirg understood how this man was not afraid to hunt alone in these places. No power in this world could frighten him. He traded with necromancers and only scared the wolves with his menacing appearance. Surely the outlaws here knew him and he profited from them as well. Kirg did not know his history, but something happened in this man's life that made him not afraid of trolls in the mountains or jarls in the golden halls.

***

Kastus swung his sword aside, taking the blade away, and moved rapidly to the right. Kirg recoiled in the opposite direction and then turned sharply, trying to swing again. But Kastus had done it before, his movements were well-aligned and precise. He dodged easily and struck his opponent in the chest with the hilt. Kirg dropped his sword from the sting of the blow and bent over on the grass.

‘Sorry, I miscalculated a bit,’ said Kastus. Though his apology sounded more like a taunt than anything.

Kirg lay sprawled on the grass, unable to straighten up, a muffled cough came from his chest.

‘Kirg!’ a woman's melodious voice was heard. ‘Master Geles wants to see you.’

‘The Master has to wait a moment,’ said Castus quietly. He stepped closer and leaned toward Kirg's crouched figure.

‘You need more training. Books are not everything. The Master and all of us appreciate you very much. In the name of Julianos, Kirg, you must work harder.’

Kastus hid his sword, which looked more like a broad epee with a carved hilt, removed the gauntlet from his left hand, and touched his fingers to Kirg's chest. The pain immediately subsided, his muscles stopped contracting feverishly, and Kirg was able to straighten up. He lay on the grass for another half a minute, then stood up, picking up his sword.

‘Thank you.’

‘Training, Kirg,’ Kastus said again, nodding.

‘The Master wants to see you, and immediately. He's leaving for Tulun this evening and wanted to speak to you before he leaves,’ the girl was already standing nearby.

Kirg sheathed his sword, and together they walked along the paved path along the eastern wall of the temple. The fresh sea breeze cooled Kirg’s sweaty hair pleasantly.

‘Did you find a bleeding crown today?’

‘No, I didn't,’ she smiled at the corners of her pretty lips. She wore a light blue dress, her hair was falling to her shoulders like gold in the sun. ‘I spent all morning looking for that mushroom, but I couldn't find it,’ she looked at Kirg. ‘ But I picked a whole bunch of gooseberries.’

They liked to sit on the open veranda of the temple in the evenings, eat gooseberries, which were very sweet this year, and tell each other what they had read the day before.

‘Can you get away from your father today?’

The girl smiled slyly.

‘Heniel, someday he'll realize that you sneak out in the evenings.’

‘Don't worry,’ she lifted her dainty chin. ‘He knows. I say I go to the temple to read. It's not that far from the truth.’

They walked up the sun-drenched steps and into the cool shadow of the stone vault. In the great hall, Heniel left it. Kirg walked to the north side of the temple, past the altar to Julianos, and up the spiral staircase to the Master's chambers.

***

The high vaulted ceiling of the master's chambers evoked a sense of ancient greatness. Even though the sun was blazing in the courtyard, the room was cool. It smelled of meadow herbs and the sweet smell of healing potions. The wizard was sitting in a high chair by the fireplace, examining a thick volume bound in black leather.

‘Kirg, it is good of you to come. Did Heniel tell you I wanted to see you?’

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Sit,’ he pointed to the chair opposite.

Kirg unclipped his sword, put it on the weapon rack by the door, and sat down.

‘As you've noticed, I'm studying the book of Daedra. This is the sixth volume in two days. I'm trying to find answers, but the longer I study, the more I realize I don't have enough information. You know, our Order has few followers, barely a couple of our people in every province of Tamriel. But that's enough for us. It's not the quantity of followers that matters, but the quality.’

Kirg nodded in agreement.

Master put the book on the polished oak table and sighed heavily.

‘So, Daedra after all?’ Kirg couldn't resist asking.

‘Now there can be no doubt. Vignar has discovered the source. It is definitely a Daedra, not very strong, but there is a fear that its power is much greater than we can see now. It is as if someone is trying to hide it from outsiders.’

‘How come?’

‘As I said, Vignard found the source. A hut in the mountains of Haafingar. A man named Quintus Dekimius lives there. We do not know who he is or if he is a member of any order. But we do know that the threat comes from him. This man has lived there for a long time, and no one has seen him leaving his dwelling, which is suggestive.

Kirg already knew what he had to do. The Order needed a man who would go to Skyrim and find that hut, find that man, and accomplish what was necessary. For the light of Julianos. It was the only right thing to do. And Kirg, better than anyone else, could do the job. He was the only one of the Order who had been to these lands. The only one trained magically enough to handle the Daedra.

‘And now I'd like to talk to you about the most important thing of all,’ the Master stood up and walked to the open verandah through which the sunlight entered his chambers.

‘Kirg, our order is very small. I repeat this so often that you will understand the importance of this reality. It has more of the glory of an academy of magic and science, though it was founded in Daggerfall more than three centuries ago. We are the only ones who bring the light of science and the light of faith to the people. And we value our followers very much,’ he paused, and then his tone softened.

‘I know how you feel about Heniel, and I know how she feels about you. I know of your pure and serious intentions, too. And if you tell me, I will immediately give you the blessing of Julianos. With this step, you will do far more for our Order than you could have done with a sword or a word.’

They were silent for some time. Kirg had already made the decision, but it was the order's policy not to answer immediately. He joined the Order knowing that he might never have to take up a sword or risk his life, but if that moment came, he would do it without hesitation. For the light, for people like Heniel. His love for her only gave him determination, but it was no reason to abandon his oath.

‘I'll do it,’ he finally said.

The Master sighed heavily again and nodded.

‘I accept your decision. Come again after midnight. I'll give you the directions and all the information we have. And it's desperately scarce.’

***

Night descended on the mountains as quickly as if a giant shadow had covered the land. Kirg continued his way despite the icy wind and poor visibility. There was no place to rest, and all attempts to build a fire in such a snowstorm would end in nothing. He could only hope that Lodmund had shown him the right way and he would reach the hut before his horse collapsed without strength. He continued his way, clinging tightly to its massive neck and shielding his face from the searing wind. Suddenly it seemed to him that it was easier to walk. He dared to raise his head and noticed how the blizzard began to abate right before his eyes. He lifted his head even higher and noticed the shining stars. The horse walked a few more meters and the wind died down altogether. A snowy glade opened before him. On one side there were mountains, and on the other two sides, the glade was surrounded by forest. He noticed a hut at the foot of the glade. It was an ordinary Nord hut, with a sloping roof and an attached stable. The flame of a candle flickered in its window.

When he got within thirty feet, the door of the hut opened and an old man appeared. He looked like a hundred-year-old man. He wore a gray robe and leaned on a stick. The old man only gestured toward the stable and closed the door.

Kirg took the horse to the stable and fed him, giving him all the apples. He wanted to thank his friend properly. If it wasn't for this horse, he would have serenely slept somewhere in the mountains, wrapped in snow forever. When he returned, the door of the hut opened again, and this time the head of a black dog peeked through the opening. The dog was huge, almost the size of the wolves Kirg had seen recently. He stared at him so intently that Kirg stopped, not daring to enter.

‘Come in, why are you standing there,’ came the old man's husky voice. ‘He's the kindest dog in all Tamriel, if you don't make him angry.’

Kirg came in, and the dog ran from the doorway to lie down beside his master by the fireplace.

‘I have more guests today than I've had in a year,’ the old man said, smiling. He did not seem to mind guests. ‘Come in, warm yourself up, and tell me your name.’

‘I'm Kirg Amedee, a Breton of Daggerfall,’ Kirg made his way to the fireplace, putting his palms under the heat of the fire.

‘My name is Quintus Dekimius. And how did you come to be in these parts, Kirg Amedee?’

’I came on a trading errand and got lost in the mountains.’

‘Someone's evil magic must be driving people to me today. If you're lost in the blizzard today, too,’ he said, his eyes darting to the side.

Kirg only now realized they were not alone. He followed the old man's gaze and noticed a dark figure in the corner. The man was nestled on the floor on a bearskin, watching their conversation and holding something in his hands.

‘Ra'Jah came to me this afternoon, stumbling into my house just as you did. And we were just having an interesting conversation when I heard you approaching.’

The khajiit's eyes gleamed catlike. He got up and came closer. Kirg shook the strong hand that was extended to him.

‘Ra'Jah is a merchant too,’ the old man said, and then he hissed in a fit of coughing.

‘Then we are busssinesss mates,’ the Khajiit said softly, but with a strong accent, peering intently into Kirg's yellow beastly eyes. ‘My name isss prrronounced Ra'JoK. But everyone calls me Ra'Jah. It is difficult forrr people to pronounce our names.’

‘Well, I'm not much rich, but I have some food, and I shall be glad to share my dinner with you,’ said Kirg.

Dinner turned out great. The old man did not suffer from a lack of food. It wasn't just ducks and cheese in the cellar. Kirg found a barrel of wine, and Ra'Jah found pickled peppers and a couple of sweet rolls. The old man ate very little as the kajiit finished his second duck. Kirg also enjoyed his meal and thanked his host profusely for the warm welcome. For him, who had grown up in a rich land, it was very difficult to eat only cheese and corned beef for several days.

‘I don't get many visitors and, as you've noticed, I don't eat much,’ the dog sat next to the old man as he stroked his giant head. ‘You might say Hier eats for both of us,’ he laughed and immediately coughed.

Kirg thought that laugh seemed unkind.

‘Now, I think it is time to continue our conversation. Mr. Ra'Jah is convinced that the Nords, for the most part, have a strong aversion to all races without exception and that such races as the Kahjiit will never be accepted as part of their society.’

Kirg had always condemned such opinion, but he also believed that dislike of the Kahjiit in particular was not always without merit. Likewise, he considered it an incredible exaggeration to refer to a member of that race as "master”. Even the prefix "Ra," in a Kahjiit's name, didn't make him doubt his thoughts. Many added this prefix, signifying status, to their name to add significance to it.

‘I wouldn't say all Nords hold to those principles, but I particularly agree with what Ra'Jah says,’ Kirg nodded toward the Kahjiit. He didn't even look at him, tearing at the smoked meat with his teeth. The conversation seemed foreign to him, and the lofty words Kirg and the old man used did not register in his ears.

‘A few days ago I encountered a similar Nord cordiality myself.’

‘You did?’ the old man was surprised. When he smiled, the wrinkles in his swarthy skin became even more noticeable.

‘Four days ago I had an encounter with the guards of the local village, and they suspected me of espionage.’

‘Really, I'd see the flattery in that if I were you. You must admit, prejudice against Bretons is better than prejudice against Kajiit or Argonian.’

‘I'd rather be consssidered a thief and a criminal than a ssspy,’ the khajiit hissed, tearing himself away from gnawing on the bone.

‘I would not agree, Master Ra'Jah,’ the old man protested. ‘Espionage is a difficult and very dangerous trade. It requires great qualities to succeed in it. And the Bretons are also considered skilled wizards.’

Khajiit made an ambiguous sound, either a purr or a growl, and went back to the bone.

‘And you, if I'm not mistaken, are not one of the proud people of the Nords,’ Kirg remarked.

‘That's right, I'm of Imperial descent. But I've been in Skyrim more than half my life,’ the old man coughed heavily again.

‘So why did you choose this harsh land?’

‘It came to be.’

The old man was silent for a while, watching Kirg's face.

‘But don't be afraid, I'm not a thief, I'm a merchant,’ said the khajiit.

He interjected so abruptly into their conversation that both of them looked at him a little confused.

‘You, on the other hand, look like a ssspy,’ he said to Kirg and took a goblet of wine. His accent seemed to thicken.

‘Well, even if I were a spy, I doubt I'd tell you that,’ said Kirg quietly. ‘Besides, a recent acquaintance of mine remarked that if I were a spy, we'd have a better chance of encountering you in the city than here.’

Khajiit said nothing. He leaned back in his chair and wiped his whiskers and his fur, red from the wine. Two silver earrings in his left ear gleamed in the firelight, and his beastly eyes gazed at Kirg with the same curiosity.

‘You are correct, Mr. Amedee. If you were a spy, you would not be sitting here now, in the company of an old hermit.’

It seemed to Kirg that the old man spoke these words with suspicion as if he guessed something.

‘Well, I see that you are tired and would like to rest properly. I want to rest too.’

As the travelers once again thanked their host for their supper, he got up heavily.

They settled down on skins, but contrary to the old man's wishes, Kirg did not sleep at night. He tried to think through his plan properly. The old man, though he looked frail, had great magical power. As a wizard, Kirg could feel it clearly. Besides, if Ra'Jah's appearance had been accidental, he could have been a great inconvenience to him. He was awake, fiddling with his amulet, thinking of the Moonfest that would be celebrated in Daggerfall tomorrow, eight o'clock at sunset.

Kirg watched the room carefully, and several times he thought he saw the glow of two beastly eyes in the darkness.

***

The room was flooded with bright sunlight. Kirg had no doubt that there was a magical explanation for the weather in this place. The old man had made an effort over the clearing where the hut stood. That was also why the blizzard had ended so abruptly yesterday when he got close.

Khajiit had been out in the woods since morning, kindly offering to help him get firewood. The old man, eyes closed, sat at the large wooden table at which they had dined in the evening, looking much like a draugr in a Nord tomb. He seemed to be asleep or meditating. In the light of day, Kirg could see how ancient the hut master looked. Skinny, bony arms were covered with swollen veins, and a gray, sparse beard, in a tangled knot, fell to his chest.

Kirg went through his vials of potions. He was disappointed to find that several of the frosty potion jars were broken. Brass vials were more reliable for travel, but also more expensive. The black dog Hier, who had been lying by the fireplace, got up and came over to Kirg, nipping at his knees with his wet nose.

‘Tell me, doesn't the sun still rise from behind the mountains of dragons' tails, bringing warmth from the Hammerfell lands with the east wind? Does Illyac Bay still smell fresh in the evening?’ the old man suddenly spoke. There was a smile on his face.

Kirg looked at him, not knowing if he was addressing him or talking to someone else. The man sat still, too, without opening his eyes. For a second he thought the old man wasn't talking at all, just a voice in space. But then his parched lips moved and he spoke again.

‘And the wine? Wine from the vineyards of the western hills? Does it have that same tart, astringent taste of young grapes?’

‘Daggerfall is as beautiful as you remember it,’ Kirg answered. ‘Only those vineyards are gone.’

The old man's face darkened. The smile faded.

‘Everything fades at some point,’ he hissed in a coughing fit.

‘Who are you? Where have you come from, and why have you been here all this time?’

‘It doesn't matter. Would I have changed something if I'd had another chance?’

The old man did not have time to answer his question. The door of the hut burst open with a crack and a khajiit with a bundle of twigs piled on the threshold.

‘I could use your help,’ he said angrily to Kirg. ‘I've put the skids outside. Load them with the rest of the logs and bring them back here.’

Kirg did not argue. Khajiit seemed too nervous and foolish for him to argue with. He hoped that Ra'Jah would go soon and that Kirg would find an excuse to stay longer to complete the task. He got up and went outside. The dog followed him at first, but then suddenly stopped on the threshold, sniffed the air, and disappeared back into the hut.

When all the large branches were tied on wide wooden skids and Kirg headed back, he noticed the figure of the khajiit approaching him. Ra'Jah was moving quickly, clearly trying to reach him faster than he could reach the hut. The khajiit was not a thief or a criminal, Kirg had decided that for himself the first day, but he should not let his guard down either. He stopped and decided, just in case, to discreetly release his left hand.

‘Keep your voice down,’ whispered the khajiit.

‘Do you have something to say to me, Ra'Jah?’

‘Husssh, I sssaid,’ he hissed again. ‘I know you've noticed the ssstrangeness in the old man's house.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Kirg decided to find out what the khajiit meant before he gave him any information.

‘I sssaw a ssstrange sssword in a carved ssscabbard.’

‘Where did you see it?’

‘In the room upssstairs.’

He caught Kirg's disapproving glance and hastened to make his excuses.

‘I told you, I'm not a thief. I'm just used to being vigilant, a keen ear, and a keen eye. This is our weapon. And it's not for you to judge us, half elf.’

‘I don't judge you at all. May I ask what was on that scabbard?’

‘I thought it was an eye.’

‘Not the sun?’

‘No, do you think I'm blind? It was an eye. The old man lulls us with talk and gives us cheap wine as if it were lava whiskey, but he's hiding something.’

‘Just because you talk like that about the man who sheltered you from the blizzard doesn't do you any credit.’

‘I don't care about your ssstinking honor, half elf. You don't tell me what to do. The question is who caused that blizzard. Or don't you see how calm it is here?’

There was truth in the khajiit's words. The old man clearly knew how to control the weather.

‘His house also protected him from destruction ssspells.’

‘Did you feel that?’

‘My ring. It's sssupposed to do,’ he paused. ‘Sssome magic. But once I go inside, it's just a useless piece of trinket.’

‘He let us in for the night, sheltered us from the storm. It's okay if he's protecting his home that way.’

‘Maybe not. But I'd keep my ears open. The old man is not what he seems.’

Khajiit helped him carry the rest of the branches, and they went back to the hut together.

Blocking spells of destruction. This level of magic is within the reach of very few. Khajiit's words let Kirg know that the Master was not mistaken. Quintus began to seem like a simple old man to him, but he was not as simple as he seemed. It was fortunate that the khajiit had such a ring.

***

The fireplace was blazing hot. The pine firewood smelled pleasantly of pine needles, and Kirg remembered the time he had hunted with his father around Glenpoint and in the Illesan Hills. He remembered the taste of gooseberries and Heniel's blue eyes. He remembered the fields of blueberries and blackberries. The salty sea air on the docks of Glenumbre and the light breeze of the bay. The crackling of logs reminded him of the sound of summer rain coming over the woods on the green hills of Daggerfall.

Quintus Dekimius sat in a chair with his eyes closed. The black dog lay at his feet as usual, Kirg sat across from him, and Khajiit Ra'Jah was perched on his pelt in the corner as usual, seemingly sleeping.

‘Have you ever been to your own country, Ra'Jah?’ The old man asked.

Khajiit opened his eyes abruptly.

‘I was born in Valenwood. A lot of people think it's easier for khajiits to live there. But it's not easy for khajiits anywhere.’

‘You think too much of the hardships you and your people endured in Tamriel. But look around you, who in Nirn has not suffered?’

Khajiit glared at Kirg.

‘You look at him in vain. The Bretons, or half Elves as you call them, have suffered much. You say the word half elf without knowing what's behind it. Now they have a beautiful, flourishing land, mighty castles, and great cities. They excel in magic and trade a great deal. But do you know what's behind it all? Do you know why they are called half elves?’

Khajiit didn't show it, but Kirg noticed the way his fur bristled. The old man somehow traced his gaze without even opening his eyelids. Kirg stood up and took a lute from the wall. He struck a few chords and the strings sang clear and melodious.

‘It has been a long time since I heard a true Breton ballad,’ the old man said heavily.

‘I only know one.’

‘Then sing it for us.’

He touched the strings gently once more with his fingers, just a few notes and there was music in the air. It was sad but beautiful.

The High Rock stands in silent mired.

The ancient songs have been expired.

Aldmeri language disappeared.

And why, will now be revealed.

Aldmeri had dominion strong.

Their reign has lasted very long.

And sent their cruel mighty sons

To be new kings, new jarls, new khans.

In lands, they never understood

And wisdom never was their good.

The elves have done so much mischief

And people waited for relief.

When only nation has a power

the other ones supposed be lower.

The weak will always be in chains.

For elves they are no more, but slaves.

There were some people, called 'Nedes'

For pleasure in aldmeri beds.

And children, born from elves by slaves

created a new, unbowing race.

Because of mingling of two bloods,

New people came, like ocean floods.

The Bretons, which in elvish 'half'.

For elvish sins like epitaph.

Descendants had the strongest goal

to write their names in Elder Scroll.

High elvish blood will soon be spilled.

From Nordic swords, from every hill.

It was a horrific, dreadful time

Revenge for every hideous crime.

No pity Nords had in conquest.

Sovngarde would be their final rest.

Old slave, who knew few Nordic words.

cried out for mercy, stopped Nord swords.

'We aren't foes, and fight we can'

because of the bravery of old man.

So many souls then stayed alive.

A new time of freedom has arrived.

But now it's all an ancient past.

For a time, that turns it all to dust.

When Kirg finished singing, the old man sighed heavily. Even the khajiit's gaze didn't seem so angry now, though he looked away.

‘Not the prettiest ballad. But the most important. At all times we have had a common enemy. But, alas, the peoples of Tamriel are too busy spilling each other's blood and missing the real evil time after time... I need to rest.’

He stood up and took a few steps, but his knees buckled, and he nearly fell, grabbing the mantelpiece. Kirg immediately jumped up and helped him back to his feet. Khajiit didn't even raise an eyebrow.

‘It's all right, it happens sometimes,’ he moaned hoarsely. His chest was coughing again. ‘The potions aren't working anymore.’

***

Kirg opened his eyes in horror. Something was staring at him, he felt that evil look. Cold and powerful. Without raising his head or moving, he tried to look around the room. In the opening, a few feet away from him, two yellow eyes burned. Khajiit was his first thought. The eyes slowly approached, someone was silently creeping closer, ready to rip his throat out. When the burning eyes got almost a meter closer, Kirg jumped up rapidly, made a turn, drew his steel dagger from under his pillow, and took a stand. The dog flashed his eyes and ran away to the side. Kirg sighed in relief. At the same instant, a hoarse cough was heard upstairs. Dekimius groaned and a rumble followed. Kirg rushed upstairs.

The old man's room was lit by a single burning candle. All the tables and bedside tables were littered with candles and covered with dripping wax. Crockery and pottery were scattered on the floor. The old man lay in bed and seemed to be panting. Kirg quickly rolled him onto his side and froze. On the wall, just above the bed hung a banner. A rhombic eye. The banner of the Order of Stendarr. Kirg was ready to see anything, even the sign of a mythic dawn, but not that. The old man was one of Stendarr's sentinels. A holy warrior, who was fighting evil. The terror of the Daedra and the dark cults. It was the sentinels of Stendarr who took the blow that fell upon Tamriel from the gates of Oblivion. Now it was clear what the symbol on the sword was that the khajiit had seen.

The old man coughed again and opened his eyes.

‘Kirg,’ he moaned. ‘I thought I was strong enough. I thought I could do it. I put my whole life on the altar, and I couldn't. You must go now. It's too late now. I'll try to make one last effort.’

‘What did you do?’ Kirg shouted. Speak! Do you serve the Daedra?’

‘I have always served only Stendarr,’ he coughed again, and the hut shook violently.

‘What have you done?’

‘I held it back for fifty years, only to destroy it in the end. But I was not strong enough. I cast a spell. He cannot cross its threshold while I am alive.’

There was another blow. Kirg was thrown against the opposite wall. Hurried footsteps were heard on the stairs, and Ra'Jah appeared in the opening.

‘What on earth is going on?’ Kirg noticed that the khajiit's accent was gone.

The old man grabbed Kirg's arm.

‘I would not change my mind, even if I had another chance. Kill him or run.’

‘Who?’

‘Hjar.’

Kirg saw Ra'Jah shriek and fall. The dog stood with his mighty paws on his chest, pinning him to the floor. He gritted white fangs, his eyes ablaze with yellow fire.

Kirg straightened his left arm and tried to attack with a spell, but the hut's defenses went off instantly. The hand only burned, but nothing happened. The beast was on its way to the khajiit's throat when Kirg threw a dagger. It struck the dog in the withers. It arched its back and dashed down the stairs.

Kirg helped the khajiit up, but he shoved him aside and lunged for the old man's bed. Dekimius' eyes went glassy. He was dead.

‘He's dead,’ cried the khajiit. 'Don't let him get out of the hut! Hold the dog!’

They both rushed down the stairs. The dog was bleeding and some green slime was flowing out. Its mouth was deformed, its spine curved. The monster seemed to be convulsing, uttering a strangled growl and spewing blood and slime from its mouth.

There was a clang of steel, and the khajiit drew his sword from its sheath. The inscription on the blade lit up the dark room with blue light.

The dog lunged, but Ra'Jah swiftly dodged the attack and the beast shattered the dining table with a deafening crash.

‘Help me!’ The khajiit shouted.

Kirg came out of his stupor and lunged for his sword, but the Daedra managed to turn around and hit him with his deformed paw. He felt a hard blow and collapsed on the floor of the hut. Deep wounds were left on his torn chest, he was bleeding. Kirg tried to breathe and coughed, spitting up thick lumps of blood on the wooden floor.

The dog, or whatever it had become, howled and lunged for the exit. Ra-Jah lunged and struck it with his sword, but the beast had already grown too huge. It kicked the door of the hut open and fell outside, staining the white snow with black blood.

Khajit rushed after it. A sword gleamed in his right hand, and flames flashed in his left as he stepped out the threshold.

The monster took on the appearance of a hellhound of gigantic proportions. It was no longer spitting black blood but only bared its ugly mouth. The flames burned it immediately. Khajit ducked and kicked. He summoned the flame in his hand again and again, but the Daedra was too strong.

Kirg, panting, crawled to his bag and pulled out a pair of pink vials. His throat and chest burned with pain, but it was easier to breathe. He gathered his last strength and staggered out of the ruined hut without even picking up his sword.

The beast made another lunge, and Ra'Jah did not have time to dodge. His sword sank into the Daedra's throat and jammed into the hilt. Khajiit was able to twist and strike it with the flame of both hands. The beast howled and threw snow and lumps of frozen earth in every direction, trying to hit the agile Khajiit.

Kirg approached stealthily while the fight was in full swing. He fell to his knees and raised his hands to the sky.

‘Half-Prince! he spoke powerfully and so loudly that the mountains seemed to tremble with the echo of his voice. ‘The Lord of the Lower Layer summons you.’

The beast turned sharply away.

‘Take your plague-stricken spawn from the lands of Nirn back to Oblivion. I cast you out in the name of Stendarr. And I pledge my soul to you, Periate Imposter, child of Padomay’s blood.’

Kirg's palms glowed with blue fire. He was on his knees, and the snow around him was melting as if from a roaster.

The monster shuddered and began to vomit again. It writhed in agony and collapsed on the snow, shrinking and growing smaller and smaller, spewing black Daedra blood. Soon all that was left in its place was scorched earth and nothing more. Kirg collapsed without strength, but the khajiit managed to pick him up. Now his eyes didn't look at all beastly. Ra'Jah put his sword in his hands.

‘Talmor’ he said, pointing to the amulet around his neck. ‘Tell me, who?’

Kirg tried to answer, but all that came out of his throat was a gurgle. Then he pointed to his chest. On a gold chain, there hung a round amulet with a triangle in the center.

‘Julianos,’ he nodded. He lowered his head and began to say the words of a prayer. And while his voice sounded, Kirg looked at the falling snow, at the dark strip of forest in the distance, and he thought of the warm wind from Illiak Bay, and the taste of salted blood on his lips seemed to him the taste of sweet gooseberries.

Ra-Jah put Kirg's body in the hut. The servants of the light. Two warriors, an old and a young one. Both laid down their lives, for the ungrateful sons of Skyrim, who would not even know of their sacrifice.

Khajiit summoned the flames one last time and the walls of the hut began to char. Soon the tongues of flame reached the thatch on the roof and all of it was engulfed in flames. He stared at the blaze for a few more minutes, thinking. Then he turned and headed toward the dawn that was opening a new day in the vastness of Tamriel.