The Beginning - Volume VII: Dragonborn

[Ancient Magister]

Volume VII: Dragonborn

Dram put down his mug and looked to Hjalti while shaking his head: "Out of all the stupid ideas you came up with for the last three years, this one has to be the most foolish yet."
They were still in Wayrest, despite their earlier plans. This great city with high walls and tremendous buildings of the finest craft had lots of opportunities, and one could easily get lost in the crowd. Here, Dram also had a few contacts in the older parts of the city beneath the ground. It belonged to a smugglers' group called the Midnight Union. Still, even with all that, they were careful and kept their heads low. So even if they were partly still on the run from Prince Parren for several years, Hjalti and his new Dark Elven friend had no trouble living in Wayrest, as long as they didn't stay in one place for too long.

"But it's Juelli! The princess! I have to help!" Hjalti argued, while in his hand he held the recruiter's bill looking for swords-for-hire. It was about the princess' disappearance on her way to Firebrand Keep. His voice had gotten lower, and he had grown into a full adolescent with a stronger jawline, thicker eyebrows and denser arms. Whereas Dram was over two heads taller on his first encounter with the boy, Hjalti now met the Dunmer eye to eye, if not even a bit larger.

The seventeen-year-old Breton continued: "I know it's a risk, but I'll be careful! I use my pseudonym and keep myself hidden in the crowd."
"Yes, but we're talking about going back to Parren, the one person you should stay away from as far as possible, remember?" Dram sighed, "Igor is probably there as well, along with many others who you knew. They'll certainly recognize your face, and then… well… your face will probably be decorating a spear on top of Alcaire's walls in the day after."

Hjalti didn't need much time to formulate his answer, for he already had thought about it: "I'll just keep on my helmet at all times. It's about a dragon hunt, yes? So, if they ask about it, I say a dragon can strike at any moment, and I need to be always ready to defend myself," he explained, but the grunting laugh of Dram was enough response for Hjalti to know he hadn't convinced him yet. He sighed as well, adding: "Look, I have to do this. I must see Juelli one more time, even if it costs me my life. And if you don't agree, then so be it. Our paths separate here."

"Hm... If you're going looking for Parren, I guess you'll have to get used to things getting separated from you," Dram joked with a serious face, "But I guess you're old enough now to look after yourself, eh…"
The Elf brought his hand to his chin as he thought out loud and continued: "Very well. You may go. But three months. I give you three months to return. After that, I leave Wayrest an I'll not be waiting for you, nor will you able to find me ever again."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Hjalti yelled enthusiastically and ran up close to hug Dram in a moment of ecstasy, until he realized what he was doing, and awkwardly backed away, avoiding eye contact with the frowning Dunmer.

"Keep close to the other mercenaries, and listen to every command the captain says," Dram gave some last second advice, "You're going to work for Byrzokka, right? I have worked with him on a few jobs back when I was with the Morag Tong. Fun times, but a strange fellow that one. He appears to be nice, but he is dangerous. Don't underestimate him. And don't trust everything he says."
Hjalti nodded: "I'll remember that." And so he did. With his steel helmet on his head covering his face and dressed in leather and chain mail, he watched Byrzokka from afar, thinking about what Dram said to him, which was now already a few weeks back. Byrzokka was riding in front next to Parren, and at the other side of the prince was Igor.

The dog masters with their beagles following the trail of the princess were there too, and then of course there was Sir Krest, Knight-Commander of the Knights of the Flames, riding on the left side of Byrzokka. Hjalti knew all too well this man was supposed to marry Juelli, and therefore he didn't like the man one bit. But he and the dog masters weren't important. It was those first three Hjalti kept his eyes on. An old friend and an old enemy, and one who could be either of them, or both.

They had been riding in the mountains for three days now, though it was hard to keep track of time. All days blended into each other, and the nights also seemed all one and the same. They traveled in standard formation; with the prince and the others in front, followed by the knights from Alcaire. Then there was the group of the knights from Firebrand Keep, and Hjalti and the other mercenaries were second to last with only the servants and their packed mules following behind. Next to the group of Prince Parren, only a few others had horses and all others were on foot, plowing through the thick layers of snow covering the ground, with their muddy boots and here and there horse shit forming a dirty line through the white carpet, ruining the scenery between the beautiful range of mountains as far as the eyes could reach on either side of them.

Behind them was the valley and their way back to the Stormhaven region, and in front of them was a gigantic mountain towering over them. Every time Hjalti thought they came closer to the top and believed they would have reached it by now, another part became visible, and he saw they weren't there just yet. This continued for quite a while. And because of this large search party, they moved incredibly slow over day, and what didn't help either was that Parren was quick to take rest and ordered to set up camp, which -like the enormous search party crossing the mountains- wasn't all too modest as well with the prince sleeping in a massive tent and ordering to build large pyres to keep it warm at night. It took ages to build, and all the while the princess was out there somewhere in the wilderness, struggling to survive.

It made Hjalti grow impatient, and he appeared not to be the only one who felt frustration over this slow pacing of Parren's party. He heard Byrzokka himself complaining more than once, saying things to the prince things as: "This one was hired for a rescue mission, but this seems more and more like a camping trip. And although Byrzokka thinks you are excellent company to spend time with under Jone and Jode of course, this one starts to tire from it. With all due respect to your Excellency, of course."

His boss had proposed to be sent up ahead with only a handful of light moving soldiers to rescue the princess, and Hjalti agreed with him on this one. It made him start to like Byrzokka, although there was definitely something going on about him as he noticed the captain barely ate and he didn't seem to be bothered by the cold at all. He also remembered Dram saying he worked with Byrzokka on several occasions. That must have been at least 17 years back, yet Byrzokka looked like he was still in his early thirties. Who was Byrzokka? Or a better question would have been: what was Byrzokka?

Anyway, if Byrzokka could set out his plan, Hjalti would have volunteered to come with him of course, though he would have had trouble sleeping at night and he would have kept an eye on Byrzokka. But, Hjalti never had to make that choice, for the prince would have none of it without telling any reason why not. This led Hjalti to believe Parren was only interested in slaying the dragon, and not in rescuing his sister. Was this all for nothing then? Did the boy risk everything in the name of love without having the chance to see his princess ever again?

Then, finally, the sky was filled with the loud roar of a mighty beast, echoing in the vast space between the mountains. "What in Oblivion was that?" Hjalti heard a mercenary next to him asking. Parren yelled: "Sentries! What do you see?"
"It's in the clouds!" a knight yelled. Everyone held their breath. For the first time in many days, Hjalti could hear the blowing of the wind and nothing else. No sounds of footsteps. No horses. No squeaking grinding wheels of the carts pulled forth by mules through the snow. No laughing or resounding voices of talking soldiers. No sing-marches. Only the wind, until great wings came sailing through the air, covering the sunlight which had just broken through the grey clouds, casting the soldiers in a shadow as they looked up in awe: "Dragon!" they shouted in unison.

The red scaled fiend flew past the mountain and landed, and the praised silence by Hjalti was ended as abruptly as it started when next orders were yelled and people started running all over the place, breaking formation. But it was arranged chaos, as strange as it may have seemed. And in a matter of minutes, new groups were formed who were nearing the mountain range.

There on the other side, the dragon was closer to them than Hjalti had anticipated. With eyes as big as one's head and teeth as large as a person's forearm, it was looking at the group; it had been waiting for them and greeted them: "Drem Yol Lok, Joore," it spoke with a deep and low vibrating voice, "It is good that we may meet, for I wish to parley."
"That thing can speak?" Parren asked in full surprise, and Byrzokka, standing near, rolled his eyes while taking a step forward. With arms wide open, he greeted the dragon: "Ah, it is you! Long time no see, my friend! How long has it been? Over 250 years for sure! How are you doing? Still remember me?"
"Byrzokka. Yes, I remember."
Parren now looked even more surprised, and asked: "You know this creature?"
"Why, of course! When Byrzokka first met him, he thought the dragon was going to attack Senchal," the furless one explained, "But then it seemed we were wrong… Ah, long story."

Byrzokka put his staff back on his back. He continued talking to the dragon, asking if there was another dragon in the area, but this dragon shook his head, saying he hadn't seen any of his kin in a long time. To this answer, Prince Parren was quick to draw his conclusion: "So you attacked the caravan!"
"I know not of what you speak, but I-" the dragon said, before the impatient prince interrupted him:
"Why should I believe you?" he snarled, "But, I tell you what: I am in a good mood. Give me my sister back, and if she's alive and well, I might let you live."
"I cannot, for she is not mine to give," the dragon argued, but his words were in vain.
"Very well then," Parren said calmly, and he pointed his silver and golden sword in the air.

His voice changed, and with a loud tone he yelled to start the attack. At that moment, great constructs came rolling from over the mountain range behind the group, carried by the servants. They were ballistae; great siege weapons loaded with arrows as big as a human being. "Wait!" Byrzokka yelled, but it was too late. Parren had already lowered his sword-arm, and with it, the arrows whistled through the air, striking the thick scales of the flying lizard. It roared in agony as the razor-sharp projectiles pierced one of his wings, and two others buried themselves into his breast and stomach.
"Loiaan Meye!" the Dragon scolded them, right before fire came from its mouth: "Yol Toor-Shul!"

Those who couldn't jump out of the way in time -or weren't protected by a magical ward casted by the few mages complementing the group- were burned down to a crisp in the blink of an eye. The siege weapons were blasted into more pieces than how they were carried here by the mules, and the sky became filled with the smell of burning flesh and screams of dying men. Hjalti was one of the lucky ones to stay unharmed, but he now had to witness how some of his colleagues with an arm or a leg missing, or having a hole in their shoulders or sides, were crying and urinating themselves in their last seconds of drawing breath.

As he watched the harrowing show, he had to evade one burning and armless sword-for-hire, who came running towards him, all in panic screaming. In an attempt to avoid becoming a living torch himself, he dove towards the ground and hiis head landing next to an cut-off arm laying in the snow. Its flesh was still smoldering where the shoulder should have been. The helmed lad felt his stomach twisting and quickly looked away, but first he saw the arm holding an Alcairian sword. Only the Knights of the Flame carried such swords, and since all were in the front, it must have been blasted through the air for several meters!

As Hjalti had lost his own blade in the chaos, he grabbed the sword and claimed it as his own. Then he glanced around the scene and saw many still survived. He saw healers who were helping the wounded to get back on their feet or to drag them away from the battlefield. Others were now battling the dragon, surrounding the creature while from the mountain tops archers were firing their arrows. Then he saw Igor who was standing amidst the knights in front of the dragon. That was when Hjalti knew what to do. His place was beside his old friend! So he rushed in as well.

As Hjalti came closer, he immediately had to evade the giant wing of the dragon, who moved it forwards in an attempt to knock him and some others down. Most of them didn't respond in time and were thrown into the air. Others' bones were broken before they even realized what happened. But Hjalti ducked and slid down a hill to get closer to the dragon. While doing so, he pointed his sword up to tear in the membrane of the wing.

Then in a tactical roll he got himself behind a rock before the dragon turned his gaze towards him and tried to snatch him with his big jaws. As Hjalti was catching his breath, it took a while before he realized someone else was sitting next to him, also sheltering. It was a big Nord with an impressive brown beard and clad in shining knightly armor. It was Igor! Hjalti had to restrain himself to not tell Igor how glad he was to see him, because the Nord couldn't recognize him. Or he had to blow his cover.

"What's the plan, Igor?" Hjalti asked him instead, realizing only a bit too late he just called the Nord by his name. But Igor was an important figure. It wasn't too strange for a mercenary like himself to know him, right? At least, that's what Hjalti told himself. In any case, Igor didn't seem to pick up on that: "I once battled… an aspect of Mephala," he said, while he was clearly exhausted, "There… it seemed to work once we went… for the eyes. I know… it's not the same as battling… a dragon, but…"
"But it's worth the shot," Hjalti completed the sentence, "If you and the others can draw the attention, I think I can come up close."

Igor nodded, and they both left the rock on separate sides. Hjalti of course also remembered when he sent Mephala back into the Void. Much had changed since that moment, however. Back then, he was but a small boy, and although he had trained his entire life, his survival was by mere luck. He knew that. Now though, things were different. He was even more skilled. He had grown stronger, faster, and now he knew he could do this.

Full of confidence, he rushed in, jumped on top of the wings of the unsuspected creature, albeit that wasn't for long. He had to bury his blade into the skin to keep tight quickly before the dragon tried to knock him off. The creature yelled at the strike but was distracted by Igor and the others, and the wing turned silent. Hjalti retrieved his sword and ran down on the back of this monster, which now turned its head to breathe fire over himself in the hope to roast Hjalti. However, the latter dodged by jumping off the back onto the other side, sliding downwards to the other wing and stabbing his sword into the neck.

With that, the fire stopped, but the creature now spread its wings, trying to take off. Hjalti was pushed down as the dragon lifted into the air, and he was trying his upper best not to fall off. "Nunon Mey Bo Strun Voqostiid Naal Sov," the dragon spoke to him, though Hjalti was too busy in order to listen. And Hjalti of course didn't know Dovahzuul, the dragon language. At least not back then.

How long was he there in the air hanging on his sword? Hjalti didn't know, but it felt like hours before the situation finally changed. That happened when another giant arrow was fired. It seemed that not all ballistae were destroyed and they were waiting for the dragon to take flight. So when it did, the arrow hit the creature in the back, only one meter away from where Hjalti was. That was way too close. They could have hit him! In his breath, the lad cursed them, but time to be angry about it he didn't have, however, for the arrow did its job and the dragon fell from the sky.

It landed on the other side of the mountain, and through the snow, it sleighed down a hill before coming to a halt. Hjalti had still managed to keep on top of the dragon during this. He was alive, though his ribs were hurting really bad now. As he got up, he realized that he had to revise himself from previous thoughts about not needing luck. Because he certainly had a lot of it today to still be able to draw breath.

A loud cough left his throat before he took a breath, and in one go, he yanked the sword out of the beast. It barely responded, though it was certainly still alive, only lying lifeless on the mountain. It was funny, that now the dragon was almost dead, it certainly looked a lot bigger than when Hjalti was fighting it, but that was just because he now for the first time really had a good look at it without his mind being clouded by the sense of battle or being intimidated by its head only.

Hjalti jumped off the back and hauled his sword behind him, for he was too hurt and too tired to carry it. It left a red trail of the dragon's blood in the snow as he made his way towards the head of the beast. Now standing next to it, he and the yellow globe, with within the center the black fissure forming the oval pupils taller than his hand, was staring at him. Even now when it was more dead than alive, it was hard not to be intimidated by this magnificent and enormous presence. The change of expression when they met wasn't that of Hjalti, however, but it was the dragon's as soon as it had a good look at Hjalti.

"Kosi Gein Wo Yahi. You are the one I have been looking for," it said with his dying breath.
"You have a death wish then," Hjalti responded with the lust for blood in his voice, "That can be arranged. But first: Where is the princess?!"
"Have you no ears?" it bellowed with still such a power, it made Hjalti back away a bit, "You have been deceived. But it matters little now. With you, their plan will probably fail regardless. Perhaps it is indeed for the better if you kill me…"

Hjalti's anger disappeared from his mind and made room for an endless hail of questions. What was he talking about? Who were 'they'? Whose plan failed? And what did he do to change that? Yet he couldn't ask his questions just yet. Up to this moment, he was all alone with the dragon until the rest finally found their way to the crash site. Igor was one of the first to appear, his face in full amazement seeing that the boy he saw leaving on the back of a dragon was still alive. He threw off his helmet in excitement of seeing the spectacle, and Hjalti quickly checked if his helmet was still on his head. Yes, luckily it had survived the crash and his face was still covered.

Up next the, the rest of the fighters followed, forming a crowd near Hjalti and the dragon. They started cheering by seeing the slain beast, thinking it to be death. Igor came closer, asking if it was indeed so, to which Hjalti shook his head: "No, not yet."
"Dii Zeymah Tinvaak Vahzah. My brother speaks truly," the dragon's voice thundered through the sky, and the cheering was suddenly all brought to a halt. Swords laid to rest were unsheathed again and smiles were traded for dire faces.
Igor looked at the dragon in full confusion: "Your… brother?" he asked and then turned his gaze to the armored mercenary in front of him.
"Yes. He is as our father Akatosh has made us. A mortal with the soul of a dragon. He is what we call Dovahkiin. He is… Dragonborn."