Just as he predicted, it was a nightmare.

Livia opposed any attempts to be imparted even the most basic skills. She refused to be taught swordplay, insisting she was good enough at it, even though she had no sword of her own. Of course, managing that came out of Gareth's own coinpurse. Even then, he couldn't afford anything truly good: he had to settle for Taldryn quickly grinding an edge into one of the training swords. Livia, of course, loudly protested the gift.

And the protests kept going on well into the rest of the day.

“Please, Livia, let me help you with that,” Julius pleaded.

“Let me go, you fathead! I can do it myself.”

“Livia, you mustn’t be so aggressive next to it. It might-”

The sounds of Julius’ panicked babbling were cut short by a thud and a pained groan. Moment later, Julius dropped on the ground, gripping his crotch and moaning in pain.

They were on the shore opposite of castle, next to the stables. Livia was trying to saddle up a large gidran, struggling with saddle’s cinch that just didn’t want to stay in place.

“Stop bullying Julius, Livia,” called out Gareth, who just finished saddling his raven. He took a moment to appreciate the velvety texture of the netch leather on his freshly fixed armour. It felt as if it were throbbing against his skin, in a mostly pleasant way. Not far from him, Aeriel has already mounted Helena’s snow-white mare. It painfully reminded him of the sadness on Helena’s face when he had to explain that he couldn’t stay. “And you should really try to push the prong in instead of just tying the belt,” he added.

“Shut up, old man!” snapped Livia, as she pushed the prong into the belt and tied the remaining length into a knot. “I knew that already.”

Beneath a layer of patient annoyance, Gareth felt a sting of pain; old man?

“I’m only twenty five, Livia,” he called out, mounting his steed and patting him on the neck to calm him down. “And you should really show more respect to your elders. Especially towards your master.”

Livia mounted her horse and shot a venomous glare at Gareth “As soon as you earn it, old man.” She spurred her horse and galloped away.

“I’ll go get her,” said Aeriel, adjusting herself in her saddle. “Fly, Sieglind,” she commanded to the mare, who instantly broke into a charge.

“And I’m not old!” cried Gareth in her direction as he watched Aeriel speed after her. Sighing, he tightened his saddlebags and took hold of reins.

“Master Gareth.” The voice came from Julius. He was standing now, but somewhat bow-legged. “Please take care of my sister.”

Gareth smiled reassuringly and patted the young Cyrod on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Julius: I promise I will. Take care while we’re away.”

And with that, he rode off after the girls.

Not a third of a mile later, he happened across a curious scene: Aeriel still sat in her saddle, but Livia was hanging above ground, kicking and struggling to break free from where Aeriel’s outstretched hand held her by the bunched cloth on the back of her shirt. Livia’s horse was nowhere to be seen.

“Let go of me, you bitch!” screamed Livia indignantly. She swung at Aeriel’s face, missing by a hair’s breadth and ruffling Sieglind’s mane. The mare neighed and trotted forward.

“Watch it now, little girl,” said Aeriel after calming her horse. “If you hit Sieglind, I’ll be forced to drop you.” To accentuate, she raised Livia a bit higher. The girl immediately stopped struggling.

“What happened here?” questioned Gareth after settling his horse near them.

“She wouldn’t stop, or even slow down, no matter what I told her, “ said Aeriel. “So I just picked her up from the saddle,” she added, almost apologetically.

Gareth forced himself to suppress the chuckle. Livia didn’t miss it, and shot a wicked glare in his direction, but said nothing.

Aeriel whistled a deep, throaty whistle, and Livia’s gidran gaited to them from the opposite direction. Aeriel lowered Livia in a saddle like she was a toddler, and gently adjusted the crumpled fabric on her back, giving her a reassuring smile. Livia didn’t return it.

“You’d do well to listen to what Aeriel tells you, Livia,” said Gareth. “She may look young, but she’s got more experience than either of us. Whatever she tells you is not to lead you astray.”

The look in Livia’s eyes was as cold as the Sea of Ghosts. “I don’t have to listen to anything she says; she’s not my master.” She turned to Gareth. “And I wouldn’t listen to her even if she were.” She turned her horse around and spurred it into a gait. Gareth and Aeriel followed at the same pace. Livia stayed ahead of them, but only a spear’s reach away, seemingly not too eager to be scooped up again.

“Don’t let it bother you, Aeri,” said Gareth, seeing his friend’s dismayed expression. “She’s still young, and they’re always like that in that age. We’ll get to her eventually.”

“I know,” said Aeriel, moving a loose strand of hair from her face. “I just wish we didn’t have to.”

Gareth sighed: she was right. This wouldn’t be easy at all.

“Come on, let’s pick up the pace” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “We have a lot of ground to cover if we want to make it to Ilinstead by tomorrow night.”

This seemed to cheer Aeriel up a bit, and they both spurred their horses a little faster, catching up to Livia. It was getting colder. The wind started to blow. Livia pulled a dark green travel cloak from her saddlebag and wrapped herself in it. Judging by its state, she was not its first owner. Gareth shivered and fastened his cloak more firmly. Aeriel was the only one who didn’t seem bothered by the cold at all. They rode like that for a few miles before Livia finally couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“So what’s our task?” she asked.

“The Thane of Ilinstead has hired us,” explained Aeriel. “Apparently, their mining operation struck into an ancient Nordic tomb, and now the place is flooded with draugar. Our task it to clear them out.”

“And your task is to watch and learn,” added Gareth, “and not to engage under any circumstances.”

“What?” cried Livia angrily. “No way am I just sitting back and watching!”

“Yes you are," Gareth insisted. "You’d be dead in a heartbeat, Livia. “The draugar are neither as slow or stupid as you young folk may think. It’s dangerous even for the two of us. You’re not yet ready.”

“Like Oblivion I ain’t!” rebelled Livia, startling her gidran. “Get off that nag of yours and I’ll show you!”

Gareth raised his eyebrow. “So eager to get beaten? Very well. But we don’t stop until twilight. If you’re still willing to take me on then, you’ll have your chance.”

This seemed to appease her. They rode for hours in silence interrupted only by wildlife and an occasional tune that Gareth would whistle to kill the monotony. Only when the sun began to sink to the mountains to the west did they stop. Gareth picked a small clearing in a forest, surrounded by tall pines. A pond murmured nearby.

“Aeri,” spoke Gareth after they dismounted, “you and Livia tend to the horses and start the fire. I’ll go out and see if I can catch something.”

“No rabbits,” said Aeriel immediately. “Or hares. Please.”

Gareth smiled and patter her on the shoulder. “No rabbits or hares,” he promised. "Even if there were any to be found." He took off his sword belt and placed it next to his unloaded saddlebags, taking only a bow, a few arrows, and a knife with him.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Livia demanded. “You promised me a fight.”

“And we shall have one,” Gareth said in response. “But after I return.”

“But it could be dark by then,” complained Livia.

“All the better,” he said. “One that cannot fight in the dark cannot be a monster hunter.”

And with that, he took off, leaving disgruntled Livia behind. Aeriel walked up to her and placed her hand on her shoulder.

“Livia, my dear, would you be so kind as to unsaddle the horses while I start the fire?”

Livia shook her hand off. “You think I can’t do it?” she questioned.

“N-no, that’s not what I-” started Aeriel, but Livia cut her off.

“Well I can do it,” she exclaimed proudly. “So I’ll tend to the fire.”

Aeriel seemed saddened, but she gently nodded and went to tend to the horses. Livia wasted no time dashing off into the forest-

As it turned out, finding enough dry firewood was a challenge in itself. Much of what was on the ground was too wet for her to be able to light it with just flint stones. Ten minutes of hard search yielded only enough barely passable brambles to fit in both her hands. Defeated, she returned to the camp, only to find that Aeriel had already managed to unsaddle all three horses, and has neatly stacked both of their saddlebags next to Gareth’s own, and was sitting cross-legged on a tarp near the edge of the clearing, looking at her with a sombre expression.

Suddenly in a very foul mood, Livia dropped the wood on the ground and went to rummage through her saddlebags to find her flint stones. She found them soon enough, and started on the fire. Or at least tried to. As it turned out, neither the tinder nor wood she gathered was dry enough. No matter how many sparks she struck out of her flints, she couldn’t get the fire to flicker into life.

After what seemed like hours, Aeriel stood up and, without a word, disappeared into the treeline. Livia was too busy trying to force the wood to ignite to be annoyed at her. It denied her over and over. But she wouldn’t give up. No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not with something as simple. Another strike. And another. Nothing. Another. Still nothing. Darkness started to gather and Secunda appeared on the sky. Another. Still nothing.

A pair of boots suddenly appeared before her. The ever-present smell of pine became stronger. Surprised, she raised her sight to their owner.

Aeriel stood just an arm’s reach away, clasping her sword with one hand, and carrying a large bundle of freshly cut branches in her free arm. She crouched and gently lowered the pile at Livia’s knees. She pushed them away, scattering them.

“I don’t need your help,” she said rudely. “I can take care of this myself.”

Despite looking to be on the verge of tears, Aeriel’s voice was a calm whisper. “You may not need my help, but we still need fire.”

Livia mouthed a curse, but words caught up in her throat: she was right. And even though she wanted to be angry at her, she just couldn’t bring herself to it.

She lowered her eyes, and without a word, started picking up wood piece by piece and stacking it. While doing it, she noticed that the pieces were nicked and cut in many places, with each cut leaking resin. She once again lifted her eyes: Aeriel was back at the saddlebags, vigorously rubbing her sword’s blade with a fistful of moss and moist grass, cleaning it off.

Finally! The resin blazed after just a few strikes, and light returned to the clearing. Considering how fresh the wood was, the fire flared up quick. Warmth came soon after.

Gareth returned just moments later, smiling warmly. The prey he was carrying was already butchered, flayed, and stuck in pieces on an ashwood spit. All together, it was about the size of a small lamb.

“What is that?” asked Livia, eyeing the carcass with a dose of mistrust.

“Skeever,” he responded. Livia felt her stomach contort at the very thought of eating it. “To kill a deer for just one meal would be a waste, and to carry any with us would be a needless burden,” he explained, setting the spit over the fire. “So this is what’s for dinner.” Tossing some more wood onto the fire, Gareth turned to Aeriel. She was sitting away from the fire, but as soon as their eyes met, she smiled and stood up to join them.

Gareth’s smile started to fade. He turned his head, scanning his surroundings but seemingly finding nothing. His gaze lingered for a moment, before slowly turning back. Livia felt an involuntary chill crawling up her spine: in this brief time he knew this man, he always looked at her with eyes that were compassionate, pleading, and politely annoyed. But not this time. This time, his eyes emanated cold that made the frosty air around her seem pleasant in comparison. Every nerve in her body begged her to yield and look away. But she forced herself to lock eyes. He was the first one to look away, and she felt triumph. But it faded away when he simply sat next to the fire and started turning the spit, poking the roasting meat from time to time with a knife. She sat near the fire to warm herself up, opposite of Aeriel. She noticed the young woman avoiding her look and nervously fidgeting a small piece of pine bark.

The meat was tough, stringy, and of very distinct and rather unpleasant flavour. Livia didn’t enjoy it, wishing for at least a pinch of salt. Gareth neglected his knife almost completely, using it just to cut pieces off the spit, and was pulling roast from the bones with his bare hands and teeth. Aeriel hardly ate at all.

When they finished, Gareth wiped his hands on the moist ground. Livia caught his sight. It was still cold as before. But this time, it was firm and unrelenting.

“I seem to remember,” he spoke, in voice that was just as cold, “I promised you a duel, Livia. Stand up and prepare yourself.”

Before she could fully process what he just said, he was already on his feet.

“Up and draw your sword,” he commanded.

Her confusion turned to elation. Finally, she’d put him in his place and show her worth. She leaped to her feet and drew out her sword, holding it tightly with her right hand. She waited for him to draw his. But he never did. Instead, he picked up the spit, still messy with the grease and bits of flesh. Livia stood in place as her elation melted back into confusion, and then she felt her blood boil.

“What is this, some kind of joke?” she hissed.

“Attack,” was all that he said.

Livia clenched her teeth so hard it felt like they’d crumble. With a cry, she charged at him, swinging her sword in a wide arc, aiming for his neck.

He redirected it with a nonchalant move of his hand. It threw her off balance, and she almost fell. When she regained her footing, he stood still, not moving in for the strike.

“Both hands,” he merely said.

Not listening, Livia charged again, swinging at his temple.

This time, he deflected her blow. It took her off guard, and the force of the impact yanked the sword from her grasp. She lost her footing and actually fell this time. He still didn’t attack.

“Both hands,” he repeated.

Gritting her teeth, Livia stood up and carefully walked to where her sword landed, never letting her opponent out of sight. She picked up her blade and decided to try it out: she grasped the hilt with both hands. It immediately became easier to hold the blade in place, to move it, and to direct it.

She charged in yet again, this time swinging from the other side, aiming for his ribs. He deflected her blow once again, but this time it didn’t feel so grievous. She managed to keep both her footing and her sword. Recovering, she swung to his shoulder. He caught her chop and let it harmlessly slide down the length of the rod. Before she could assume her stance again, the tip of the rod was only a span away from her throat. They stood still for a few moments; Livia too afraid to move and he with no intent to move. Finally, she mustered the courage to try a feint, and swung at the rod.

He moved it out of the way of her blade and back with a flick of the wrist. When her swing was finished, the rod was still aimed at her throat.

She tried it again, and again. Both times he’d move it only far enough for her to narrowly miss. Finally, she decided to aim at him. He parried her blow and pushed her away in one move. Enraged, she transitioned into a fierce flurry of jabs, cuts and chops. He met all of them, seemingly narrowly, but there was no fear or rush in his eyes. Only focus. She was playing by his rules. After a minute, Livia found herself sweating despite the cold. Her breathing was heavy, and her heart pounded like a drum. He was as calm and fresh as when they started.

“Aim your swings,” he said. “Don’t flail about.”

This was the final straw for Livia. He treated her as if she were a child; he treated their duel as a lesson, or a joke. Screaming, she firmly grasped her sword and focused all her strength into a vicious overhead chop. She expected that he’d block or parry again, but she expected that the sheer force of her impact would cut the rod in half, hopefully along with his ugly face.

She didn’t expect that he’d move

He dodged her blow with a grace she didn’t expect from a man so much larger than her, moving to side just as her blade struck. Too late she saw what was behind him: an old downed tree trunk. Her sword lodged itself deeply into the wood. Immediately, she tried to pull it out; it wouldn’t budge.

She also didn’t expect that he’d attack.

The rod struck her on the rear with enough force to throw her off balance and send her stumbling face first over the log. She collided with the cold, hard ground and snowy grass. Her buttocks felt as if they were on fire on a narrow stripe where she was whipped.

Creak behind her. She rolled on her back, and immediately regretted it when her rear end struck the ground. She jolted in pain, but immediately tried to scamper away: Gareth had yanked the sword out of the log and was pointing it at her.

It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t pointing it at her: he was looking down the blade, checking for nicks and chips. Having apparently found none, he rushed over to Aeriel, who was sitting with her face buried in her knees. Through a veil of gathering tears, Livia could see that she was shaking, and listening attentively, she could hear her sobbing. As she watched, Gareth knelt next to her, embraced her, and told her something that Livia couldn’t hear. When she raised her face, Livia saw that her eyes were red and her cheeks wet with tears. He kept talking to her, and Livia could make out a “it’ll all be fine”. Aeriel suddenly hugged him back, and Livia could hear him grunt in discomfort. He gently pried her away from him, and went back to Livia.

She sat where she fell, not standing up. He drove her sword into the ground next to her.

“We start at sunrise,” he simply announced before walking away to the other side of the fire and collapsing onto the ground without removing his armour or cloak.

Livia stood up, pulled the sword out of the dirt, and returned it to its sheath. Only now did she realize just how sore she really was. She tried to stretch out her muscles, but she could hardly feel them over the combined numbness of cold and effort, so she gave up. She looked for Aeriel, but the other woman was nowhere to be found. Her eyes moved to Gareth. He was already fast asleep.

Sighing, she wrapped herself in her cloak and tried her best to follow his example, but it just wasn’t meant to be as easy. She was cold, smarting all over, and angry. Angry at the humiliation she was just afforded. But it wasn’t yet over, no. She’d have the last laugh, as she always did. Comforting herself with these thoughts, she managed to drift into an uneasy sleep.

It was still dark when she woke up. With noticeable effort, she crawled up to her feet and stretched her arms. She felt as stiff and cold as a corpse. Gareth was already up, kneeling on the ground and choking the last dying embers with snow. He looked surprisingly well rested for someone who slept clad in leather and metal. He noticed her getting up and stood up as well.

“You’re awake.” She immediately noticed that sleep made his voice no warmer. “Good. Saddle up your horse and we’ll be off.”

She did as she was told with no argument. But as she was fiddling with the saddlebag rope, she noticed something that mildly alarmed her.

“Where’s the touchy one?” she asked, and immediately regretted that when he turned to her, his expression unamused. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked up to the treetops, going from one to another, finally settling on the tallest one. A playful smirk found its way on his face.

“Every single time,” he said, to nobody in particular. He walked towards the tree and gestured for her to follow him. She complied, too confused to do anything else. When she stood about a spear’s reach away, he lifted his foot and stomped on the trunk.

A few birds took flight, chirping. A handful of needles and a few pinecones spilled to the forest floor. And something moaned in disagreement. It took Livia a few seconds to process it was human.

Gareth couldn’t help but to smitk as he watched her dumbfounded expression. Her eyes moved between the treetop and him, as if still grasping what just happened. Finally, she slowly lifted her hand and pointed towards the treetop.

“You… you mean to tell me,” she stuttered, “that she’s… up there?”

He nodded.

Livia looked at Gareth without her usual contempt; this time she was solely confused, rather than annoyed. “She... she sleeps in trees?”

"Not usually, no," he said. "But she can fall asleep anywhere. And she tends to keep her watch from high places."

Livia mouthed a question, but was stopped by Gareth yelling up into the trees branches.

“Aeri!” he started. “Get a move on, we’ve got ground to cover!”

Very briefly, as the call faded away as an echo into the trees, they both heard a rustling above them, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping and a short sharp yelp of surprise as a blur or black and silver plummeted to the ground near where Gareth stood, landing with an amazing amount of elegance for someone correcting their fall mid-flight. She landed on her feet, but slipped on the hoar-encrusted ground, and landed on her back with a resounding thump.

Gareth looked over at Aeriel as she lay prostrate and groaning on the ground. “Graceful,” he commented.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Thank you,” came the quiet reply. Aeriel pulled herself up, steadily pulling a hand up to scratch at her head, taking a slightly wheezing breath before her eyes flicked to Livia. “Morning,” she said with a sheepish chuckle.

Gareth tried to suppress a smile himself as his friend got to her feet, looking between Livia’s bemused expression and knitted brows and Aeriel’s clear attempt to not look silly in front of the girl who she’d so far failed to impress as she’d hoped.

“Never seen someone sleep on a tree before?” Aeriel asked, offering the warmest smile she could possibly muster.

Livia looked her up and down for a moment, before her face settled in a scowl, at her usual unimpressed way. “No,” she eventually said, before turning on her heel and sloping off back to camp at a brisk walk.

Aeriel’s shoulders immediately drooped and the smile flew away from her face, leaving her immediately dejected.

Gareth felt a pang of sympathy and closed the distance between them, looping an arm around her shoulders. “You can’t win them all, Aeri,” he said.

“I just-” she faltered, her voice as confused as it was upset. “I don’t understand her.”

Gareth smiled sadly and hugged her tighter to him for a moment, before letting her go with one last pat on the shoulder. “You will, eventually. You’re trying your best with her; it’ll yield something eventually.”

This seemed to brighten her up some, and she sauntered away to saddle Sieglind.

“Does she always do that?” Gareth turned to face Livia, who finally managed to secure her saddle bags. He shrugged. “I won’t pretend to know everything that goes on inside her head. I don’t think anyone does, really. But yes: she’s done that and worse as long as I’ve know her. Probably longer.”

“And the people back in the castle don’t notice it?”

“Oh they do,” he said as he saddled his own raven with a speed of someone who has done this a thousand times. “But nobody really cares. We’ve all seen stranger. She has her own room in the castle, but she doesn’t have a bed there; just some furniture.”

Livia shrugged and got back to saddling her own gidran. She never lived in any kind of wealth, but could never imagine sleeping on a bare floor. Especially after just having done that.

The sky was just starting to grey over the Velothi mountains when they resumed their trip. Even so, almost a whole day passed before they caught sight of Ilinstead’s roofs. The settlement could barely be considered middling, but it was by no means a sleeping town: even from the distance, they could hear the clamour of hundreds of voices.

Livia gasped in surprise when they finally made it out of the forest, and to the gate: not only were the streets and the surrounding area full of people, but it wasn’t just Nords: she saw Cyrods, Redguards, Bosmer, Dunmer, Bretons, even several Khajiiti, who sat in front of their caravan carriages, loudly advertising their wares. Market stalls and mismatched tents spread out as far as the eye could see. All manner of goods were displayed for sale: exotic fruits and meats from Morrowind, bolts of smooth fabric and elegant jewellery from Sentinel, strong-smelling spices and dyes from Daggerfall, robust armaments from Orsinium, and so much more. The area was lit by what looked to be hundreds of torches, lamps, and lanterns. Livia couldn’t stop looking around in awe, even when they tied their horses outside the palisade.

“First time in Ilinstead?” asked Gareth, amused at her expression. She nodded, still looking around in amazement. A particular Khajiit with blue stripes painted on his face caught her attention. He smiled, and tossed her an apple. She caught it with surprise: it was still fresh, red as blood, and smelled divine. She smiled in thanks and was just about to take a bite when Gareth yanked it out of her hand. She watched in disappointment as he tossed the apple back to the merchant, who apparently shared Livia’s disposition on the matter. She turned to the man, who was glaring daggers at the Khajiit. His gaze dropped to the girl.

“You’d be wise never to take something that a Khajiit offers you for free,” he said. “It’s never free.” He gently patted her on the shoulder to signal her to move on. She did, but she still couldn’t peel her eyes from all the sights: she grew up in a small village, far away from anything so exciting, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

Aeriel appeared as they made their way through the loud mass. She was carrying a paper cone filled with chilled raspberries. “Ilinstead is a new settlement,” she said, popping a raspberry into her mouth. “Four years ago, there was only a barren, rocky field here. That is, until the High Queen noticed the importance of the trade routes that intersected here and commanded a Illinstead to be built. It is now the greatest trading hub in the south of Skyrim.” By the time she finished speaking, the only thing remaining in cone was crushed ice.

Livia only nodded, still taking in the sights. They soon made their way to the largest building in the town that wasn’t a warehouse.

“Thane Black-Briar’s home,” Gareth explained. Livia frowned.

“Weren’t Black-Briars wiped out in the Rift's riots?” she asked.

“Not all of them,” said Gareth. “Lady Ingun’s son, Hunferth, was left untouched. I suppose nobody wanted the blood of a small child on their hands. And looking back, it was a good call: the lad is a genius when it comes to business, and he’s still only seventeen. Keeps both his grandmother’s meadery and this whole thanedom in order.”

As they approached the door, Gareth pulled out his medallion and gently rubbed the face emblazoned on its surface. Livia didn’t miss it, but it truly drew here attention when she saw the face’s emerald eyes glow.

“What was that for?” she asked.

Gareth stuffed the amulet back into his clothes. “You’ll see,” he said.

Two guards that flanked the door crossed their halberds when they approached.

“What business do you have here?” asked the taller one, eyeing them carefully.

“We are the members of the Order, whom your Thane has hired to solve your draugar problem,” responded Aeriel.

The tall one tilted his brow. “Three of you?” he puzzled.

“Two hunters,” said Gareth. “And an apprentice.”

“How can I know you’re who you claim to be?” asked the shorter one. "You could be brigands for all I know."

"Who else would we be?" Gareth quizzed. To Livia's surprise, the guards relaxed and uncrossed their weapons. “True." said the taller one. “You may proceed. But make no trouble.” He pushed the door open and the trio entered.

The inside of the building was surprisingly ascetic. While it was completely furnished, the pieces were purely functional and plain, despite obviously being well made. No paintings or tapestries decorated the walls, and no statues were to be seen. Instead, rows upon rows of shelves, covered in books, dominated the house’s flanks. Most of them were historical or fictional, but some of them were more practical: law books, codes, and piles of scrolls sorted by the colours of the lines that tied them closed. There was no trace of dust or stains anywhere, and all the furniture was neatly aligned. Near the end of the main chamber, opposite of a burning fireplace, stood a large desk, almost completely covered in scrolls, ledgers, inkwells, quills and single small anvil made out of cast iron: a shrine to Zenithar. And a single man sitting at the desk, hastily scribbling at a sheath of parchment.

Hunferth’s appearance made him almost seem a part of the room: dressed in simple and functional clothing, and wearing no jewellery save for a signet ring. He was slim to the point of gauntness, clean shaven and wore his hair short. Upon hearing them enter, he raised his gaze from the papers in front of him.

“What business do you have with me?” he said. His tone was fast and sharp: the voice of a man who didn’t enjoy wasting time.

“We’re hunters from the Order,” said Gareth. “This is my partner, Aeriel Emberstar, and my apprentice Livia. We’ve come here as you’ve requested.” Livia immediately noticed he failed to introduce himself. Hunferth apparently did not, but he relaxed.

“Ah, welcome,” he said, smiling. He gestured to set of chairs opposite of his desk and they sat.

“I trust you’re tired from your trip,” he started, “so I won’t bother you with long speeches and arduous details.”

“With all due respect, Master Thane,” started Gareth, “arduous details can sometimes mean all the difference. Please, tell us everything.”

Hunferth stared quizzically at the other man for a few moments, as if trying to remember something he never knew. “Very well, then.” He reached under his desk and pulled out four pewter cups and a bottle of red wine. “May I offer you some West Weald?” he inquired. “If we’re going to talk, we may as well not do it cotton-mouthed.” Gareth and Livia nodded. Aeriel shook her head. Hunferth poured three cups, put the bottle down, and personally carried the cups to Livia and Gareth. He then leaned on his desk and crossed his legs.

“A month ago,” he started, “a local by the name or Aiya stumbled on a deposit of copper. She reported her discovery to the guild of metalworkers that same day. It was decided that it would be less expensive to mine the ore and produce it ourselves than to import it from elsewhere. Two days later, the operation was in full swing.” He briefly paused to take a sip of wine and continued. “The deposit turned out to be surprisingly rich, and in a fortnight, we had a small mine already. The diggers also discovered a deposit of iron and a small vein of silver, and doubled their efforts. I suppose that their eagerness to find more blinded them. One of them, a usually decent fellow named Baldir, happened upon a wall, and instead of reporting it, decided it would be better to just break through it. Unfortunately, it was a wall to an ancient crypt, and the commotion woke up the draugar interred there. Three of the workers, including Baldir, were killed. Two more were snatched and are now counted dead too. The rest ran like Dagon himself was at their heels. When they returned to the town and told us their tale, an immediate conference of the guildmasters and merchants was called. Some voted for the abandonment of the operation, but it was decided in the end that the crypt should be cleared out and the missing workers recovered if possible: though I personally doubt that their intentions were so noble. That was five days ago, when we sent a request for aid to your order.”

Only the crackling of a fire was heard for good ten seconds.

“How many draugar were there?” asked Gareth.

“Workers reported; and I quote,” started Hunferth, “‘bout a dozen’”. He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you a more detailed count.”

“Did the draugar attempt an attack on the village?”

“They didn’t,” responded Hunferth. “For whatever reason, they don’t seem to wish to leave the crypt. But they will attack anyone who dares into the mine.”

“We’ll need oil,” spoke Aeriel. “Any would do. Could you spare a keg?”

“If that’s what you need to clear them out, I can spare ten,” spoke Hunferth.

“One’ll be enough, thank you,” said Aeriel. She paused. “Where is the entrance to the mine?”

“It’s down by the lake,” said Hunferth. “I’ll have a guard escort you down to it come morrow. But for today, please stay as my guests. Finding lodgings in the inns would be difficult enough if the fair wasn’t to take place in a few days, and I can guarantee you that my hospitality exceeds that of any innkeeper.”

All three eagerly accepted. Hunferth smiled and rubbed his hands.

“Excellent!” he said. He put his cup down and clapped three times, to which two smiling servant girls came in hurriedly.

“Bring out some extra cutlery, ladies,” he said. “We’ll be having guests for dinner tonight.” The girls bowed and quickly rushed in the direction of what Gareth assumed was the kitchen.

“Well, I think I did about enough work for today,” said Hunferth. He picked up his cup again and gestured the three to follow him.

The dinner was as plain as everything else about Hunferth: boar chops and boiled potatoes with rich Cyrodiilic gravy. But after the unseasoned vermin they ate yesterday, they were more than thankful to take what they were given. What surprised them was that Hunferth apparently ate with his servants. Gareth opened the subject soon enough.

“Surprised that a Black-Briar would be so humble?” asked Hunferth. “You could say that I was taught by experience on the dangers of luxury.” As he spoke, his gaze trailed away in the distance. “Greed, my friends,” he started, “is the root of all evil. And sooner or later, it comes to collect its due. Greed killed my grandmother, who thought herself untouchable and above the laws of man. And yet, all her wealth didn’t save her from the angry mob when the queen declared the Black-Briars to be outlaws. My uncles, even my mother, who was mostly innocent: all followed her into the grave that day. An entire guild, who was more powerful than ever before, reduced to almost nothing before the sun set. All because they got too greedy for their own good and reached out too far to pull back safely.” The entire table was silent. Hunferth took a long swig from his cup. “I’ve long since promised myself to live as any other man would. Being a Black-Briar doesn’t make me any better than them.” He gestured to the servants that sat lower at the table. “Only when I am old and frail and my children succeed me, shall I allow myself some luxury – as a payment for my service in youth.”

Gareth was silent. Servants looked to their master with almost reverent affection. Aeriel was choking back tears, visibly touched. Livia stared at their host as if he were a lunatic.

Hunferth’s expression suddenly brightened. “But even now, I will spare no expense when it comes to drink,” he said, signalling to one of the servants to hand him a pitcher. He poured himself another cup of aromatic liquid and set down the jug. “Whatever you can imagine, I likely have it," he started, gesturing to a glassed cupboard in the back of the room, containing numerous bottles of different shapes and sizes. "Wine and brandy from Colovia, rum from Stros M’kai, flin from Blacklight, mead from both my own and the Honningbrew meadery.” He raised his cup in toast. “One other thing I learned is that there is no worse way to ruin a day than with a bad liquor.”

After dinner, they were escorted to their room. It was a relatively spacious, but mostly empty chamber that more resembled a barrack than a guest room. As soon as the servant who escorted them was away, Aeriel opened the window and hopped out leaving Livia and Gareth alone. Livia decided not to question it. After wishing her a good night and telling her to get plenty of sleep, Gareth dropped on a bed and passed out. But Livia was too nervous to sleep. She impatiently waited for the morning, eager to face the draugar and prove once and for all that she was better than what they thought. She sat in silence for several minutes, pondering her options, and then made her decision. Getting out of bed as silently as possible, she put on her boots, strapped on her sword, and climbed out the window, making sure to create as little sound as possible, despite the ever-present clamour from the streets.

She made her way through the raring masses, to the south-east gate. Arriving there, she was elated to find no guards. But she soon realized it meant that she couldn’t open the gates, which were held in place by a massive wooden latch, too large and heavy for her to move herself. No matter: she’d simply scale the palisades and-

“Oy! Wha’re you doing down there?”

Livia froze as if kissed by a wispmother. She slowly turned around to come face to face with a rapidly approaching guard in a very foul mood. She swallowed her spit.

“You some kind of burglar, lass?” he asked. “Speak quickly before I skewer you like roast.” he emphasized his words by tapping the bottom of his halberd on the ground.

Livia did her best to hide her panic. This wasn’t going according to plan. But she managed to calm herself down. This man was just a simple guard. Just a yokel with a sharp stick. She’d met plenty of his kind before. She could talk her way out of this.

She straightened up and frowned. “I’m one of the monster hunters,” she said. “I was sent to scout ahead.” She almost congratulated herself for her quick thinking before seeing the guard frown.

“They wouldn't send no scouts durin’ the night,” he said. “And even if they did, this gate doesn’t open until dawn. Thane’s orders.”

Well that didn’t work, thought Livia. Time to reach for alternative means.

Doing her best to put some sway in her hips, she took a few steps towards the guard, smiling seductively and crossing her hands behind her back.

The guard stuck his halberd towards her with a speed of an arrow. “Keep yer distance and keep yer hands where I can see them!”

Alarmed, Livia stepped back, raising both her hand in a defensive gesture. Seven Curses!

Slowly, she reached for her belt, and took off her coinpurse. She tossed it to the guard. He caught it, looking confused.

“There’s seven Haralds inside, and they’re yours: just let me out,” said Livia pleadingly.

The guard’s frown deepened. He seemed to weigh the situation. Finally, he attached the purse to his belt.

“You take all responsibility, and yer back in an hour,” he commanded.

Livia nodded vigorously, overjoyed that her plan worked. The guard unlocked the side door, and let her out. She rushed off in the direction of the lake without looking back.

She couldn’t help but laugh as she felt the cold air beat her face. What she gave to the guard was all the money she had: but if fortune would have it, she’d be able to loot thrice as much from the crypt. And even more, she’d be able to return with useful information. She could almost imagine the faces of Gareth and Aeriel when she returned. The thought invigorated her, and she ran faster.

Under the light of the full moon, the frozen surface of Ilinalta gleamed like a giant mirror, casting bluish light for hundreds of paces of snow-covered ground around it. It was truly a marvellous sight. And in that light, Livia soon discovered what she was after: a mining shaft, darker than the night surrounding it. She quickly adjusted her route and sprinted to it.

She was out of breath when she finally reached it. The inside was pitch black, looking all too much like the throat of some mythical giant. She looked around for anything to fix that issue, and lucked upon a cast away lantern. With some effort, she managed to light it, casting grim shadows against the walls.

As she slowly made her way down, something pecked at her mind. Something that Gareth told her about the dark and the monster hunters. But she quickly put it to rest: if it were important, she’d have remembered it already.

She silently made her way thought the shaft, going past shattered rock and discarded mining gear. She couldn’t help but feel contempt to the miners: all of them grown up, and no doubt strong as oxen from picking at rocks all day. All ran away like hatchlings, and before what? A handful of shuffling husks? She suppressed a snort and went deeper in. And there it was: the ancient wall, scarred with pick marks, with a large hole in the middle. The entrance to the crypt. She pulled out her sword and stepped through.

Instantly, she felt a change. The air here was much warmer, and smelled like decay, fatty candles, and something else that she couldn’t quite place: some sort of liquor. She moved forward more carefully, until something made her freeze in her tracks. Sounds, dead ahead. Throaty, hoarse voices, accompanied by chattering of teeth and clinking of metal. They were there. She put the lantern down and crouched towards them. A pile of ruined masonry in front of her made for excellent cover. She stopped behind it and peeked over.

They weren’t quite like she imagined them. They were clearly undead, yes, but they didn’t look like desiccated corpses. They instead more resembled a dead body that was just about to start decaying. They were slightly slouched over, dressed in ancient armours of leather and thick iron straps, and one of them wore a robe covered in metal scales. Their eyes were black with red pupils, cold and lifeless. Save for the robed one, who was working on something on a raised platform, and two more who seemed to be there to assist him, they wandered about, seemingly aimlessly. She counted fifteen in total. Slowly, she lowered her head behind the cover.

It wasn’t so bad, she thought to herself. If they all took five each, they could do away with them no problem. But something caught her attention: in one niche, next to a wrapped corpse, stood a small chest. It was reinforced with iron, looking not too different from the one her late mother used to store her jewels. She barely managed to contain her squeal as she made her way to it. She knelt and tried to pry it open, and to her surprise, it wasn't even locked. Inside, she found an assortment of useless trinkets: a broken bone comb, a vial filled with some resinous matter, a tuff of wool, a rusted iron fibula. Just as she was almost ready to set it down, her finger brushed something metallic. A brief inspection revealed it to be an engraved ring, made out of silver and topped with a reddish jewel. It seemed that this trip would pay off after all.

A cold hand suddenly clamped over her mouth. She dropped her sword and desperately tried to claw it away, but it wouldn’t move. Her screams were lost in the long dead flesh, the smell of which twisted her stomach. Her heart beat like a drum as she kicked and clawed and squirmed, desperate to free herself. Then something struck her in the temple. The world went black and quiet, and she knew no more.

---

When she came back, she first realized that she was laid down on a cold stone dais. She then realized that she couldn’t move. She was tied down... no, worse: she was wrapped up, wrapped in the same linens as that corpse that she’d tried to burgle. She tried to scream, but found that she was gagged. She tried to move her head, and gratefully found that she could. But in the same moment, that thankfulness evaporated.

Left of her was a young man, wrapped as she was. But he didn’t look nearly as well: his eyes were glazed over, his skin was greyish, and streams of amber-like liquid poured out of his mouth, nostrils, and eyes. But the worst was his chest, that was still moving. Whatever they did to him, he was still alive.

Her scream was again lost in the leather strap in her mouth. She jolted, trying to free herself. If she could just wiggle off the dais, she’d be able to escape. A snarl next to her ear put a stop to her attempts. Slowly, she turned hear head, frightened at what she’d see.

He was even uglier up close. His breath stank of decay. His eyes, she noticed, weren’t as lifeless as she first thought, instead full of primal hate and malice. As she watched in horror, he turned away and barked something in some guttural language. Immediately, three more appeared. Before she could do anything, they all grabbed her. She recoiled in disgust, but their dead arms were deceptively strong. They held her down like iron chains, and she couldn’t budge. Then one more appeared, carrying what looked like a war horn. Before she could think what he was going to do with it, he inserted the tip into her nostril. Here eyes widened in fear. She tried to shake it out, but he held her head in place with his other hand. Then the culmination of horror came into her view: the robed one was coming her way, flanked by two others. He was carrying a stone vessel. As he approached, the smell of the liquor she felt earlier became stronger.

Her heart started to race erratically as she realized the purpose of the horn. Her thoughts rushed to the man next to her, his lifeless visage, and the liquid that leaked out of his orifices. Burning tears streamed down her face, but the gag denied her crying: all she could muster were muffled squeals of pure terror. No, no no no. Talos! Mara! Stendarr! Help! Someone! Please! No, not like this! The robed one raised the vessel and began chanting. No. No no no no NO!

A bolt of flame struck the robed one on the hood. In a rush to try and pat it out, he spilled the liquid over himself. It burst into fire, turning him into a living, screeching inferno. The others backed away from him in palpable fear.

“LIVIA!”

As one, the draugar turned towards the source of the voice and as one, they let go of her, brandishing what weapons they had, and rushed. Free from their oppressive grasp, Livia shook the horn out, and turned her head towards the entrance.

Gareth and Aeriel were charging forward, swords in one hand, torches in the other. They collided with the draugar like two rivers, knocking a few down. Livia saw Aeriel cleave through the chest of one, immediately crumpling it to the floor. Ignoring the others, she threw down her torch and rushed towards Livia, blindly swinging at the undead trying to block her path. Lopping the head off a draugr who positioned himself between them, she picked Livia up like a doll, and carried her away through the sea of growls, metal, and rotting stench.

Aeriel put her down behind the same pile she used to hide herself earlier. She took hold of the strap in Livia's mouth and pulled, ripping it apart with her bare hands. She continued with the linen that wrapped her body. In no time at all, she tore enough of it that Livia could pull herself out.

“Aeri-” she started, but was interrupted by Aeriel putting a finger into her nostril. Before she could react, Aeriel pulled it out, briefly glanced at it, and put it into her other nostril. She did the same with both her ears, and finally with her mouth. It was only then that Livia realized she was checking for the mysterious liquid that the priest was about to pour into her. Having found none, Aeriel loudly sighed in relief.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice cracking. Livia nodded. “Stay here,” she commanded, before vaulting over the pile and rejoining the fray.

Livia scanned the floor for her sword: it was where she dropped it. She picked it up, ready to defend herself. It then occurred to her that she’d never seen Gareth fight for real or, Aeriel fight at all. She remembered what Gareth told her about not engaging, and only watching and learning, and peeked over the barricade.

To her right, Gareth held his sword horizontally. The draugar that surrounded him kept their distance. One broke away and attacked. Gareth met his blow, let it slide, and spun the blade around, striking the draugr’s exposed neck in one swift move. Livia didn’t even see the blade connect, yet the draugr fell, coagulated blood gathering on his nape like hot jam. Gareth immediately moved in to attack another one, who raised his sword in defence. In a split second, Gareth’s blade changed direction by only a bit, sliding under the hilt of the other sword and cutting a long, seemingly shallow gash in the draugr’s stomach. The draugr stumbled, which gave Gareth just enough time to drive the tip of his sword through its throat.

His style was fast and precise, made for dealing almost chirurgically precise wounds..

On her left, Aeriel did the exact opposite. There was little finesse in her swings. But she compensated for it with sheer strength. Livia watched, transfixed, as the other woman’s heavy broadsword swung down, severing an arm of a draugr that moved in for the attack. Instead of stopping there, Aeriel allowed the momentum to carry her, and made a half-turn, allowing her blade to swoop upwards, into the chin of another draugr, who planned to strike her from the rear. The helmet flew into the air as his head split in two. Still moving, Aeriel performed another half-turn, bringing her sword in a diagonal slash that tore open a chest of another would-be assailant. It wasn’t clear who was in charge here: the swordsman or the sword.

Her style was strong and unstoppable, made simply to destroy and dismember.

And she couldn’t decide which made more sense.

Rustling to her left. A door that she hadn’t even noticed before crumbled, and a massive draugr ran into the chamber. He was taller than others by a head and built like a bear, clad in iron from head to heel, wielding a sword that glinted wickedly in the dim light of the crypt. Dispatching the last draugr next to her, Aeriel fearlessly engaged the giant.

The duel was evenly matched: Aeriel was faster, but the draugr made up for it in sheer size and the quality of his armaments. She couldn’t penetrate his armour, and he couldn’t land a blow on her. Wherever their blades collided, sparks flew into the air. Suddenly, Aeriel let go of her sword, and pointed both her hands at the draugr. She whispered a word, and an icy mist gathered at her palms, out of which a massive icicle shot out. It struck the giant in his right hip, and he fell to his knee. Smiling, Aeriel scooped up her sword and charged. Halfway through, she stopped. Livia didn’t understand why until she saw the draugr’s chest inflate. She immediately knew something was wrong: the undead didn’t need to breathe. Suddenly, a loud hiss echoed the chamber.

“Fus…”

Aeriel’s eyes widened.

“Gareth, down!” she yelled as she threw herself behind the barricade. Gareth had just enough time to disarm the last remaining draugr, jump behind the barricade himself, and push Livia down as the giant finished his sentence.

“Ro Dah!”

It was as if all he air was sucked from the chamber. Even from behind the barricade, Livia felt a wave of unseen force fly past them. The last remaining draugr didn’t even have the time to turn: the force struck him, sending him flying like a leaf in the strong wind, straight into the support pillars, which broke under the combined assault. A small quake shook the crypt as rocks came crashing down, burying the entrance. The air was suddenly full of dust.

“Well of fucking course there would be a Tongue!?” yelled Gareth, suddenly in a very foul mood. He seemed more concerned about the enemy they faced than the fact that they were all just buried alive.

“It gets worse,” said Aeriel, pointing her finger to the opposite end of the room. “Look.”

Four new draugar, awakened by the Tongue’s display of power had walked into a chamber while they were down. A small consolation, but the one struck with the force didn’t rise on the account of his upper half being buried in rocks the size of a toddler.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Gareth. “You finish the big one.” Aeriel nodded, and they both leaped over the barricade and engaged their enemies once again.

Livia couldn’t look away from Aeriel and the massive Tongue. The girl fought her damnest, slashing, parrying, dodging, riposting. But it wasn't enough. All of a sudden, she was on the ground. Livia suppressed a scream. She didn’t see what happened, and yet the girl was laying on the floor, sprawled, waiting for her enemy to finish her.

She acted before she could think. Grabbing the sword that she dropped there, she vaulting over the barricade, charged the Tongue, and drove the blade into small unprotected area where the plates met on his back. She missed, and the sword struck plate. It slid away, burying itself into the side.

Swift as a cobra, the Tongue turned around. The force of his movement ripped the sword from Livia's grasp, and threw her on the floor. Downed, she watched the giant approach her, her sword, which apparently didn’t hurt him at all, sticking out of his stomach, now bent and useless. He raised his own blade and brought it down.

“NO!”

In a flash of silver, Aeriel stood between them. She caught the blow and redirected it. It flew dangerously close to her stomach. Carried by momentum, the Tongue was forced to lean. With a scream, Aeriel brought her sword diagonally up striking the Tongue on the side of the head.

It was a terrifying blow: the blade cut clean through the metal, flesh and bone, and emerged on the other side. Half of draugr’s head flew into the air along with a half of a helmet, before crashing to the floor with a resounding thud and rolling away. The giant stumbled, and then fell onto what was left of his face, the remnant of his helmet sinking to his shoulders like a bizarre collar.

Gareth. Livia turned to him, just in time to see him kick the last remaining draugr off of his sword. He leaned to the wall, breathing heavily. And Aeriel didn’t lag behind: her breath was as tasked as if she just ran up the Throat of the World. She turned to Livia.

“Are you alright?” she asked. But Livia didn’t answer. She was staring wide-eyed at her abdomen.

“What’s wrong, Livia?” asked Gareth. He then noticed her horrified expression. Both him and Aeriel looked down at the same time.

A large crimson stain was steadily growing on the torn black leather of Aeriel’s cuirass. The silver plates on her skirt were already glistening red.

Livia’s eyes shot to the Tongue’s corpse: she only now noticed that the tip of his sword was bloody. Her eyes then shot back to Aeriel, who placed a palm on her belly and winced. When she removed it, it was stained red. A single surprised “oh” was all that she could muster before collapsing on her back.

The scream that Livia was holding back finally found its way out.