User blog:Apollo42/A Throne of Ash: Part V

“Check.”

Maerys frowned, his eyes sliding across the chess board that sat in front of him. Across from him was Gemina Argon, the Oracle. It was hard for him to determine where she was exactly looking, as she lacked pupils and eyes, but the tilt of her head informed the prince that she was gazing at him.

The siege had stretched on for weeks, and, as he had forced Gemina to come along with his camp, he had turned to her for company. The war had been going on for months, and it was starting to get dull for Maerys. He had already beaten the world’s greatest general, what did he have to prove?

He had tried to storm the city three times. No, four. All that had resulted in was him losing men. The city had stood strong for seven weeks.

Maerys turned his attention back to the board, and shifted his bishop so that it took the rook currently threatening his king. Gemina cocked her head, but otherwise said nothing. She was pretty, Maerys had noticed, being the hormonal teen that he was. Even in the loose, flowing white robes and veil of the Oracle. Now that Maerys had gotten to know her, he had come to discover that she was only a year or so older than him, yet she bore the responsibilities of the Oracle on her back.

They were kids, just playing at the world.

Gemina shifted a piece, and looked back up to him, saying nothing. Her second rook was in a position to take his bishop, now, but the bishop was also being threatened by a wall of pawns. Why hadn’t she struck?

“You play this game in an interesting manner.” Maerys mused, taking one of the pawns and saving his bishop from destruction.

Gemina smiled, lightly, moving her own bishop so that it was blocking Maerys from taking her queen. If he took it, he would be taken by the queen, but if he didn’t, he would be taken by the bishop. “I play a long game, Maerys, like you should be doing.”

“I hope you’re not going to offer me another prophecy…” Maerys mused, moving his bishop away from the danger and returning to his own side of the board. Her own bishop followed, putting it in striking distance of one of his knights, which promptly took it.

“You most likely wouldn’t listen, even if I was.” Gemina responded, looking down at the board as if she was predicting his moves. Maerys wondered if her ability to see the future applied to this. Her second rook again moved into striking distance of his king, whom he had left open by moving his knight. “Check.”

“Did you see that in your dreams?” Maerys replied, bemusedly, as he took her rook with his own. He was beginning to run out of room to maneuver, as her pieces across the board advanced on him.

The game continued, as did their conversation. “No. I just know you’re a stubborn ass.” Gemina smiled, slightly, as the sounds of men rushing around outside of Maerys’ pavilion began to get louder. Maerys ignored it, though.

He feigned offense. “Quite a rude thing to say to your prince.” The teenager responded, lightly, as his second knight narrowed in on her king. “Check.”

“Well, you are.” Gemina reminded him, using her queen to take his knight. He frowned, but did nothing at the moment. The people rushing outside got louder, and there were yells.

“Well, then, tell me my future, O Wise Oracle.” Maerys replied, shifting a piece on his board. She smiled at him, slightly, but she did not pay attention to what he had done, which he planned to use to his advantage.

“I saw you, My Prince, as a shining star. Five stars dance about you, and one by one they wink out. Yet you remain. Other stars come, to try to outshine you, but you are steady.” Gemina responded, as if she had been saving that for some time.

Maerys raised an eyebrow, paying attention to the board. “Poetic.” He said, absentmindedly.

“And then a black hole will swallow you.” Gemina continued, her voice turning grave. “The stars that come after will not shine as bright as you, for many, many years.”

“Ah.” Maerys mused, as she shifted a piece. He wasn’t paying complete attention to her prophecies, and as such missed her somber tone. “Anything else?”

“I see darkness, Maerys.” Gemina whispered, urgently, her hand darting out and grabbing his arm so tight that he felt a slight pain as he nails dug into her arm. He wondered why, all of a sudden, she was becoming so desperate. “I see gods fighting in the sky and underneath the ground. I see millions dead. I see the sun turning black, and the ground itself rising to fight the sky. I see fire and darkness trying to snuff each other out. Please, Maerys, you have to actually listen to me!”

Maerys looked at her, almost irritated, before he pointed back to the board. His first knight and his bishop were poised to take her king, and there was no escape. “Checkmate.” He said, a slight smile spreading across his face. He didn’t believe in prophecies, so he was completely unbothered by her ominous statements.

Gemina frowned, releasing his arm and sitting back down in her chair with a huff. “You’re an ass.” She grumbled.

“Hey, you’re the one who invited me to play chess.” Maerys pointed out, his grin growing wider, before the flaps burst open and Corvus Lux darted into the room, a bloodstained sword hanging from his right hand and his golden helm held by his left.

“We did it, Your Grace.” Corvus said, breathing heavily. Maerys looked to him, feeling satisfaction spread through his body. The Dragonguard continued, “Falkreath has fallen.”

Gemina looked to Maerys in shock. “How-?”

Maerys grinned at her. “Storming the city didn’t work, four times. So I came up with a plan to distract them and take it anyways.”

“It was brilliant, Lady Oracle.” Corvus agreed, still struggling to catch her breath. “He focused us on one side of the walls for weeks, so their attention would be drawn there. Meanwhile, under the cover of each nightfall, he had men and battlemages tunnel under the walls into the furthermost part of their cemetery. When they finally broke through, the Nords thought their own honored dead were rising against them, and laid down their weapons!”

“Isn’t that… sacrilegious?” Gemina asked, her disconcerting gaze sliding over onto Maerys. He was tempted to stick out his tongue at her, but he didn’t.

“It’s war. I’m sure Arkay will understand.” Maerys replied, feeling his face turn red. Was he ashamed of his actions? No, he was right to do what he did. He turned to look at Corvus. “Take me to the Jarl.”

“The legions are gone, Your Majesty!” The redheaded underelf girl said, furiously, standing in front of the throne. “You left your own city defenseless, and now we’re trapped in this shit!” Princess Dyanna Harin would normally have been embarrassed, cursing at the Emperor and all, but she was too angry to let that stop her. She was right, after all.

Emperor Daenar II Morgan rubbed his eyes, tiredly. “I’ve sent them messengers, Princess. That is the best we can do.”

Dyanna felt one of her three Phar’makai shift behind her. ‘Phar’makai’, an Underelf word. Its closest equivalent in the Common Tongue was ‘Augment Warrior.’ It meant one of the Augmented Underelves who had snapped and chosen a life in service to the Crown over a life in service to the Two-Faced God. It was a common practice in Cespar, as only the Underelves truly understood the power that Augments had. They couldn’t be allowed to do whatever they wanted, and thus they were rounded up when caught and given a choice: Become an elite soldier, become a priest, or die. These three were her bodyguards, who had accompanied her to the Imperial City.

“That’s NOT the best we can do!” Dyanna yelled, angrily, feeling one of the three lightly take her arm, as if to stop her, but she continued. “You’re still a dragonrider, are you not? Take flight and destroy that army!”

“I will not unleash dragonfire on any innocent person.” Daenar replied, his face turning grave. “You are dismissed.”

Dyanna felt her face flush with anger, but she did as she was bid, turning on her heels and striding out of the throne room. She took a royal carriage to the walls of the great city, New Imperia, where she gazed out at the lake and the land surrounding it.

It was a clear night, luckily, and she could see all the way to the other edge, which was dotted by thousands of torches. The army of Cheydinhal, which had already taken all of the bridges to the city and had them besieged.

They must have declared for the White and marched on them after they had heard Maerys and the other dragonriders had gone North. Daenar rarely saddled his own beast, and thus there had never been anything to worry about on the side of Cheydinhal. They just needed to take the Imperial City and kill the Emperor while Tarin defeated his children in the North.

She turned to her Phar’makai. There were three: Dyomedon, Telemad, and Hekura. Or, as they were better known: Stormhand, Blackbird, and the Singer of the Mists. She found the names ridiculous, herself, but it was custom to address them as such in formal conversation.

“My lady, there are thousands of them out there.” Telemad said, gazing across the water. His augmentation gave him better sight, as well as a few other gifts, and she trusted his input on the matter.

“How many men do we have in the city?” Dyanna asked Dyomedon, choosing not to respond to Telemad until she had enough insight about their situation.

“With the Legions usually garrisoned here gone North, we are left with the seven hundred-or-so men in the City Guard, but they are untrained for war. Their role is peacekeeping.” Dyomedon said, as dutiful as ever. He was the oldest of the three Phar’makai, and was more used to this sort of thing. “On top of that, we have three hundred Underelves sent by your mother, Princess.”

Dyanna nodded, gazing out at the lakewater, how it reflected the thousands of torches of their enemy, men who would surely kill everyone associated with the Imperial Family in the city. Including herself. “Around one thousand men, having to defend the largest city in Tamriel against an army of at least five times their number.”

“You also have us, Princess.” Telemad said, offering her a wicked grin. “The three of us could do some damage, if you release us to our full potential.”

Dyanna gazed at him, disturbed. She had always been taught not to give an Augment free reign, and Telemad was one of the reasons why. If released, she had no idea how much damage he could do. “We’ll see.” She muttered.

Hekura turned to her, purple eyes gleaming in the darkness. “We can get you out of the city, My Lady. You do not have to endure a city being sacked.”

Dyanna considered this for a moment, turning to look at the city as it stretched before her from the walls. There were millions of people within it. Innocents, who had nothing to do with this foolish war. Men who would be butchered. Women who would be raped. Children who would be scarred forever.

She looked down from the walls, her purple-eyed gaze finding two kids huddled against the great barricade. There was nothing particularly notable about them. They were typical orphans, a little blonde boy and an even smaller dark-haired girl, covered in soot and dirt and looking like they had wandered for a long time before getting trapped in this godforsaken city.

They might have been refugees from Bruma. At such a young age, they already knew what war did to families.

“No.” She said, turning to look at her three bodyguards. “I will not allow this city to fall. If the Emperor will not lead his defense, I will.”

His blade moved like a knife through water.

Vedin barely even noticed the resistance that bodies put up anymore. After all these months of fighting, he was starting to become used to the feeling, as his cold steel bit into warm flesh. He wasn’t used to the stench of battle, of course, but he figured that no one really was.

He sidestepped a spear, grabbing it out of the pikeman’s hand and pivoting, driving it backwards into the body of another traitor. He didn’t even both to look at who the man was; he was so far into the enemy’s line that there was no chance there was any of his own men with him. Pyron was off, somewhere, probably doing the same thing he was.

Making a break for the command tent. Arik and Cyrus, the twin moons, eldest of Tarin’s sons, were currently sitting up there.

The autumn woods of Riften had awed Vedin when he had first arrived with the rest of the army, but after months of back-and-forth the golden, orange, and red leaves had lost their splendor. Even the lake had failed to make him happy, but that was more due to how it was starting to be tinted red with all the blood spilled.

Vedin blocked a mace with his shield, driving his own sword into the offender’s throat, at the weak point between the breastplate and the helm, quick as a bolt of lightning. Unfortunately, another man took the opportunity to swing an axe down at his arm as it tried to wrench the blade from the jugular.

The Darkholme boy barely had time to draw his hand back and leap backwards, bowling over another Blackfyre soldier. He picked up the man’s spear and circled with the axeman, waiting for him to strike. He was the last man between him and the command tent, probably one of the Twins’ personal guard, given the emblazoned white breastplate. Luckily, most of the lesser soldiers were distracted by his own army’s charge, leaving the two of them.

Vedin set his feet, waiting for the axeman’s onslaught. The axeman did as he was due, and Vedin could almost hear his feet as they pounded across the grass towards him. Darkholme took a breath, and it was almost as time slowed. He felt the wood grain of the spear shaft in his hand, heard the rustling of the wind, saw the glint in the axeman’s eye as he pounded towards him.

Three yards away. Two yards.

Vedin stretched his arm back and hurled the spear forward like a javelin, feeling the grain of the shaft as it passed through his hand. The axeman’s sprint and the small distance between them didn’t give him time to process what was happening before the spear plunged into his chest, knocking him backwards with an ‘oof.’

Vedin strode forward, plucking the spear from the man’s chest and striding up the incline to the great white pavilion. He casually knocked over a banner as he went, before he heard someone pounding up the pavement towards him.

He whipped around, blindly, his spear point finding the base of the throat with little effort. Luckily, something kept him from actually driving it in in a killing blow, thank god, as he recognized Pyron’s grinning face. He was clad in his resplendent black armor, as always.

“Ready to kill these princelings?” He asked, his dark eyes shining, as though what he had said was some grand feat. The Prince of the Topal didn’t even seem to notice the spear point that had nearly killed him, which Vedin hastily withdrew. Not feeling like giving a grand speech at the moment, Vedin simply nodded and the pair dashed up the hill.

The chief command tent of the Blackfyre armies rested on a cliff overlooking the lake, directly opposite of Riften. The city had declared for Pyron’s family, and it had become their duty to protect it.

It had been a long few weeks, with the constant back-and-forth. Sometimes the traitors nearly scaled the walls of Riften, sometimes the Morgans had them beaten back across no man’s land. This was the first time Vedin would actually see the Lunar Twins, as they were called.

He wasn’t actually disappointed.

The pair lounged inside the tent, lazily. They had allegedly lead the first few assaults in the front of their army, but they had started to withdraw more and more with each conflict. Now, one of them even had a cup of wine in his hand.

“Have you ever tried this?” The one with the wine glass asked, lightly. The twins were identical in every way, save for their birthmarks. The one with the wine glass had a grayish crescent underneath his left eye, while his brother had an identical mark on his hand. The crescents supposedly looked like moons, earning them their nickname, but Vedin didn’t really focus on it.

The pair of them were tall and broad, around Pyron’s height, and it was apparent that they both had been training as warriors since youth, given their rippling muscles. They both had icy-blue eyes, almost white, and curly black hair, yet the one with wine glass had a wicked grin across his face while the other seemed more stoic.

“Arik.” Pyron said, gesturing to the one with the wine glass, before nodding to the other. “Cyrus. Cousins, we’re here to kill you.”

“A shame. Cyrus here was hoping to speak rationally.” Arik replied, sarcastically, gesturing to his brother, who already had his sword and shield in hand. Cyrus leapt at Pyron, and the battle began.

Vedin quickly lost sight of Pyron as he lunged forward with his spear, hoping to drive the point into the man’s chest and end it all quickly. Of course, that rarely happened, and Arik’s sword appeared out of nowhere, slapping the spear out of his way. Unfortunately, with the force of his lunge, this brought Vedin into range of Arik’s own blade, and the man took advantage.

Arik struck, stabbing his blade at Vedin’s gut. The commoner quickly pivoted, catching Arik’s blade narrowly on his shield. The princeling was good. Almost too good.

The pair locked eyes for a moment, before Vedin shoved with his shield, sending Arik stumbling away from him. It would be difficult to take such a master swordsman down armed with only a spear and shield, but he had some tricks under his sleeve.

“You wretch!” Arik cried as he recovered from his stumble. All trace of that previous infuriating cockiness was gone, replaced by stone-cold anger. He barred his teeth at the younger commoner. “I’m going to put you back in the dirt where you belong, bastard!”

“Oh, so you know me, then?” Vedin responded, as the pair began to circle each other. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pyron dueling Cyrus, but he couldn’t afford to get distracted.

He dropped into a stance, eyes meeting the Lunar Twin’s icy ones. “Come on, then.” He muttered, but Arik was smarter than his guardsman had been. He did not seem like he would fall into any trap, so Vedin moved first.

He lashed out with his spear, driving it at Arik’s feet. When the man jumped, Vedin darted forward and slammed his shield into the man, knocking him off his feet. Vedin rushed on the chance, putting his spear to the Lunar Prince’s throat.

“Yield.” Vedin ordered, finding himself breathing heavily. Arik looked up at him, wide-eyed, as if he had never been beaten. Then, his gaze hardened.

“Never.” Arik Blackfyre hissed, and Vedin raised his spear, slightly, preparing to drive it into the man’s throat. Then, he glanced backwards, to see how Pyron was doing.

Cyrus Blackfyre held the Prince, Aristos Imperion, by his throat, and Vedin barely had time to cry out before he threw him off the cliff, where Pyron would tumble a few hundred yards before crashing into the lake.

Vedin glanced back at Arik, trying to decide what his next move had to be, before he came to his decision. He tossed his spear to the side and drew his knife, cutting the straps of his breastplate and helm before dashing towards the cliff.

If Pyron hadn’t been killed by the drop, his armor would cause him to drown.

Vedin kicked off the rest of his armor as he ran, pushing Cyrus to the side as he leapt, diving down into the surf.