My eyes opened to the sights of billowing clouds of ash and fire, the unnatural twilight of their presence still shrouding the land around the shattered and tumbled walls of the City. It seemed strangely peaceful in comparison to the tumultuous realm of magma and death that Viconia and I had plunged headlong into despite the floating ash that was covering the land as surely as Red Mountain did to the lands at its base. However as I tried to prop myself up on my elbows and look around where I was laying there was a noticeable sense of calm and achievement in the area.

  “Woah, take it easy.” A voice exclaimed and a hand pressed gently on my shoulder. “unless you want a splitting headache I suggest you take it nice and slow.”

  A young Breton crouched next to me, her face seemingly genuinely concerned as she gazed into my eyes. “Both eyes are looking in the same direction so I guess that’s a good thing at least. You haven’t seemed to have suffered a head injury.”

  “How’d I get back out here?” I asked, seeing the piles of crates and barrels and the overturned wagons resting on their sides only a few metres in front.

  “Your friend carried you after the portal collapsed. I don’t know how you two did it but it’s gone and we are safe for the moment.”

  Pushing my palm into the side of my head I felt strangely fine. Bone wearily exhausted, tense muscles and a sore back from carrying a pack for days but otherwise I hadn’t felt this well in months, if not years. Memories of what had happened in the portal resurfaced in my mind as though I had been merely a witness to the actions and my stomach threatened to rebel against me.

  The Breton held me as I dry heaved, mistaking my nausea and sudden bout of illness to some form of injury that had rendered me unconscious in Oblivion. “Did she say what happened in there?” the hesitation in my voice was obvious, but there was no fear from her face or any of the others close enough for my blurry vision to identify.

  “You apparently beat all shades of shit into a group of daedra before passing out from the exertion.” A familiar voice added and I looked up into the beaming face of the Guard commander. Savlian Matius seemed fresher, more rested despite the state of his equipment and armour and the fact he desperately needed a bath. His white eyes were still framed in a face coated in sweat, daedric gore and soot but there was an unidentifiable energy about him that had not been there before.

  “If the portal is gone then why are we waiting around here?” Carefully I pushed myself up and onto my feet, trembling slightly as I looked about the rag-tag group of survivors.

  Savlian grinned, teeth white and fierce in the dark haze of the battlefield as he chucked a thumb over his shoulder at a small group standing a distance away. “The Legion is here.”

  The group of riders, magnificent in their gleaming plate and astride Cyrodiilic warhorses of prime breeding stock stood facing the burning city. There was only six of them, dressed in their full form fitting plate, horsehair crests fluttering in the mild breeze as they discussed and motioned to the area before them. The gatehouse was a yawning hole, the gates smashed aside off their hinges by incalculable force and the steel portcullis was melted into slag from incredible heat. These men had no qualms staring at the destruction and death, were simply and professionally creating their assault plan while waiting for the rest of their forces to arrive.

  Groaning I lightly touched my face, rubbing at the sore cheekbones and remembering how my entire face had elongated like a Khajiit’s after draining the daedra of blood. A terrifying thought entered my mind and I glanced around for Viconia, seeing her standing off to the side and staring at me as though she was contemplating the best way to stab me in the heart.

  “Did Viconia say anything else about what had happened?”

  “Other than complaining about how heavy you were as she carried you to the top of the tower in there? No, not really.” Savlian grinned even more. “I have no idea where the two of you came from or why you are here but you have done the impossible here today. By the Nine you even managed to rescue a handful of survivors in the upper levels!”

  There was a chuckle as he looked back at Viconia who had turned her attention to the mounted Legionaries. “But when I say you, I mean her. You were quite out of it for a while there.”

  “I’m better now at least.” My reply was surprisingly honest. I still felt as though I could sleep for a month without waking but there were still things to do.

  Excusing myself and brushing off the concern of the Breton who had been caring for the handful of wounded I walked towards the mounted Legionaries. Every step I took allowed me to feel the layer of gore and ichor sticking and cracking on my flesh and armour with every movement. I was coated almost head to toe in the congealed liquids and I knew that my appearance alone would be enough to terrify most people who laid eyes on me.

  One of the mounted soldiers turned and looked at me, his horsehair plume on his helm noticeably longer and reaching the nape of his neck. He was dressed in finer made armour than the others around him, breastplate forged specifically for his build and a sword of polished ebony comfortably resting in its silver imprinted scabbard. All of the riders held themselves high in the saddles, backs perfectly straight and not a single buckle or crease of their riding leathers marked or imperfect in anyway. These men were Extraordinarii; the mounted Elite of the Legion whose sole duty was the protect the Legate from all harm, with their lives if necessary.

  My fist double-tapped my chest above my heart as the Legion commander alighted from his saddle and pulled off his helm. He was in his middling years, hair with whispers of grey beginning to show and skin tanned from years spent in the saddle and marching alongside his legionaries. Like most Colovian-born Legates he had made his way through the ranks the hard way, marching and fighting and bleeding his way from Legionary all the way to commanding the might of an entire Legion. There were less than two dozen other such men scattered throughout the Empire and despite facing down daedric foes and my corrupted nature I fell a very real fear at the might that this one man commanded.

  “I understand that you and your companion are the ones responsible for breaking the deadlock and buying us enough time to arrive.” It was not a question but a simple statement encased in a level of professionalism that seemed to be a trademark of sorts for most Colovians.

  “Yes sir.” My nervousness was obvious to him, as was my bearing as my back straightened and instinctively standing to attention in his presence.

  He didn’t fail to notice the way I held myself or the particular way I had framed my response. “You’re a legionary?”

  “Yes Sir. Archer-Praefect Kaius Treblanus Desin. 8th Casta, 14th Legion.”

  He returned my salute before placing his arms by his side and helmet tucked into the crook of an elbow. The piercing gaze that he gave me however felt as sharp as spear points. “Legate Mettius Asinius, 2nd Legion. You’re a long way from home though Praefect. One might think you to be a deserter if you hadn’t just willingly thrown yourself into Oblivion.”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “Both Viconia and I serve the Blades.” I stated, trying and failing somewhat to hide my trepidation while saying the first half-truth that came to mind. “We were sent to retrieve an individual from the city and arrived to find this.”

  My gesture took in the expanse of devastation and the burning city before us and his expression was grim. “Well that certainly explains how you managed to survive, and I believe that a lot of people owe you both their thanks as well as their lives. I won’t pry into any business of the Blades but this is not the time for whatever mission or contract you may have.”

  The sound of tramping feet gradually grew, and with it the sudden cheers and cries of relief from the survivors of the barricade. An enormous column of armoured men made its way up the slope of the western road to Anvil, battle standards waving in the breeze as the legionaries marched with heads held high and eyes narrowing at the sight of such destruction and death that awaited them. I counted five standards held aloft amongst the burnished black plate of the Cyrodiilic Legions, signifying the total strength of an entire Casta marching in perfect unison. Each Casta consisted of five full Cohorts of 100 Legionaries and manned each major fort within the bounds of the Empire. Only under the direst of circumstances would a full legion’s might come together but when they did, ten full Castas of an Imperial Legion was enough to crush entire provinces and annihilate any foe foolish enough to engage it in battle. A single glance at Legate Asinius’ face and the destruction of an entire city around us however made me believe that these 500 men might not be enough for the task at hand.

  As the individual cohorts marched past the barricade the Extraordinarii broke from their huddle and began relaying orders to the Centurions in command of each. Soon the great host of men split and broke apart as they passed their commander, breaking from the five-man wide column into five, five-man wide blocks that covered the ground as smoothly as it was a parade ground.

  “Are you fit to fight?” Legate Asinius’ face was part concern, part excitement at the battle to come, and all challenge to me.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. An extra bow in the assault Testudo will be beneficial, especially one who has faced these foes already.” He turned and called out to one of the Extraordinarii hovering near his commander. “Urik, take this man to the 17th and tell Mede that he can make the breach as soon as he is in position.”

  The horseman gestured to me to follow as the Legate exploded into activity. Orders were sent, the marching blocks of armoured men moved about the area as though pieces on a chessboard and he even went about ordering the barricades defenders to prepare to assist the Legionaries. Viconia moved subtly into the mass of guards and civilians, purposely not following me and I felt strangely alone with the sudden loss of her presence. I was thankful for the distraction however; shadowing the Extraordinarii officer and preparing for an assault on what was for all intents and purposes a hostile fortress ensured I didn’t have time to think about how I had succumbed to my curse.

  We moved to the central formation of legionaries, staring up at the walls and the raging inferno that was contained behind the thick stone constructions that had been specifically designed to stop this very situation. The gates were clear however, and as we got closer an extremely young looking officer stepped out of the ranks and saluted.

  “Centurion Mede.” He introduced himself, grinning under the heavy Barbute helm and the bleached crest of horsehair. “Looks like we have the honour of forcing the breach.”

  “I’m with you Sir. Just show me where to go.”

  “That’s the spirit!” his excitement was infectious and I wondered just how many battles this young commander had been in. As I looked closer however this fresh faced young man was clearly no amateur. A battered shield hung from his arm, pointed spear locked firmly in the curve between the arm straps and the layers of steel and lacquer. Even his armour despite being the type specifically made for Centurions and polished to a mirror’s sheen was no ceremonial piece. His armour was sturdy and as tested as the man’s mettle had been who wore it.

  The rest of his soldiers were the same. Grim faced, tough and unyielding like the stone under their feet, they readied themselves while double and triple checking their equipment as though it was likely to sprout legs and flee in the seconds since they had checked last.

  “A forester eh?” he said, after the mounted legionary had passed his orders. “Excellent. My men are good in a fight but several of my archers recently came down with the pox. I hope you can shoot.”

  I decided that I liked this officer, his gregariousness reminded me of Burd, or even more especially Ozzarious but there was no doubting his ability and professionalism. Turning on his heel he ordered one of his men who hung back from the main party to hand over his bow and his quiver. I couldn’t help but notice the sickly white skin of the man who had marched in full plate and chainmail from their fort to the northwest despite the illness. The march had allowed him to put aside all thoughts of comfort for the fight but was now very obviously glad not to have found himself in the fighting line.

  “Right lads, we’re going to take this city and kill anything that was not born of Mundus!” The Centurion carried himself like a four-decade veteran, his authority unchallenged and every word heeded by those who followed. “We force the breach, make space for the other cohorts but don’t concern yourselves with leaving them any glory if there isn’t enough to go around.”

  There was a ripple of amusement through the ranks as they began to roll shoulders and necks, twisting and jumping lightly on the balls of their feet in a clatter of metal as they loosened up march-weary muscles for the fight ahead. Helmets were wriggled down tighter on the underlying layers of cloth and leather, swords drawn and edges checked for keenness. Shields were shaken to see how secure their bindings were to their arms and prayers offered to the Gods in muted whispers.

  “Our mission is to liberate and protect. If it’s hostile, we kill it! Any civilians we get out of there and send them back. Hold the line, keep in formation and protect your brothers!”

  He turned, motioning to the largest of the legionaries in their heavier plate to take the first ranks, while I moved forward to my position in the fourth with the rest of the plate-clad Foresters of the cohort. Around us the ranks of legionaries formed a wall of steel and shields that protected the handful of archers in their midst that would allow us to close with the walls, march through the ruined gatehouse and enter the city. The front rank consisted almost purely of Orcs and Nords, the tusked Greenskins and towering Northmen usually the only beings strong enough to wear the heaviest of siege plate and tower shields. However, in this cohort I saw a single snarling face of a heavily muscled Khajiit behind its custom-forged helmet; it’s deep throated growl at the fighting to come suspiciously sounding like a purr.

  For such assaults on cities and fortifications as this they would find themselves weighed down by fifty to sixty kilograms of ebony plate, chainmail leather and cloth; heavy protection for only those strong enough and brave enough to be the first to march down the enemy’s throat. They grunted gouts of steaming breath in the midday air from the exertion of simply moving but despite this and the hours of marching they had already done that day they were ready for several more hours of killing.

  The Centurion took his place in the centre of the archers, where he could exercise control over the formation of men. A brass whistle hung from a leather cord around his neck for when the sounds of battle would drown out even the loudest of shouted orders and he seemed pleased to be leading his men in such an attack.

  Turning to the hulking form of his standard bearer by his side, he nodded once before drawing his sword with a rasp of metal. “Raise the standard Kurm. Let’s show these bastards who’s coming for them.

  The hulking brute of an Orc carrying the cohort’s standard raised the four metre pole and banner into the air where the silken cloth caught the breeze. Resplendent on the maroon silk the Imperial Dragon gleamed, the numbers of the cohort, casta and Legion picked out in golden thread under the point of its tail.

  “Dovah Invicta!” The orc bellowed, spittle ejecting from between its scarred tusks and broken teeth from a lifetime of fighting. With a solid thump he slammed the reinforced base of the banner into the ground with an audible crack.

  “DOVAH INVICTA!” The Legion’s battle cry tore itself from the throat of every legionary of every cohort including my own with a deafening wave of sound that was felt more than heard. Swords were thrust into the sky as the roar shook loose streams of ash from the walls as the men and mer of the 2nd Legion went to war.