She'd never wanted to do something dangerous like fighting in the war, but times were tough in Skywatch, and it was either enlisting or 'tavern' work.
Cobenwe Dawnmountain, Champion of Cyrodiil (Elder Scrolls, 4th Era Dominion Protagonist)
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Chapter 1 - Red Ring
jesus
Arasaka VTuber PsyOps
"Divines, help me. What did I do to deserve such a selfish, lazy, unfilial child? Do you want your father and I to die early? Is that it? Auri-El knows that we're already breaking our backs feeding your younger siblings!"
Being summoned before the dawn broke was all it took. Cobenwe knew; today was the day. She wasn't familiar with the others in her platoon, but she could tell that they knew as well.
The Bosmeri archers and daggers were antsier than usual. Their platoon's only two Pahmar shock troopers were flexing their muscles in a show of strength. One Khajiit licked her blade sensuously, which couldn't be healthy. The group was a bow drawn to its limit, a trembling arm just waiting for the order to let loose.
Cobenwe wanted to go home.
All around, Aldmeri captains were awaiting their own platoons to arrive. It was a sea of Dominion banners as far as the eyes could see. After the push through the Nibenay Valley, the remnants of 7th Army that Cobenwe belonged to had been merged with the fresher 4th and 6th Armies. The 6th had simply sailed up the Niben after Aldmeri forces finally crippled the Imperial Riverine Navy. Their forces all gathered now on the Imperial Isle, just a stone's throw from the banks of Lake Rumare.
It took Cobenwe a while to realise that she'd put her belt on upside down. She hastily fixed it. Some of the others snickered. She wasn't welcome here. She was filling shoes that they hadn't wanted filled. A younger Cobenwe might have been more bothered about that, but the Cobenwe standing here had been in their position more than once.
It didn't help that they knew she was the lone survivor of her original platoon. Those only came in two types. She knew which one she was. They all knew which, too.
Cobenwe was sick to the stomach. She tried not to make eye contact as she waited for Captain Aranelya to address them. Somehow, being a fellow Auridoni native made Aranelya despise Cobenwe more. Before the sun rose above the horizon, the final members of her platoon hastily arrived.
The Captain finally stopped pacing.
"You are all aware of what is at stake," she began. Her voice carried across the platoon, even as neighbouring captains began their own speeches.
"The Empire is weak. We've carved through their lands, east, west, and south, and the enemy is on death's door. We stand on the doorstep of their exposed heart, within spitting distance of their upjumped warlord. But make no mistake—this heart has a tough shell. The Imperial City will be defended with every last breath they can muster. And a cornered skeever is at its most dangerous."
Cobenwe listened gloomily. The Aldmeri didn't tolerate cravens, but people still whispered. An Imperial City garrisoned by motivated defenders had never been taken without becoming a meat grinder. Not once since the First Era. Nobody thought today would be any different.
Captain Aranelya went on to describe how they would approach from three different vectors. Kinlord Naarifin had called for reinforcements from all across southern Cyrodiil. The air was heavy with grim acceptance and anticipation. Many of them would die today. Cobenwe anxiously adjusted the sword at her waist, feeling out of place and overwhelmingly unprepared.
But, they were also just a small step away from ending this war. A small, brutal, treacherous step, and then they could all go home, pay in hand.
The dawn began to break, dyeing the skies blood red as Captain Aranelya finished conveying the specific objectives of their division.
"Srutal Beggs!" she barked.
The fatter Pahmar twitched.
"Break this!"
Captain Aranelya threw a branch at the tall Khajiit's shoulder. He was almost as large as one of his Pahmar-Raht cousins.
Srutal Beggs plucked the branch off his shoulder, looked at it, and then snapped it with ease.
"Hold it up for all to see!" the Captain ordered, and Srutal did so obligingly.
"Now break this!"
This time it was a huge bundle of branches, bound tightly and enchanted. Srutal Beggs examined his challenge, and held it in both hands consideringly. It still snapped with contemptuous ease.
Captain Aranelya turned to the rest of them.
"Do you see that? What I want to tell you is that no matter how many weaklings band together, it only takes one elite warrior to destroy them all! Likewise, even if the Imperials outnumber us three to two, one good mer is the equal of ten men!" She paused, then added, "And the same goes for our Khajiiti brethren, of course."
Both Srutal and his companion nodded approvingly.
"But you!" the captain barked, pointing a gloved finger at Cobenwe. "Cobenwe!"
"Y-y-yes, Ma'am!" Cobenwe's voice was barely audible over the clamour of the army's preparations.
"Don't you dare hold us back today." Her voice was thick with the threat of violence. "The only other Altmer in my platoon, and it's the shame of our people. The Dominion does not tolerate incompetence or cowardice. If I see you run, I'll turn you to charcoal myself."
Cobenwe could feel looks of derision from all sides. She wanted to go home.
On the 12th of Second Seed, as the dawn completely broke, the order to attack was given. The ground trembled with the march of seven armies, the same inevitable force that had broken all of southern Cyrodiil.
Anequinan spellspears atop bestial mammoth furstocks advanced side-by-side along Sunhold dragon knights. Arenthian treewardens and Greenshade tree knights marched in lockstep with Auridoni marines.
Though she could not see them, the 8th and 11th Armies marched east across the Talos Bridge, while the 12th and 13th marched west across frozen water.
Ahead of them, volleys of destruction spells began to fill the sky. They rained upon the wards protecting the Arcane University like a natural disaster.
Every moment waiting for the wards to fail felt like an eternity. Cobenwe couldn't smell any faeces or blood yet, but she was already beyond nauseous.
"I'm keeping an eye on you," the captain said beside her.
Cobenwe almost threw up.
The work of the Imperial Battlemages finally gave way, explosively. Battered by the shockwave, Cobenwe retched and coughed, dust in her mouth and nose, but the others were already charging.
Half-blind, she could only follow them into the fray. The air grew more and more acrid as the familiar smell of lightning filled the surroundings. Little wonder, considering the exchange of destruction magic between her allies and the defenders.
She prayed to every Divine, every Aedroth from Mara to Phynaster, that she wasn't caught in the crossfire. If she survived today she would never kill another person again.
Cobenwe screamed shrilly as she terminated her charge by impaling a war mage from behind. He died on her steel. She had barely removed her sword from the body when another Imperial slew three of her platoon with one icicle.
Cobenwe screamed another terrified warcry as she prayed for the deaths of all Imperials.
"In through the gap!" ordered Captain Aranelya, so Cobenwe scrambled to obey. She had to trample dozens of already dead Aldmeri soldiers just to reach the walls. A legionnaire burst from around the broken wall.
Her nose cracked. The familiar taste of iron filled her mouth. She looked up at the man's raised sword. Was that her blood on his shield?
A spear bloomed from the man's eye socket.
"Try not to trip over your own feet, Elf," sneered its owner. "This one would hate to—"
The rest was lost in a gout of flame and smoke as he collapsed into an inferno.
Oh, this was Oblivion. She was back in Oblivion. Cobenwe had no time to think, only crawl and scream, as she scrambled forward into the smoke on all fours. Please, Auri-El, let it hide her entrance. Please.
She almost retched again when somebody from inside the walls tripped over her ribs attempting to charge outside.
When she made it out of the smoke, her eyes were a stinging mess of tears, but at least she was still alive. Having made it inside the Arcane University now, she joined those allies already inside in pushing towards the northern wing.
Every corner turned, another enemy. Spells flew. She was frostbitten on one cheek, and scorched on the other. The Imperials seemed to be endless. Again, and again, more allies fell, but somehow Cobenwe was still alive.
Why was she even still alive? The question haunted her with every step, every swing of her blade. The faces of those she had enlisted with, all gone, flashed before her eyes. The only reason she hadn't deserted was because payday was so close. Even if she couldn't make anything of herself, Cobenwe could at least contribute to her family's future.
Her throat was already hoarse from screaming, but her sword arm continued to parry, cut, stab, and behead. They fought from corridor to corridor. An Altmer in Imperial colours appeared before her, hands alight with the beginnings of a spell. The Synod and the College of Whispers were working together, she remembered.
This was it. She was going to die. Cobenwe was sure of it, until a Pahmar-raht appeared out of nowhere and tore the woman's head clean off.
The spell left the headless woman anyway, and lit Cobenwe's armoured robes on fire. She screamed in agony. Running on instinct, she tumbled into somebody else, alighting them as well. They suddenly split in a fountain of blood, some of it providing her with sweet relief from the fire, but something even better came soon.
"Well done, sister!" the killer roared with approval, and grabbed her by the shoulder. Oh, merciful Divines! Cobenwe broke into sobbing as the templar's restoration spell mended the burns.
Through her bird-motif helm, the templar looked Cobenwe up and down.
"Right as rain! You might want some new armour though!"
Cobenwe hadn't done more than sob out a thank you before the woman ran off to kill more Imperials.
"Stop dawdling, Cobenwe!" came a bark. "Find a replacement for your robe and join us in storming the city!"
Oh. Captain Aranelya was still alive. Cobenwe had only just registered the Captain when she ran past, leading the charge with a ward raised.
There was still fighting in the room, but more and more people in Aldmeri colours flooded in. Cobenwe looked around. She would never fit any of the armour on the fallen. Most Khajiit weren't shaped like she was, and there was no chance in Oblivion that she would fit a Bosmer's cuirass. A moment of clarity came to her.
The Altmer woman from before. Cobenwe waded back to the previous room, bumping and apologising to charging Aldmeri soldiers along the way, until she made it back to the headless corpse. She gulped, but considered it.
They were around the right size. Also, the lack of a head would make it easier to remove. The robe was stained bright red, but Cobenwe was covered in blood too. She made her decision.
After a quick prayer, Cobenwe began to tug at the woman's bloody clothing. As the hem cleared the thighs, she realised the woman was only wearing her unmentionables. Muttering a quick apology for the humiliation, she finished stripping the corpse. At least nobody would know who the woman was without her head.
The material was so smooth in her hands. It probably cost more than the sum of anything she had ever worn in her life. So this was what living as a sorcerer of the Synod was like. A little awed, Cobenwe tugged the robe on.
She stood up and prepared to rejoin the battle when she paused. Cobenwe was in Imperial equipment now.
Another prayer and she took the helmet off a dead Bosmer, then, for good measure, took his pauldrons too, wrapping them loosely around her shoulders. Better safe than sorry.
Dressed in hodgepodge, but identifiably Aldmeri equipment, Cobenwe rejoined the flow of the crowd and charged.
They burst forth into the open, the Arboretum park already an open battlefield. The beauty of the place was marred by the butchery unfolding before her. Out in the open air, the shouting, the clashing of steel, the thuds of arrows embedding into shields and flesh alike were no longer obscured.
Cobenwe, propelled by a surge of adrenaline, forced her legs to move. Makeshift cover had been raised in front of the entrance by Dominion forces, but it was imperfect. Already, her off-hand ward had repelled a number of arrows that would have otherwise killed her.
The group she had come with swerved left, targeting a cadre of Imperial mages, so she hastened to join their assault. In that chaotic rush, somebody huge and furry clipped her shoulder. Weightlessness, then agony ripping through her forearms when she crashed against a well. She scrambled, but already upside down, her fingers failed to find purchase on the lip of the water well as she slipped in.
Oh no, no…!
She screamed, a pathetic, pig-like sound. Damp air whipped past her as she fell head first down the dark, narrow shaft.
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Chapter 2 - Natural Subterrane
jesus
Arasaka VTuber PsyOps
"All you know how to do is eat, sleep, and break things. Stop being a deadweight and contribute to the family! When your brother graduates from the College of Sapiarchs, the whole family will rely on him!"
Cobenwe awoke to cold darkness, something that was becoming distressingly familiar. The air was damp, and chilling. Perhaps it only felt that way because of the feverish heat of her body.
She shivered. Cobenwe didn't know how long she'd been here. Days? Dead friends haunted her incessantly. How many of those fever dreams had been nightmares, and how many had been waking memories? Her consciousness ebbed and flowed, much like her ability to maintain a coherent thought.
But she was lucid. For now.
A few things came into focus. She had a damp cloth upon her brow. If it had been cold at one point, it was no longer. Not compared to the air. The hardness of the stone beneath her back came next. Her hands twitched and she felt dust beneath her fingertips. She was still in a cell. Her cell.
The last was…
"You're awake again, friend."
A male voice. A familiar male voice.
It belonged to her caretaker, a Nord whose face she had never seen. Not clearly, at least. Her vision hadn't been clear in a while, but it recovered with every lucid moment. Perhaps she'd know her caretaker soon.
The cloth was removed from her forehead, replaced by a rough palm. Her eyes wearily tracked to his hazy face.
"Your fever is almost gone. A good thing too. We're the only ones still in a cell."
He moved from her, then came back.
"Here. Drink."
Her head was gently lifted, and something pressed against her lips. Cobenwe drank greedily.
She wondered where he'd been getting the water for a moment. This hadn't been her first drink. Then she registered the sounds of dripping water and the smell of moss, perhaps for the first time, or perhaps she just couldn't remember the last time. It didn't matter. Water quelled all other thoughts and concerns as it slid down her throat and into her belly.
The Nord stood up and said something else, but by then Cobenwe was drifting off.
The next time she woke up she was alone.
Cobenwe groaned, and rolled onto her side. Dust and small bits of stone rubbed harshly against her face, but she didn't care. She needed to sit up.
With arms trembling from the exertion, Cobenwe pushed herself onto her elbows and knees first, then finally into a seated position.
With clearer vision, the cell felt smaller, more oppressive than before. What had seemed like deep darkness now resolved into a small stone room, not even tall enough to stand up in. At least for an Altmer. There was no bed, or even straw, only rubble from whatever this damp place had been repurposed from. A small trickle of water seeped through a crack in the ceiling. What she must have been drinking. If she hadn't been transported from the upper Nibenay, then she could only be underground.
With clearer mind, the hopelessness of her situation began to sink in. She had been down here for a while. How long, she wasn't sure, but certainly at least a few days.
She was still here, wherever this was. Nobody from the army had come for her.
Cobenwe looked at the bars that barred her from freedom. Make-shift, iron affairs, but the cell floor had been connected to a magicka draining enchantment. She wouldn't be escaping of her own power.
Who had captured her? Why had a Nord been with her?
…Where was he now?
Cobenwe wanted to cry, but at least she wasn't dead. She sniffled and brushed some hair out of her eyes.
Belatedly, she realised that her helmet was gone. Was she here because they mistook her for an Imperial? But if her own people were the captors, why was she being held in a place like this? And why alone?
Despite the cold, she found herself sweating again from stress. It was an awful habit. At least there was water to drink.
Ah, there was also the smell of urine, she realised. She touched her groin trepidatiously, then breathed in a little relief. At least it didn't seem to be coming from her.
What began as collecting her bearings turned into worrying about her future. She was the only occupant of any of the cells. Time stretched endlessly as she sat there, accompanied only by the dripping of water. The isolation gnawed at her, worsening her anxiety.
It was a long, long time before anything interrupted her.
Footsteps. A pair. Cobenwe clenched her hands in unease, and her heart clenched painfully.
It felt like an eternity before the newcomers reached her cell.
Two hooded figures wearing ominous skull masks.
"Oh? So the Outsider is up," one said. "Then it's time for the finale."
They abruptly opened the cell and were upon her before she could react. She struggled on reflex but quickly stopped when a wicked dagger scratched her throat. Blood.
With a laugh, the other thrust a rough jute bag over her head.
"Walk," he commanded.
Cobenwe's breathing quickened as coarse plant fibre scratched against her neck. The smell of onions was overpowering. Had this been an onion sack?
A hand on each shoulder compelled her to march, but to where, she didn't know.
"It's about time you woke up," the one on the right said, almost conversationally. "You're the last Imperial left, you know? Save for one. And we've gotten bored of pitting him against Daedroth."
Wait!
"He's been getting tired," said the one on her left. "Maybe one of you will actually survive the fight this time."
This was just a misunderstanding!
"I-I'm not an Imperial!" she protested. "I-I'm from Auridon!"
To her dismay, both of them laughed.
"It doesn't matter at this point," one said ominously.
"Please! I'm a soldier of the 7th Army!" she cried.
Left laughed. "Then you'll have no problem killing the Nord."
What Nord?! Where were they taking her, and what was happening?! Cobenwe's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a drum of impending doom.
She tripped over rubble a few times, and a staircase once, eliciting laughter each time. Not once was she allowed any reprieve, as each fall was followed swiftly by a mean prod of a dagger to continue moving.
Cobenwe's ears began to pick out the echoes of distant jeering, as well as distant combat. After the second set of stairs, those sounds became clearer. Her mind raced, every possible outcome more terrifying than the last.
Her captors definitely weren't normal! Obviously!
Nobody who wore a skull mask could be!
After the fifth time she tripped, Cobenwe began sobbing. The earlier chuckles turned into belly laughter. The cacophony of jeers and fighting grew louder as they approached their unknown destination.
Eventually, when the sounds of the audience grew to a crescendo, the two masked men ripped the bag from Cobenwe's head. Instantly the smell of onions was replaced with blood. She was still blinking, less from the unfiltered light, and more from the friction of the bag's removal.
Cobenwe was standing in the centre of a large, cavernous arena. Torches illuminated the room from sconces on engaged columns built into the stone walls. More figures in skull masks, like the two who had marched her here, stood above her on elevated stands, mocking and heckling.
Down in the arena, bloodied weapons and slain Imperials littered the floor, staining the earth dark red.
As Cobenwe regained her bearings, something clattered at her feet. They'd tossed her a sword.
Across from her stood another figure. An unknown Nord, broad-shouldered with his own blade in hand.
"Ah, so it is you, friend."
She knew his voice, though.
"At last, the elf awakens," somebody pronounced. Cobenwe's head shot up towards the source. In the position of honour was a Dremora. It didn't look like he was taking orders.
Oh Divines, this was a Daedric cult. Cobenwe's eyes began watering again. Was this where she was finally going to die?
"You look well. That's good." Cobenwe's eyes shot to the Nord. His voice had been barely audible beneath the hollering of the audience.
"There's two of us, and only two dozen of them. What say we break out of here?"
She felt her eyes widen. The words registered and her heart dropped deeper into her stomach. Was he crazy? T-there were two dozen of them! B-but the only other option was to fight the crazy Nord who'd taken care of her.
"I-I…!" she blubbered.
The man's lips pulled into a fearless smile.
"Former Navy, huh? Shame what happened to your brethren. I had a friend who served."
W-what?
"As for me, I'm Tyr, a Blade."
Whatever else he meant to say was interrupted as the crowd above began to roar.
The Dremora lifted its sword.
"Fight well, mortals, and my Prince may favour you in the afterlife," it announced.
"You heard it," was all Tyr said before his foot blurred and an axe was thrown at one of the cultists. The eerie skull mask presented next to no resistance when the axe buried into its wearer's skull with a grotesque crunch. At once, spells began to fly.
By the time Cobenwe had come back to herself, the cultists were dead, the Dremora had fled, the sword in her hand was bloodied, and her underclothes were a little moist.
It was only by taking deep breaths that she avoided throwing up.
"Come help me strip this mask off," Tyr called, fiddling with one of the more intact corpses. "Reinforcements might never come, or they might come at any moment."
Cobenwe shakily made her way to do as she was asked.
"O-oh Divines…!"
When the skull mask finally came off, underneath was a distant, but familiar face.
Tyr clicked his tongue.
"It's like I thought. Swordmaster Irrumaborn, one of Naarifin's right-hand thugs. I was investigating suspicious deaths beyond the usual killing and looting by those Dominion dogs when I was captured. Looks like I was on the right trail."
Cobenwe shifted anxiously, and the enemy spy noticed.
"Aye," he said with a nod. "Things are never good when a Daedric Prince gets involved. Come. I need to alert the other Blades, and I could use your sword, friend." He paused. "I never did get your name."
She floundered.
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Chapter 3 - The Heartlands
New
jesus
Arasaka VTuber PsyOps
"You think I want you making money at your age? Look at your older sister. A once in a generation pottery talent, and she still works day and night under Master Merandil's tutelage to one day bring prestige back to our family. Do you ever see us say anything about her?"
How had things come to this? Cobenwe was separated from her comrades, stuck with an Imperial spy who might discover her deception at any moment. Worse, she was complicit in the murder of a superior officer. One that was a daedra worshipper of all things!
She'd never wanted to do something dangerous like fighting in the war, but times were tough in Skywatch and it was either enlisting or 'tavern' work. Even now, the thought of it turned her green.
Cobenwe watched the Nord begin rifling through the belongings of the fallen cultists. She stood rooted to the spot, her mind racing. She glanced at the gruesome, bloodied sword, clutched in her trembling hand, the metallic scent of iron sharp still in her nostrils.
"Are you coming?" Tyr called over his shoulder, snapping her back to reality. His voice echoed faintly in the cavernous arena, the sounds bouncing off the stone walls.
She jolted into motion, feet moving before her mind could catch up. "I... I'm coming," she stammered.
Cobenwe struggled to master herself as they jogged through the darkness. Those had been Altmer.
She still couldn't fathom how this could have happened. It went against everything she thought she knew. Daedra worship! By Kinlord Naarifin? The Thalmor had denounced such depravity in the most severe of terms.
Cobenwe thought it would have been the last thing Naarifin could do. How could any Altmer of high birth, let alone a Kinlord, betray their people and their gods like this?
And the cultists… These were her own kinsmen! She had to quickly return to her platoon and wash her hands of all of this. People had been disappeared for knowing so much less…!
They had to first get out of these sewers. And then... And then she could regroup with Aldmeri forces.
Tyr still hadn't realised her identity. There was no reason she and Tyr couldn't peacefully go their separate ways.
＊＊＊
Cobenwe shivered and gagged alternatively. The sewers were dank and claustrophobic, and the stench was overwhelming. But they had to keep going, to find a way out and back to the surface.
She watched as Tyr navigated through the labyrinth of tunnels with quiet, but bold strides. He seemed unbothered by their surroundings, cutting through the smelly darkness, like a burly, hairy blade.
Suddenly, Tyr stopped, raising a hand to signal for silence. Cobenwe froze, her breath caught in her throat. Tyr crept forward, sword at the ready. He peered around the corner of a tunnel intersection.
"What is it?" Cobenwe whispered, unable to hide the fear in her voice.
"Footsteps. Someone's coming. Prepare yourself, Haramwe," said Tyr, his voice a barely audible murmur.
Cobenwe's grip tightened on the hilt of her stolen sword. The weight of their situation settled heavily on her shoulders, her mind racing with thoughts of their escape.
The footsteps grew louder, and the duo pressed themselves against the damp stone walls, trying to blend into the shadows.
A group of guards wearing cultist masks appeared at the end of the tunnel, their armour gleaming in the dim light. Cobenwe's heart pounded in her chest. Tyr lunged forward, axe swinging in a blur.
Cobenwe's left hand shot up and a flood of blue-white destruction magic arced towards one of the cultists, setting the man ablaze with a searing flash of light. Without conscious thought, her head jerked out of the path of the man's retaliatory bolt. The cultist fell with a strangled cry.
With a clang, Cobenwe's enchanted blade deflected another and continued forward to bury itself into a man's side. He died without another scream, gurgling as his innards flooded his mouth. Cobenwe looked at her stolen blade in surprise.
A flash. In panic she leapt backwards. Her left ear singed from a flame. Cobenwe screamed and threw a retaliatory firebolt at the attacker, but it splashed off a ward.
An axe burst down through the cultist's head before he could do much, staining his already dark robes red.
"That's the last of them," Tyr announced. "We need to move. The sewers aren't safe."
Cobenwe scrunched her eyes shut. Why did these cultists keep getting in her way?
Kinlord Naarifin was a… a daedra worshipper, but Cobenwe's kinhouse had fallen out of power for over a century already! It was none of her business what the high lords got up to behind closed doors…! She just had to get back to her platoon and then survive until the end of the war. The Imperials were almost done for, anyway.
"We have to move. The exit to the sewers is this way," Tyr stated. "It will bring us out into Lake Rumare. We'll have to swim."
Cobenwe's head was a jumble of questions and doubts. How had this become her life? She followed the enemy spy through the maze-like tunnels, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Tyr seemed to navigate with an innate sense of direction, leading them deeper into the underground maze. Perhaps this was one of the Blades' secret routes under the Imperial City.
Finally, they reached a stone grate, light streaming through from beyond. Tyr pried it open, his ursine muscles straining, and the fresh air of the outside world rushed in, carrying the scent of lakewater and the faintest hint of freedom.
"I don't see any guards. Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Once we're in the open, there's no going back."
Cobenwe steeled herself, taking deep, steadying breaths. She just had to lose Tyr in the water somehow, and then find her way back to her allies. She nodded, and the two of them carefully made their way out.
"Imperials!"
Huh?
"Shit! This way, Haramwe!" Tyr shouted, already moving.
Before she could react, the Dominion guards attacked first, recognising Tyr as an enemy. Cobenwe's heart raced, her mind racing with indecision.
She was part of the Aldmeri Dominion, and these were her people. But they didn't recognize her in her stolen equipment!
"W-wait, I'm—!"
Cobenwe parried a blow with a scream, before Tyr yanked her towards the water.
"Kill them!"
Tyr cursed and jumped, and Cobenwe followed, not knowing what else to do. They were already in the water, and volleys of spellfire were raining down. If she surfaced, she was dead!
Her teeth clattered together, the shock of cold sending adrenaline into her bloodstream. She kicked her feet and swam desperately, the weight of her robes dragging her down. The water around her grew warmer as spell after spell struck the surface above, but eventually the spellfire stopped.
Cobenwe's heart pounded, her lungs burning with the need for air. But she couldn't resurface yet, not until she was sure she was far enough away from the attackers.
Just as her vision began to darken, she saw Tyr's hand reach out, pulling her toward the surface. They broke through the water, gasping for breath. The sounds of combat grew distant, and they were alone in the vast expanse of the lake.
"That was close," Tyr said, his voice hoarse. "They'll have more trouble finding us if we change our clothes. I've got a cache a few miles upstream from here." He huffed, unbothered by the cold. "Not sure I have something in an elf's size, though."
Too winded to speak, she nodded as she treaded water. But, if Cobenwe had her way, she'd be long gone before then. The moment she could sneak away without rousing this spy's suspicion, she was gone. They both began the arduous task of swimming to shore.
As they dragged themselves onto land, sodden messes, Cobenwe noticed that she was the only one shivering as Tyr, shirtless and unaware, wrung out his leather battle skirt. Envy and resentment filled her gaze. Even in summer, the Rumare was chilly compared to the waters of Summerset, but to a Nord she supposed it might as well have been Buraniim Isle.
Tyr looked over, noticed her expression, and chuckled. "Come, friend. You'll be warm soon enough. We can't stop here, not with those Dominion dogs around. We've got to run."
If only she could get away from Tyr, she would be more than happy to be found by those 'dogs'.
Cobenwe smiled weakly. "L-lead the way."
Despite being shorter than her, the Nord was thick with muscle, and easily pulled her along by the arm as they made a brisk jog through the forest beyond the lakeshore. Soon the sounds of water lapping against the shore gave way to muted birdsong and crunching leaves. After a while, she could scarcely be considered running, simply being pulled along by Tyr. When they finally stopped, it was by a slightly gnarled oak.
"You Navy folk really ought to work on your stamina, Haramwe." Tyr looked winded. Cobenwe was a half-dead mess on the ground, wheezing like a plague victim on her last legs.
"Just… one… minute…" she managed to say.
Tyr laughed, which felt like salt in the wound.
From the damp forest floor, Cobenwe watched him approach the tree. Her sodden robes clung to her frame. She had been this wet before, and certainly this exhausted before, but she couldn't remember a time she had been both.
Tyr was already breathing normally. The burly nord knelt amongst the roots of the oak and dug through seemingly undisturbed moss with practised movements, infuriatingly and terrifyingly unbothered by the jog. Cobenwe hid her despair. If he noticed her making an escape attempt, there was no chance in Oblivion she would be able to outrun him.
Cobenwe thought about where he had dragged her. Were there any patrols in this area? No, they were all stationed near the main roads. Every moment she spent with this Blade drew her further away from any of her comrades.
Oblivious to her thoughts, Tyr continued through mossy stones until a hollow was revealed.
"Say" Tyr said, his voice carrying as he pulled a weathered leather bag from the previously hidden cavity. "I don't suppose you're an expert in conjuration? Daedric lore?" The spy had obviously noticed that she was a trained battlemage.
Cobenwe blinked, caught off guard. "W-what? No. I mean… I know enough to deal with summoned atronachs, but…"
Tyr huffed. "Damn. Well, worth a try."
He turned to her. "It's not a perfect fit, but it's better than being soaked. Here, try this on."
Too tired to catch it, Cobenwe's face was covered by the brown blur flying her way. Hiding her unhappiness, Cobenwe unveiled her head and wearily held up the culprit to inspect. It was a simple set of travelling clothes—sturdy, practical, and utterly common.
While she crawled to her knees to pull off her stolen robes, her unlikely companion turned back to his bag and produced a waterskin from which he took a long pull.
"There's a friend of mine, ex-College of Whispers, really knows her Daedric lore. She'll know what that rat Naarifin's playing at. The problem is that she's pretty far north."
"North?" she asked absently, noting how short these clothes were on her. But they were dry, and clean, at least.
"A little village called Bleaker's Way, a few days' trek from here. Not exactly a quick jaunt. I'll need your help."
"…My help?" Cobenwe's insides twisted.
"You've proven your mettle—it's not for nothing that you survived that bloodbath on the Niben. You decent?"
"Ah, yes…"
Tyr turned around and shot her an easy grin.
"As a Blade, I could conscript you, but we both know the stakes, anyhow. Can I count on your sword, friend?"
Cobenwe forced a smile and a nod. "O-of course, my friend," she lied.
"Good." Tyr's smile widened. "There's a better place to rest, less than a mile from here. Let's move."
"Haha… ha…"
Cobenwe trembled.
For hours they moved north, at a far brisker pace than she did in the army. When they finally stopped again, Masser and Secunda hung brightly in the sky. Cobenwe collapsed onto the forest floor like a sack of potatoes.
"Aye, this place will do." Cobenwe watched idly as Tyr began setting up camp. After taking a breath, she got to her feet and assisted in a grim mood. When they lay their heads to rest, she would have to pretend to sleep. She was deeply unsettled by the possibility that Blades were trained to distinguish real and false slumber, but it was her only choice. She had to sneak away while the Nord was asleep. There was simply no getting away from him otherwise.
The earlier excitement drained her energy. Her mind was heavy, and her eyelids drooped with weariness.
Eventually the two of them lay around a flameless magical fire. She might have marvelled at the artefacts used by these crafty spies if she wasn't so terribly exhausted. But despite everything, she was determined. Tonight, she would do her best to pretend. She would breath softly, maybe toss and turn a little. She would wait for hours.
And when she was sure, absolutely sure that Tyr was asleep, she would slip away.
It was the only way. Every moment she spent with him she felt her grave being dug deeper and deeper.
She quietly turned her head and glanced at him as he settled in for the night, his broad shoulders looking ominous in the darkness. Tonight.
＊＊＊
Cobenwe awakened to soft light, filtering through verdant canopy, swaying in the whistling wind. Her eyes shot wide open, heart racing as she remembered where and when she was. It was already morning.
Trying to behave naturally, she rolled over and looked around. Tyr was gone.
Her heart began to pound.
"Tyr…?" she asked softly. "Tyr…?"
She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the ache of her body. This was her chance…!
Quietly as she could, Cobenwe gathered her things and—
"Ah, you're up."
Cobenwe's heart leapt into her throat. She turned slowly, desperately suppressing her shakes. Tyr emerged from the trees, a brace of skinned rabbits in his deadly hands. "I thought about waking you, but figured it'd be better if you woke to food," he said amiably.
She hid her trembling fingers behind her cold, sweaty back and smiled.
"I'll have these cooked soon," he said. "Let's eat quickly and move."
"Haha… Yes…"
…Oh, the rabbit was quite good.
By the afternoon, the wind had gotten worse, annoying her every step. It was unusually strong for the season. Was this what northern Cyrodiil was like?
In areas where the canopy was thin, the wind tugged at her travelling clothes like a persistent child. Where the forest was more open, leaves and other litter rained down from above, while whipped up debris slapped into her arms and face. It was an unwelcome distraction from her thoughts on how to get away from Tyr, who once again seemed utterly unbothered by the elements. If it hadn't been for the necessity of disguise, he still wouldn't be wearing a shirt…
Tyr strode ahead, the picture of confidence, stupid mohawk fluttering flatteringly in the gale. Cobenwe was hardly an ingrate. Her parents had taught her better than that, and had it not been for this enemy spy she would have been slaughtered by those daedric cultists. In fact, if not for his nursing, she might have simply died in that cell.
She really did wish him the best, at least in his personal endeavours. But did he have to be quite this competent? He was even a good cook. Cobenwe shivered, and it wasn't just the wind. At this rate she would never be able to escape him, and then she'd be cut down when he inevitably discovered her identity, probably in the not-so-distant future. If he was this good at everything else, how good was he at his spycraft?
The wind. It would help muffle sounds. She could try escaping again tonight. As long as the wind persisted into the evening, she could ward animals from where he slept, and then sneak off into the night. Cobenwe prayed silently to Jephre that these horrid winds wouldn't abate.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise—shouts.
"It's the Blade! He has a companion!"
"Damn! To arms!" Tyr roared.
The sudden meeting seemed to catch both sides off guard, but Tyr was already clashing blades with the figures. Before she could say a thing, Tyr had already beheaded one of the elves. From their backline, a caster summoned scamps which began to throw fireballs at her. Time seemed to freeze as one singed her ear as they narrowly passed by her head.
Oh Divines, oh Divines!
Gritting her teeth, Cobenwe rushed in as well. She didn't want to fight them, but what else could she do? Everyone kept stopping her from going home!
She jerked left to avoid an ice spike before it left its caster's hands, then she parried on reflex to avoid a sword. Its wielder made to say something with a sneer, but she disarmed him with a flick and stabbed him in the throat on the return.
Something gleamed in her peripherals and Cobenwe turned to parry again, but missed the timing. The crash of blades rattled her bones, and she struggled to push back. Tyr's axe barely missed the man's shining helmet, but it provided Cobenwe a distraction. With a twist, she disengaged and her blade slipped past the soldier's guard.
He fell with a strangled cry, but his dying grip seized her wrist, lighting her hand in violet energy. She kicked him off, almost stumbling on the blood-slick ground. Her free arm shot up as she channelled her magicka. Searing blue lightning arced between her and a scamp harassing Tyr's legs. Even while fending off another sword, she held the spell until the scamp howled and exploded.
She ran the attacking swordsman through and turned her focus to the summoner. His eyes widened as her hand rose again. He tried to dodge, but her lightning forked, striking both him and his remaining daedroth. Cobenwe gritted her teeth and poured more magicka into her hand until both the conjurer and his scamp collapsed, smoking.
Extracting her sword, light flared in her peripherals. Panic surged as she dropped into a crouch, sliding under a fireball that would have struck her torso. The caster backpedalled but Cobenwe was on her in an instant, cutting her down before she could cast again.
By the time the battle was over, her newly borrowed traveller's clothes were stinking, and soaked with blood. Cobenwe was trembling, breath ragged as she looked over her dead kin. She turned to Tyr, only to find him grimly approaching her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she almost attacked him when he gripped her wrist.
"Tyr, what are you—" she started.
He turned her arm over and there on her wrist was a faint, shimmering sigil, pulsing on her skin. With a curse, he dropped her arm and began examining himself. On the small of his back, covered by his leather skirt, was an identical mark.
"Ysmir's beard," he muttered. "They're tracking us."
Her lip quivered as she watched him search the nearest body and uncover a familiar skull mask from its belt. He held up the bloodied mask and inspected it.
"Damn," he muttered, tossing it aside before moving to check the next body. Each of them held the same cultist mask on their person.
Cobenwe tried to muster a dispel, pouring what little magicka she had left into the effort, but the mark didn't do more than flicker in defiance. Her heart filled with horror.
"It's not dispelling…" Why? It felt like she should have been able to get rid of it.
"We're dealing with a cult. It's closer to a curse than a spell. You can't dispel vampirism or lycanthropy either."
Noticing her expression, Tyr's scowl softened.
"My friend will be able to remove it, but she's still a day away. Until then, we're marked, and they'll keep coming. We'll have to move faster."
North. Further away from Aldmeri forces, and with this mark she'd be dead within a day even if she returned. Cobenwe's stomach twisted into knots. Tyr had already moved on, gathering coin and supplies from the corpses.
"Do… Do you really think your friend can remove this?" she asked with a wretched smile.
He paused in his work, glancing at her with open sympathy. "If anybody can, it's her. Have faith, friend."
There was no other choice. She couldn't go back, and she couldn't stay here. For now, she would have to keep following him.
How had things come to this? Cobenwe was separated from her comrades, stuck with an Imperial spy who might discover her deception at any moment. Worse, she was complicit in the murder of a superior officer. One that was a daedra worshipper of all things!
She'd never wanted to do something dangerous like fighting in the war, but times were tough in Skywatch and it was either enlisting or 'tavern' work. Even now, the thought of it turned her green.
Cobenwe watched the Nord begin rifling through the belongings of the fallen cultists. She stood rooted to the spot, her mind racing. She glanced at the gruesome, bloodied sword, clutched in her trembling hand, the metallic scent of iron sharp still in her nostrils.
"Are you coming?" Tyr called over his shoulder, snapping her back to reality. His voice echoed faintly in the cavernous arena, the sounds bouncing off the stone walls.
She jolted into motion, feet moving before her mind could catch up. "I... I'm coming," she stammered.
Cobenwe struggled to master herself as they jogged through the darkness. Those had been Altmer.
She still couldn't fathom how this could have happened. It went against everything she thought she knew. Daedra worship! By Kinlord Naarifin? The Thalmor had denounced such depravity in the most severe of terms.
Cobenwe thought it would have been the last thing Naarifin could do. How could any Altmer of high birth, let alone a Kinlord, betray their people and their gods like this?
And the cultists… These were her own kinsmen! She had to quickly return to her platoon and wash her hands of all of this. People had been disappeared for knowing so much less…!
They had to first get out of these sewers. And then... And then she could regroup with Aldmeri forces.
Tyr still hadn't realised her identity. There was no reason she and Tyr couldn't peacefully go their separate ways.
＊＊＊
Cobenwe shivered and gagged alternatively. The sewers were dank and claustrophobic, and the stench was overwhelming. But they had to keep going, to find a way out and back to the surface.
She watched as Tyr navigated through the labyrinth of tunnels with quiet, but bold strides. He seemed unbothered by their surroundings, cutting through the smelly darkness, like a burly, hairy blade.
Suddenly, Tyr stopped, raising a hand to signal for silence. Cobenwe froze, her breath caught in her throat. Tyr crept forward, sword at the ready. He peered around the corner of a tunnel intersection.
"What is it?" Cobenwe whispered, unable to hide the fear in her voice.
"Footsteps. Someone's coming. Prepare yourself, Haramwe," said Tyr, his voice a barely audible murmur.
Cobenwe's grip tightened on the hilt of her stolen sword. The weight of their situation settled heavily on her shoulders, her mind racing with thoughts of their escape.
The footsteps grew louder, and the duo pressed themselves against the damp stone walls, trying to blend into the shadows.
A group of guards wearing cultist masks appeared at the end of the tunnel, their armour gleaming in the dim light. Cobenwe's heart pounded in her chest. Tyr lunged forward, axe swinging in a blur.
Cobenwe's left hand shot up and a flood of blue-white destruction magic arced towards one of the cultists, setting the man ablaze with a searing flash of light. Without conscious thought, her head jerked out of the path of the man's retaliatory bolt. The cultist fell with a strangled cry.
With a clang, Cobenwe's enchanted blade deflected another and continued forward to bury itself into a man's side. He died without another scream, gurgling as his innards flooded his mouth. Cobenwe looked at her stolen blade in surprise.
A flash. In panic she leapt backwards. Her left ear singed from a flame. Cobenwe screamed and threw a retaliatory firebolt at the attacker, but it splashed off a ward.
An axe burst down through the cultist's head before he could do much, staining his already dark robes red.
"That's the last of them," Tyr announced. "We need to move. The sewers aren't safe."
Cobenwe scrunched her eyes shut. Why did these cultists keep getting in her way?
Kinlord Naarifin was a… a daedra worshipper, but Cobenwe's kinhouse had fallen out of power for over a century already! It was none of her business what the high lords got up to behind closed doors…! She just had to get back to her platoon and then survive until the end of the war. The Imperials were almost done for, anyway.
"We have to move. The exit to the sewers is this way," Tyr stated. "It will bring us out into Lake Rumare. We'll have to swim."
Cobenwe's head was a jumble of questions and doubts. How had this become her life? She followed the enemy spy through the maze-like tunnels, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Tyr seemed to navigate with an innate sense of direction, leading them deeper into the underground maze. Perhaps this was one of the Blades' secret routes under the Imperial City.
Finally, they reached a stone grate, light streaming through from beyond. Tyr pried it open, his ursine muscles straining, and the fresh air of the outside world rushed in, carrying the scent of lakewater and the faintest hint of freedom.
"I don't see any guards. Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Once we're in the open, there's no going back."
Cobenwe steeled herself, taking deep, steadying breaths. She just had to lose Tyr in the water somehow, and then find her way back to her allies. She nodded, and the two of them carefully made their way out.
"Imperials!"
Huh?
"Shit! This way, Haramwe!" Tyr shouted, already moving.
Before she could react, the Dominion guards attacked first, recognising Tyr as an enemy. Cobenwe's heart raced, her mind racing with indecision.
She was part of the Aldmeri Dominion, and these were her people. But they didn't recognize her in her stolen equipment!
"W-wait, I'm—!"
Cobenwe parried a blow with a scream, before Tyr yanked her towards the water.
"Kill them!"
Tyr cursed and jumped, and Cobenwe followed, not knowing what else to do. They were already in the water, and volleys of spellfire were raining down. If she surfaced, she was dead!
Her teeth clattered together, the shock of cold sending adrenaline into her bloodstream. She kicked her feet and swam desperately, the weight of her robes dragging her down. The water around her grew warmer as spell after spell struck the surface above, but eventually the spellfire stopped.
Cobenwe's heart pounded, her lungs burning with the need for air. But she couldn't resurface yet, not until she was sure she was far enough away from the attackers.
Just as her vision began to darken, she saw Tyr's hand reach out, pulling her toward the surface. They broke through the water, gasping for breath. The sounds of combat grew distant, and they were alone in the vast expanse of the lake.
"That was close," Tyr said, his voice hoarse. "They'll have more trouble finding us if we change our clothes. I've got a cache a few miles upstream from here." He huffed, unbothered by the cold. "Not sure I have something in an elf's size, though."
Too winded to speak, she nodded as she treaded water. But, if Cobenwe had her way, she'd be long gone before then. The moment she could sneak away without rousing this spy's suspicion, she was gone. They both began the arduous task of swimming to shore.
As they dragged themselves onto land, sodden messes, Cobenwe noticed that she was the only one shivering as Tyr, shirtless and unaware, wrung out his leather battle skirt. Envy and resentment filled her gaze. Even in summer, the Rumare was chilly compared to the waters of Summerset, but to a Nord she supposed it might as well have been Buraniim Isle.
Tyr looked over, noticed her expression, and chuckled. "Come, friend. You'll be warm soon enough. We can't stop here, not with those Dominion dogs around. We've got to run."
If only she could get away from Tyr, she would be more than happy to be found by those 'dogs'.
Cobenwe smiled weakly. "L-lead the way."
Despite being shorter than her, the Nord was thick with muscle, and easily pulled her along by the arm as they made a brisk jog through the forest beyond the lakeshore. Soon the sounds of water lapping against the shore gave way to muted birdsong and crunching leaves. After a while, she could scarcely be considered running, simply being pulled along by Tyr. When they finally stopped, it was by a slightly gnarled oak.
"You Navy folk really ought to work on your stamina, Haramwe." Tyr looked winded. Cobenwe was a half-dead mess on the ground, wheezing like a plague victim on her last legs.
"Just… one… minute…" she managed to say.
Tyr laughed, which felt like salt in the wound.
From the damp forest floor, Cobenwe watched him approach the tree. Her sodden robes clung to her frame. She had been this wet before, and certainly this exhausted before, but she couldn't remember a time she had been both.
Tyr was already breathing normally. The burly nord knelt amongst the roots of the oak and dug through seemingly undisturbed moss with practised movements, infuriatingly and terrifyingly unbothered by the jog. Cobenwe hid her despair. If he noticed her making an escape attempt, there was no chance in Oblivion she would be able to outrun him.
Cobenwe thought about where he had dragged her. Were there any patrols in this area? No, they were all stationed near the main roads. Every moment she spent with this Blade drew her further away from any of her comrades.
Oblivious to her thoughts, Tyr continued through mossy stones until a hollow was revealed.
"Say" Tyr said, his voice carrying as he pulled a weathered leather bag from the previously hidden cavity. "I don't suppose you're an expert in conjuration? Daedric lore?" The spy had obviously noticed that she was a trained battlemage.
Cobenwe blinked, caught off guard. "W-what? No. I mean… I know enough to deal with summoned atronachs, but…"
Tyr huffed. "Damn. Well, worth a try."
He turned to her. "It's not a perfect fit, but it's better than being soaked. Here, try this on."
Too tired to catch it, Cobenwe's face was covered by the brown blur flying her way. Hiding her unhappiness, Cobenwe unveiled her head and wearily held up the culprit to inspect. It was a simple set of travelling clothes—sturdy, practical, and utterly common.
While she crawled to her knees to pull off her stolen robes, her unlikely companion turned back to his bag and produced a waterskin from which he took a long pull.
"There's a friend of mine, ex-College of Whispers, really knows her Daedric lore. She'll know what that rat Naarifin's playing at. The problem is that she's pretty far north."
"North?" she asked absently, noting how short these clothes were on her. But they were dry, and clean, at least.
"A little village called Bleaker's Way, a few days' trek from here. Not exactly a quick jaunt. I'll need your help."
"…My help?" Cobenwe's insides twisted.
"You've proven your mettle—it's not for nothing that you survived that bloodbath on the Niben. You decent?"
"Ah, yes…"
Tyr turned around and shot her an easy grin.
"As a Blade, I could conscript you, but we both know the stakes, anyhow. Can I count on your sword, friend?"
Cobenwe forced a smile and a nod. "O-of course, my friend," she lied.
"Good." Tyr's smile widened. "There's a better place to rest, less than a mile from here. Let's move."
"Haha… ha…"
Cobenwe trembled.
For hours they moved north, at a far brisker pace than she did in the army. When they finally stopped again, Masser and Secunda hung brightly in the sky. Cobenwe collapsed onto the forest floor like a sack of potatoes.
"Aye, this place will do." Cobenwe watched idly as Tyr began setting up camp. After taking a breath, she got to her feet and assisted in a grim mood. When they lay their heads to rest, she would have to pretend to sleep. She was deeply unsettled by the possibility that Blades were trained to distinguish real and false slumber, but it was her only choice. She had to sneak away while the Nord was asleep. There was simply no getting away from him otherwise.
The earlier excitement drained her energy. Her mind was heavy, and her eyelids drooped with weariness.
Eventually the two of them lay around a flameless magical fire. She might have marvelled at the artefacts used by these crafty spies if she wasn't so terribly exhausted. But despite everything, she was determined. Tonight, she would do her best to pretend. She would breath softly, maybe toss and turn a little. She would wait for hours.
And when she was sure, absolutely sure that Tyr was asleep, she would slip away.
It was the only way. Every moment she spent with him she felt her grave being dug deeper and deeper.
She quietly turned her head and glanced at him as he settled in for the night, his broad shoulders looking ominous in the darkness. Tonight.
＊＊＊
Cobenwe awakened to soft light, filtering through verdant canopy, swaying in the whistling wind. Her eyes shot wide open, heart racing as she remembered where and when she was. It was already morning.
Trying to behave naturally, she rolled over and looked around. Tyr was gone.
Her heart began to pound.
"Tyr…?" she asked softly. "Tyr…?"
She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the ache of her body. This was her chance…!
Quietly as she could, Cobenwe gathered her things and—
"Ah, you're up."
Cobenwe's heart leapt into her throat. She turned slowly, desperately suppressing her shakes. Tyr emerged from the trees, a brace of skinned rabbits in his deadly hands. "I thought about waking you, but figured it'd be better if you woke to food," he said amiably.
She hid her trembling fingers behind her cold, sweaty back and smiled.
"I'll have these cooked soon," he said. "Let's eat quickly and move."
"Haha… Yes…"
…Oh, the rabbit was quite good.
By the afternoon, the wind had gotten worse, annoying her every step. It was unusually strong for the season. Was this what northern Cyrodiil was like?
In areas where the canopy was thin, the wind tugged at her travelling clothes like a persistent child. Where the forest was more open, leaves and other litter rained down from above, while whipped up debris slapped into her arms and face. It was an unwelcome distraction from her thoughts on how to get away from Tyr, who once again seemed utterly unbothered by the elements. If it hadn't been for the necessity of disguise, he still wouldn't be wearing a shirt…
Tyr strode ahead, the picture of confidence, stupid mohawk fluttering flatteringly in the gale. Cobenwe was hardly an ingrate. Her parents had taught her better than that, and had it not been for this enemy spy she would have been slaughtered by those daedric cultists. In fact, if not for his nursing, she might have simply died in that cell.
She really did wish him the best, at least in his personal endeavours. But did he have to be quite this competent? He was even a good cook. Cobenwe shivered, and it wasn't just the wind. At this rate she would never be able to escape him, and then she'd be cut down when he inevitably discovered her identity, probably in the not-so-distant future. If he was this good at everything else, how good was he at his spycraft?
The wind. It would help muffle sounds. She could try escaping again tonight. As long as the wind persisted into the evening, she could ward animals from where he slept, and then sneak off into the night. Cobenwe prayed silently to Jephre that these horrid winds wouldn't abate.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise—shouts.
"It's the Blade! He has a companion!"
"Damn! To arms!" Tyr roared.
The sudden meeting seemed to catch both sides off guard, but Tyr was already clashing blades with the figures. Before she could say a thing, Tyr had already beheaded one of the elves. From their backline, a caster summoned scamps which began to throw fireballs at her. Time seemed to freeze as one singed her ear as they narrowly passed by her head.
Oh Divines, oh Divines!
Gritting her teeth, Cobenwe rushed in as well. She didn't want to fight them, but what else could she do? Everyone kept stopping her from going home!
She jerked left to avoid an ice spike before it left its caster's hands, then she parried on reflex to avoid a sword. Its wielder made to say something with a sneer, but she disarmed him with a flick and stabbed him in the throat on the return.
Something gleamed in her peripherals and Cobenwe turned to parry again, but missed the timing. The crash of blades rattled her bones, and she struggled to push back. Tyr's axe barely missed the man's shining helmet, but it provided Cobenwe a distraction. With a twist, she disengaged and her blade slipped past the soldier's guard.
He fell with a strangled cry, but his dying grip seized her wrist, lighting her hand in violet energy. She kicked him off, almost stumbling on the blood-slick ground. Her free arm shot up as she channelled her magicka. Searing blue lightning arced between her and a scamp harassing Tyr's legs. Even while fending off another sword, she held the spell until the scamp howled and exploded.
She ran the attacking swordsman through and turned her focus to the summoner. His eyes widened as her hand rose again. He tried to dodge, but her lightning forked, striking both him and his remaining daedroth. Cobenwe gritted her teeth and poured more magicka into her hand until both the conjurer and his scamp collapsed, smoking.
Extracting her sword, light flared in her peripherals. Panic surged as she dropped into a crouch, sliding under a fireball that would have struck her torso. The caster backpedalled but Cobenwe was on her in an instant, cutting her down before she could cast again.
By the time the battle was over, her newly borrowed traveller's clothes were stinking, and soaked with blood. Cobenwe was trembling, breath ragged as she looked over her dead kin. She turned to Tyr, only to find him grimly approaching her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she almost attacked him when he gripped her wrist.
"Tyr, what are you—" she started.
He turned her arm over and there on her wrist was a faint, shimmering sigil, pulsing on her skin. With a curse, he dropped her arm and began examining himself. On the small of his back, covered by his leather skirt, was an identical mark.
"Ysmir's beard," he muttered. "They're tracking us."
Her lip quivered as she watched him search the nearest body and uncover a familiar skull mask from its belt. He held up the bloodied mask and inspected it.
"Damn," he muttered, tossing it aside before moving to check the next body. Each of them held the same cultist mask on their person.
Cobenwe tried to muster a dispel, pouring what little magicka she had left into the effort, but the mark didn't do more than flicker in defiance. Her heart filled with horror.
"It's not dispelling…" Why? It felt like she should have been able to get rid of it.
"We're dealing with a cult. It's closer to a curse than a spell. You can't dispel vampirism or lycanthropy either."
Noticing her expression, Tyr's scowl softened.
"My friend will be able to remove it, but she's still a day away. Until then, we're marked, and they'll keep coming. We'll have to move faster."
North. Further away from Aldmeri forces, and with this mark she'd be dead within a day even if she returned. Cobenwe's stomach twisted into knots. Tyr had already moved on, gathering coin and supplies from the corpses.
"Do… Do you really think your friend can remove this?" she asked with a wretched smile.
He paused in his work, glancing at her with open sympathy. "If anybody can, it's her. Have faith, friend."
There was no other choice. She couldn't go back, and she couldn't stay here. For now, she would have to keep following him.
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