Chapter 7: Lord of Hunters
Asha stood across from Gormlaith, her breathing ragged. As the wild Reachwoman turned to face her, she lifted her bow and drew back. “Stop. Don’t move.”
She should shoot her. She had just killed a dragon priest, one of the dragons chosen. It was sacrilege to harm one, let alone kill one. It was to invite the wrath of the gods upon you or, at the very least, the wrath of the dragons. But she felt her limbs going numb. Her hands trembled and the arrow shook in her grasp. Gormlaith stared back at her, completely unphased by the arrow pointing directly at her. “Put that down, Atmoran.”
Asha didn’t move, stiffening instead when the woman moved closer. Gormlaith froze and put her hands up, stopping her fellow Reachmen. “Not just yet, boys. She has potential.”
“What?” asked Asha, extremely confused. Her arrow wavered again as the woman turned back to her.
“Listen, Atmoran, we are the true sons and daughters of Skyrim. We are the true inheritors of this land, free from the tyranny of the dragons and their priests.”
“They are the gods on earth,” said Asha, “And the dragon priests are their chosen.”
“That’s what they’ve told you,” said Gormlaith. “You’ve known nothing else but this lie. But what have they ever done for you?”
“What…what do you mean?”
Gormlaith began to circle and Asha followed her. “What have they done for you? Have they kept you safe? Have they brought you peace in your life?”
“They bring purpose and order,” said Asha but her voice faltered. Hadn’t the last month been filled with similar thoughts?
“Do they? I can see it in your expression, you know the truth. They have enslaved you and you praise them for it. Do you have peace?”
“Enough of this Gormlaith,” said a Reachman. “Kill her and be done with it.”
“Put the bow down,” said Gormlaith, approaching Asha again. “Let us show you the truth.”
Asha pulled the string back again, centering it on the woman’s chest. “Stay back!”
“You can’t do this forever.”
Asha began to breathe heavily. She should fight. Go down in battle like her ancestors. But was that the only path? She heard a sword rasping behind her and could sense an attacker moving.
A flash of light came from the highest level of the chamber and an explosion of fire threw Asha off her feet and across the room to crash into the ground. Her vision went blurry for a moment and her hearing echoed strangely. There was screaming, a Reachman on fire running past her prone form, and Gormlaith rising disoriented to her feet. She looked up and yelled, “Dragon Priest!”
Asha looked up and, sure enough, the silhouette of a dragon priest was leaning over the edge on the highest level. How he had gotten up there was a mystery but he wasn’t alone. Joining him were many other hooded figures with drawn bows. The priest's dragon-headed staff pointed down as he yelled, “Fire at will.”
Asha curled into a ball, desperately hoping she wouldn’t be killed, as a rain of arrows descended from on high. Reachmen fell to arrows or dove for cover. Gormlaith grabbed a fallen Atmoran shield and held it above her head just in time. An arrow struck it a split second later and she growled in fury. “Cowards!”
A firebolt descended from above and struck the shield. She nearly buckled as she ran for a tunnel. More firebolts continued from the dragon priest, striking any Reachman that wasn’t fast enough to escape into the tunnels. Asha remained in her curled-up position, wondering if it was safe to move or if she should play dead. She closed her eyes as the sounds of the Reachmen retreated into the tunnels and the whizzing of arrows and the whooshing of fire receded. She didn’t know how long it was before she finally allowed herself to move. When silence was all around her save for the whistling of the night wind from the hole above, she finally stirred and rose to her feet.
Asha tried not to look at the bodies around her. At the crumpled form of Rukil to the burnt bodies of Reachmen. She stepped over the corpses crowding the main room. The faces of her friends stared up at her and she stopped, catching the sight of Wulfin’s friend. She couldn’t remember his name and his pale face stared back at her accusingly. It reminded her of her mother who had died so long ago from the rattles. She looked away quickly, panic filling her chest. “Oran!”
She rushed down the tunnel, heedless of what might be ahead. There were a few Atmoran and Reachmen bodies but no living soul. The door on the north side had been broken in, the guard hacked to pieces as he tried to hold it. She pushed past it and nearly ran into a tall figure. She screamed and backed up as a raised hand burst into flame, filling her vision.
She fell backward, staring up at the dragon priest looming over her. His mask was bronze, with a giant arrowhead carved into the forehead of the mask, and a hood. The slit eyes looked down and the solemn frown on the face seemed to glare at her. The hand holding the flame clenched and extinguished the fire with a hiss. “Stand up, daughter of Atmora.”
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She did so, quicker than was wise and she felt her head rush with adrenaline. She wavered on her feet and grabbed the nearest object. When her head cleared she realized she was holding the dragon priest's staff. She released it, horrified. “I’m so sorry, my lord! Please forgive me!”
He stared at her, his mask's blank expression unreadable. “What are you doing out here?”
“I came to find my friend, our storyteller, Oran. He was on the overlook.”
“We have already found him,” said the dragon priest, turning away and staring into the forest.
“Is he alright…my lord?”
“He comes now.”
Asha turned aside to see two hooded figures in cloaks and with fine bows on their backs helping Oran down the last of the stone steps. “Oran! Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” said Oran. “They didn’t spot me until a few went to high ground. I thought I was dead until the Reachmen were hit by a storm of arrows. Are you hurt? Who’s blood is this?”
She brushed his concern aside. “It is not mine.”
He turned and bowed low to the dragon priest. “My lord Krosis, how can I ever repay you? How can we? You have saved our people.”
Asha sank to the stone steps suddenly feeling drained. They had been saved. By rights, she should be dead. But so many had not been saved, including Rukil. Krosis, Lord of the Summer Halls, crouched down to her level and spoke through his bronze mask, “You are bleeding.”
Asha looked down. She realized that her clothes were shredded and her arms were oozing blood. She suddenly recalled a burst of pain when Rukil had hit her with the cyclone blast. The hit to her head had taken her primary focus and then a horde of Reachmen were about to kill her, causing her to forget such minor injuries. Krosis held his hands out, and a golden glow pulsed from his palms. The glow intensified and the light swirled around her body, brushing against the wounds. She shivered and felt a warmth spread through her. Her wounds began to itch and close, the skin stretching and stitching back together.
Krosis lowered his hands and breathed deeply, the glow disappearing from around his hand and Asha. He stood, using his staff to lift himself to his feet, then lowered a hand to Asha. She took it hesitatingly and bowed. “My lord Krosis…you are too kind. What did you do? How did you do that?”
“It is a simple healing spell. I can heal any damage done on the surface but had it been fatal, I could not have helped. Were you in the fighting?”
“I was, lord. I was in the main chamber.”
“And Lord Rukil, where is he?”
Asha hesitated and looked down. “He’s dead, my lord.”
Krosis looked away and cursed. “Of course. I warned him time and again to keep watch over the border between the forests and the Reach. Even to station scouts to watch the mountain passes. But he always believed he knew better, relying on the strength of his mountain bastion. Well, he has paid for his arrogance.”
Asha shivered, unsure how to react to these words of censure about her former lord. She shivered again, the adrenaline from her body draining and leaving her feeling dizzy. The death she had seen was beginning to fill her thoughts. What she had done. Her breathing began to quicken and her vision swam. “Get her inside,” said Krosis. “Hunters, grab her before she passes out.”
Two hunters reached her just as darkness swam in her vision and she collapsed to the ground.
When Asha awoke again, it was to a soft light and hushed whispers. She opened her eyes and squinted in the torchlight. She was in the medical room, surrounded by many others who were in far worse condition than her. Moans were faintly audible and soft crying from loved ones standing over newly deceased friends and family. Asha sat bolt upright from her bedding on the floor then regretted it. Her head pounded and her vision swam but she ignored the pain. She held her head and tried to stand. A healer came over to her and took her arm. “Good, you are awake.”
“How long has it been?” asked Asha.
“It is midday,” said the healer. “The bodies have all been removed and the wounded taken here. I’m afraid, now that you are up, we need you to leave. There is not enough room as it is.”
“Where is Oran?” asked rubbing her eyes and taking a few faltering steps.
“He is in the central chamber with the lord of Summer Falls,” said the woman.
Asha pushed past without another word and made for the central chamber. Her thoughts were still confused, her body ached, and she felt sick. But she had to see him. She had to see her savior and the one who healed her. When she reached the chamber, she was surprised to see the place filled with dark-robed hunters of Summer Falls and what was left of the bastion’s warriors and hunters. Oran stood near the middle but in the direct sunlight from the hole above was Krosis. He was majestic, even regal, in his flowing robes and bronze mask.
“I am sorry,” said Krosis. “It cannot be any other way. I have my lands to govern and protect. You must defend your own.”
“You are abandoning us?” came a voice from the crowd.
“I must,” said Krosis. “I will remain until your affairs are in order and your dead buried. Then I depart with my hunters. You must learn to survive on your own, not under my watch.”
“We will be slaughtered! Please don’t leave us!” The general outcry rang through the halls.
Oran stepped forward. “My lord, we have lost our dragon priest. Who shall rule?”
“You will,” said Krosis. “The storyteller has wisdom. He can delegate and rule until you send a message to Bromjunaar. They will sort out who shall rule here instead.”
Oran bowed, “I am not in a position to rule. I am a lowly man, no servant of the dragon.”
“Then you will die or fall into confusion,” said Krosis. “The strong must survive and work together. Those who cannot step forward or act when needed invite their death. If you wish to remain in fear and wait for salvation from without, you may do so. But I will not step in again. I have already overstepped my bounds of command by abandoning my province. But if you wish to survive, you must control your own home and your destiny. So do what you must to survive or die.”
Murmurs filled the chamber but no one spoke up again. Asha felt a strange admiration for his statement. She had lived an entire month, perhaps even much of her life, under the rules of others. Never standing up for herself. Never fighting for what she wanted or what she needed. She had been living a life of isolation and fear. She didn’t fit in. Perhaps it was time to take control of her destiny herself.
A sudden thought struck her as she watched Krosis sweep from the chamber followed by many of his hunters. If she couldn’t find a life here, she would make it elsewhere. She would make it with the hunters serving, by her choice, the lord of all hunters.