Deserter

         The gentle thuds of hoof beats in the snow floated up into the grey sky. Snow crunched beneath creaking wooden wheels and the sound of rustling armour echoed along the sunrise-tinged path.
         “You’re finally awake.”
         Calus’ eyes flickered open. The world around him seemed to be blurring and smudging as he tried to look around. The bench he was sitting on bounced slightly and sent a burst of pain through the back of his head. He sat forwards and stared at his feet as he squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the pain.
         “You took a bad hit to your head. Take your time.”
         Calus opened his eyes and glanced up at the speaker. The cart – for that was what his groggy mind realized they were travelling in – jolted again on the rough path and caused him to grunt.
         “You were trying to cross the border, right?” The speaker was a young man, with long blond hair and a short beard, and was clad in a mail hauberk. His hands – and Calus’ own, he realized – were bound. “Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us.”
         Calus looked at the others in the cart. There were two, both bound at the wrists. The first was dressed in tattered rags and looked like he hadn’t washed in months. The other contrasted him completely, clad in rich furs. He was gagged but hardly seemed to care as he stared without emotion into the surrounding woodlands.
         The man across from Calus smiled half-heartedly. “For what it’s worth, friend, I’m sorry. They set the ambush for us, and you got caught in it.”
         “Damn Stormcloaks,” muttered the man in rags. “Skyrim was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” He turned his gaze on Calus. “You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants. Not us.”
         Not you, maybe. Me, well… He looked back to the man who had first spoken to him. “What’s your name?”
         “Ralof.”
         “You don’t need to apologize to me, Ralof,” Calus said with a grim laugh. “They were looking for me anyway. If it not here they would have found me somewhere else.”
         The horse-thief snorted. “Well, it’s not me the Empire wants, then. You all can rot.”
         Ralof glanced down at the rope that bound his hands. “We’re all brothers in binds now, thief.”
         The cart rattled and creaked on in the snowy morning. Calus looked ahead and saw several horsemen in the traditional segmented armour of the Empire leading the way, and others alongside the cart. Behind, more wagons crunched through the snow, laden with men and women in the same garb and colours as Ralof.
         Calus leaned towards Ralof. “What are Stormcloaks?”
         Ralof gave a short laugh. “Haven’t heard any of the news out of Skyrim lately?”
         “Being on the run is a little isolating.”
         Ralof agreed with a nod. “The Empire calls us rebels. We fight to free all Skyrim from these damned Imperials.” He sighed. “Well, we did…” He cast a look at the gagged man.
         The man in furs said nothing and didn’t spare them a glance. He just stared emotionlessly out into the forest.
         “What’s wrong with him?” snorted the thief.
         Ralof rounded on him. “Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”
         Stormcloak? Calus frowned. Then Ralof’s words, we did, made sudden sense.
         “Ulfric?” exclaimed the thief. “The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion!”
         “You can’t rebel against someone with no claim to the throne,” replied Ralof. “The Imperials are no more than damn invaders.”
         “But if they captured you…” gasped the thief. “Oh, gods! Where are they taking us?”
         Ralof glanced up the road. “I don’t know. But Sovngarde awaits.”
         The thief’s face had taken on a panicked expression. “No! This can’t be happening! I’m just a thief, not a rebel!”
         Ralof looked over at him kindly. “What village are you from, horse thief?”
         “Why do you care?” snapped the thief.
         “A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”
         The thief went silent and stared at the wooden bottom of the cart. At last he murmured, “Rorikstead. I’m from Rorikstead.”
         Ralof nodded. “I saw Rorikstead once. It would be a good home.” He turned his gaze to Calus. “And you? You’re no Nord.”
         “Cyrodiil,” said Calus. “I grew up in Bruma. Joined the Imperial Legion as soon as I was old enough because I wanted to fight for something good. To protect.” He cast a disgusted look towards the Imperial horsemen riding alongside them.
         As he spoke, the caravan rounded a corner in the road and Calus saw the sturdy Imperial walls of a city. A guard on the battlements called out, “General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!”
         Calus glanced back at Ralof. “I was wrong.”
         The thief in their cart was muttering terrified under his breath. Calus caught the names of many of the Divines in his rapid speech but couldn’t make out any more.
         The arch of the city gates passed by over Calus’ head. For a moment he wondered if he should be more frightened of going to his death. But I don’t regret the decisions that got me here. I suppose that means something.
         Some of the Imperial horsemen pulled away from the caravan and joined other groups of soldiers within the city. Ralof gave a sudden disdainful snort. “Look at him. General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him.”
         Calus’ head snapped around to see what Ralof was looking at. Sure enough, perhaps thirty yards away stood a man in the fine armour of an Imperial governor, and beside him stood the black-robed figures of two elves. A familiar hatred began to stir inside Calus. You’re lucky I’m bound, Elves. I doubt you heard what happened to your brothers who disappeared that night. I’d be happy to tell you.
         “Damn elves,” spat Ralof. “I bet they have something to do with this.”
         “They always do,” replied Calus. “It’s their way.”
         Ralof didn’t seem interested in the elves anymore. He was looking around numbly at the surrounding houses. “This is Helgen…” he murmured. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I…I wonder if she’s still making that mead with gingerberries mixed in…” He swallowed hard. “Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel safe…”
         People were gathering in the streets, staring at the carts and whispering amongst each other. The carts ground to a halt.
         “Get these prisoners out of the carts!” snapped an Imperial soldier.
         The horse thief looked around in a panic. “Why are we stopping?”
         Ralof gave him a resigned smile. “Why do you think? The end of the line.”
         Soldiers seized the thief and Ulfric and pulled them roughly out of the cart. Ralof stood up and glanced at Calus. “Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.”
         Calus followed him out. A soldier gripped his arm tightly but he shook it off in contempt. “I can stand on my own.”
         The thief was being dragged into a line of other prisoners. “No, wait!” he shouted. “We’re not rebels!”
         “Face your death with some courage, thief,” said Ralof. “There’s nothing anyone can do now.”
         “You’ve got to tell them!” the horse thief cried back. “We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” An Imperial soldier silenced him with a heavy blow from an iron gauntlet.
         Calus and Ralof were shoved into the same line. A guard in the decorated armour of a legate stood facing the prisoners in the front. “Step towards the block when we call your name.”
         Calus’ head turned slowly to the left and saw a bloodstained block on the ground about ten yards away. Beside it stood a hooded man with a headsman’s axe resting on his shoulder. The Imperial general and the two Thalmor stood near him, along with a priest.
         “One at a time!” barked the legate again. She gestured for the soldier beside her to begin.
         “Empire loves their damn lists,” muttered Ralof.
         “Valdr of Falkreath,” read the soldier. A man in front of Calus began the slow walk towards the headsman.
         “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,” the soldier said.
         As Ulfric began to walk forward, Ralof stood tall and said, “It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric.”
         Ulfric paused in his slow stride and turned to face him. He inclined his head in gratitude before continuing to walk.
         “Ralof of Riverwood.” Ralof gave a slight laugh and followed the Jarl.
         “Lokir of Rorikstead.”
         The thief panicked. “No!” he exclaimed. “I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” He broke from the line and sprinted down the street.
         “Halt!” bellowed the legate.
         The thief didn’t slow. “Archers!” shouted the legate.
         Calus looked away as three arrows buried themselves into the thief’s back. The legate returned her attention to the prisoners. “Anyone else feel like running?” she growled.
         The soldier beside her met Calus’ gaze. “Wait!” he said suddenly. “You there! Step forward.”
         Calus frowned but did as he was asked. “You’re not a Nord,” said the soldier. “What are you doing so far from Cyrodiil?”
         “Getting far away from it,” replied Calus flatly.
         The soldier looked puzzled for a moment and turned to the legate. “Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list.”
         The legate gave Calus a disdainful stare. “Forget the list. He goes to the block.”
         The soldier nodded slowly at the legate. “By your orders, captain.”
         “Doesn’t take long for the Empire to break its own rules, does it?” Calus said.
         “I’m sorry,” the soldier said to Calus. “We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil.”
         Sorry, Calus echoed bitterly to himself. Like the Empire was sorry when the Thalmor burned that chapel of Talos to the ground with people still inside it? He began to walk towards the block.
         The Imperial general began to speak. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.”
         Ulfric grunted in contempt through his gag.
         “You started this war!” the general went on. “Plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace.”
         Calus snorted derisively, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sound. It was far away, from somewhere in the mountains outside Helgen. Rockslide? That was what it sounded like, and yet…there seemed to be something different about it.
         “What was that?” exclaimed a soldier.
         So I’m not the only one who thought it was unusual, thought Calus. I don’t know if that’s good or bad…Either way, come five minutes and it won’t matter anymore.
         “It’s nothing,” barked the general. “Carry on.”
         “Yes, general,” answered a guard. “Give them their last rites.”
         The priest began to speak. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines-”
         Nine. Calus felt the hatred returning. The Thalmor had their influence everywhere…
         The first Stormcloak prisoner strode forward to the block. “For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with.” He knelt and placed his head on the block.
         “As you wish,” murmured the priest.
         The prisoner gave the Imperial general a hate-laden stare. “My ancestors are smiling on me, Imperial. Can you say the same?”
         The axe descended. The crowd of onlookers broke into shouts – some of outrage, some of support. Ralof bowed his head. “As fearless in death as he was in life.”
         Calus found himself still glaring at the two Thalmor. One caught his gaze and Calus didn’t look away.
         The elf stared in surprise. “Wait,” his sibilant voice commanded. His black robes slithered over the snowy ground as he strode towards Calus. “Well, now,” he murmured. “Captain Calus. A long way from Bruma now, aren’t you?”
         “Do I know you?” Calus asked. “You all look the same to me.”
         The elf didn’t rise to the gibe. “No, but we know you. Captain Calus, deserter of the Imperial Legion, follower of Talos. Your running didn’t serve you very well, did it?”
         Calus said nothing.
         “I am sorry to tell you that the elf you swore vengeance upon in your note is already dead. You missed your chance while you were running scared.”
         Calus smiled suddenly. “No, I didn’t.”
         The Thalmor’s mocking expression fell. He stormed back towards the Imperial general and pointed a furious finger at Calus. “This one next!” he commanded.
         “As you wish,” said the Imperial.
         The same rockslide sound came again, closer this time. Calus looked towards the mountains, unsure what to expect, and saw nothing.
         “There it is again,” said one of the soldiers. “Did you hear that?”
         “To the block!” ordered the general.
         Calus breathed deeply of the fresh morning air and strode calmly towards the block. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Thalmor’s barely concealed rage as they watched him. That alone makes this worth it. He knelt.
         And then he was deafened by an ear-splitting roar, like a thousand rockslides in one, rolling over the town of Helgen like thunder.
         The Imperial general pointed in terror. “What in Oblivion is that!?”
         Something dark swept across the sky from the mountains. It was black like night and its silhouette was bat-shaped, wings stretching out to blot out the clouds. Calus could only stare in dumb shock as it alighted on Helgen’s tower above him.
         He knew what it was even before a voice shrieked, “Dragon!”
         Its scales glittered fiery in the sunlight. Its eyes burned like coals and its talons scarred the stone as the monstrous creature glowered down upon the gathering of people below. Its massive jaws opened, fangs glistening with hungry saliva, and it roared again.
         No…It spoke.
         There was a voice in that roar. It rumbled like an earthquake, shaking the very ground with power, speaking a word that Calus had never heard. It reverberated through him, shaking his bones and thundering in his head as the air trembled all around him. The clouds began to boil like smoke, writhing and twisting and curling around themselves like an immense maelstrom. At the storm’s centre, right over the beast’s head, red fire and stone leaped forth and rained down. Soldiers were running in a panic; prisoners fled and no one seemed to notice. Calus was still frozen on the block with shock as the burning rock fell from the clouds upon the city, crushing the once-imposing walls and turning towers to rubble.
         Someone heaved Calus to his feet. His eyes were still fixated on the dragon, staring dumbfounded at what should have only existed in legends. Someone shook him and was shouting at him but he could hardly hear it over the thunder of the destruction. He was shaken again, so hard that his head was jarred and he found his eyes jerked to see who had seized him.
         Ralof had him by the shoulders. “Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance! This way!” He dragged Calus away from the execution block, now forgotten by the astonished Imperials who ran madly this way and that in the chaos. There was thunder and lightning in the air and a blazing stone plummeted from the heavens and ploughed through a nearby house, spraying Calus with flaming splinters. Ralof stumbled and Calus steadied him as best he could with his bound hands as they ran on. Behind them Calus heard the monster roar again and as he glanced over his shoulder he saw the dragon lift off from the tower, fire roaring from its jaws as it bore down on the soldiers in the streets.
         Ralof gave a final burst of speed and ran through the open door of a tower in the wall. Calus sprinted after him and the door slammed shut just behind. Outside, roars and screams of terror ripped the afternoon air apart. Calus leaned forwards, gasping for breath.
         “Jarl Ulfric!” Ralof panted. “What- what is that thing? Could…could the legends…be true?”
         Calus glanced up and saw Ulfric, ungagged and unbound, staring at the door. “Legends don’t burn down villages.”
         A roar so loud that it rattled the door on its hinges resounded through the circular tower. “We need to move,” Ulfric snapped. “Now!”
         Ralof pointed to the stairs as the rest of the Stormcloaks began to move. “Up through the tower. We can escape over the walls. Go!”
         Some of the Stormcloaks began to run up the stone steps while others helped the injured to their feet. Calus followed Ralof near the front, racing up the stairs.
         A section of the tower’s wall the size of a house exploded inwards. The Stormcloaks in the lead were hurled from the steps by the flying rubble, and the one that remained was immediately ripped back through the hole by the massive black jaws that forced their way in. The dragon’s snout rammed itself through the space again, teeth as long as Calus’ arm not even three feet from his face. He could feel its hot breath washing over him as the jaws snapped rapidly and tried to seize anyone who was close enough. The mouth opened and the beast roared, and in that roar were words that rumbled through Calus’ bones and shook the tower. Flame erupted from the jaws along with the words, filling the tower with an roiling inferno. Stones blackened from the heat as Calus and the others pressed themselves against the wall for safety, and then the monster withdrew and plunged back into the streets.
         Ralof gave Calus a shove. “Go, prisoner! We’ll have to find another way out with the wounded. You’re not one of us; save yourself! We’ll follow when we can!”
         Calus nodded and glanced out through the gaping hole in the tower’s wall. It was a long jump from here to the neighbouring house.
         He didn’t give it a second thought. He leaped, aiming for a place in the house where the entire corner was missing, and slammed hard into the charred wooden floor of the second level. He winced, thinking momentarily he was going to go straight through, but the jarring pain in his legs as he hit the floor told him the landing was firm. He staggered towards the staircase and nearly fell down it, and before he’d even realized it he was back out in the streets. He looked around and couldn’t see the dragon, but he could hear it roaring somewhere on the other end of the village, drowning out the shouts of the soldiers and the terrified shrieks of the townsfolk.
         Calus looked around wildly for an escape. Imperial soldiers were everywhere, sprinting to aid their fellows against the dragon; Calus caught a glimpse of a font of flame bursting into the sky and setting a house ablaze. Soldiers were bellowing orders and none of them even noticed him. Calus spied the soldier who had assisted the legate with the execution list desperately trying to maintain some form of order in the panic.
         Calus dove behind a pile of rubble as a monstrous silhouette rose from beyond a mess of wrecked houses. The dragon’s massive wings unfurled and it soared through the air. Fire streamed from its black jaws, consuming house and soldier alike, and the arrows that hissed towards it clattered off its scales like pebbles. Calus felt the heat wash over him as the fire charred the dirt not three yards from where he lay, and as the dragon whipped by overhead Calus sprang from his hiding place and ran the opposite direction.
         He nearly slammed into the Imperial list-keeper and stumbled. The man stared at him in surprise. “Still alive, prisoner?”
         A burning building behind Calus suddenly gave way, showering the street in embers and broken stone. Calus ducked a falling chunk of masonry and retorted, “No thanks to you.”
         A deafening roar exploded down the street and both Calus and the Imperial glanced up to see the dragon coming around for another pass. The Imperial swore loudly and ran for cover as flames raced along the dirt road. Calus leaped into what might have once been a back alley but now was just a path with broken walls on either side. He crouched panting for breath against the wall, eyes sweeping the bit of sky he could see for any sign of the dragon.
         He felt the wash of air from its wings as it descended. He pressed himself closer to the wall, praying to all nine Divines at once that the beast wouldn’t notice him. It didn’t.
         The fact that it landed on the wall he was hiding beside didn’t leave him much better off, though.
         The dragon spat forth another storm of flame into the streets. Calus felt like he would pass out from the heat; it was like standing in an oven, and just when he thought he could take no more of it the beast launched itself from the wall in pursuit of something that Calus could only be grateful wasn’t him. He broke into a sprint, skidding out of the alleyway and tearing through the shattered streets, not even towards a gate, just away from the nightmare. He rounded a corner and saw a man in Stormcloak garb running in the same direction. The man beckoned wildly as he ran and Calus followed, and as he drew near he saw it was Ralof. Ralof pointed ahead at Helgen’s stone keep, to a wooden door at the base. They dashed madly towards it. Someone shouted at them and as Calus turned he saw the same Imperial soldier from earlier running after them. They reached the door and Ralof paused just long enough to shout back, “We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time.”
         The Imperial soldier dodged a piece of falling masonry from a nearby building. “Fine!” he snarled. “I hope the dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” He sprinted back into the town.
         Ralof threw open the keep door and ran inside. Calus followed and slammed the door behind them. Ralof barred the door and sagged against the wall, sweat and dirt caking his face. “I got separated,” he panted. “Jarl and the others got out through the gate.” He sank to the floor. “We’re on our own now.” After a moment’s rest he pushed himself to his feet. “There’s a tunnel out from beneath the keep. I’ve used it before. Here-” he added, and drew a dagger. “Let me get those binds off you.”
         Calus offered his hands and Ralof sliced through the rope. Calus massaged his wrists tenderly. “You know the way out?” he said. Behind them he could hear the muffled noise of battle from outside.
         Ralof nodded.
         “Then lead on.”
         Ralof stepped cautiously towards the opposite door. He pushed it open with the dagger raised in the other hand. The door swung with the moan of rusty iron, revealing a grimy stone passage winding its way downwards into darkness.
         Ralof readied the dagger and the two of them stepped into the gloom.