Fredas, the nineteenth of Hearthfire in the year 201. The happiest day of Trendil’s life.

 

Fifty-one days earlier, she and Marcus had met in the very earliest hours of the morning on the outskirts of the city of Dragonstar and fled together to the south. Ten days later, they had passed through the gate into Skyrim. Thirty-two days after that, they had arrived in Riften and nine days later, on the very day her dress was finished, they had wed in the Temple of Mara.

 

On Fredas, the nineteenth of Hearthfire in the year 201. The happiest day of Trendil’s life.

 

Now, once again, it was Fredas, the nineteenth of Hearthfire in the year 201, and Cuss’ life was in shambles, very much akin to the remains of Company E as they straggled through the gate into the city. Of the fifty men sent out, only eight returned, all of them badly injured. Two of them died before the healers could get to them.

 

The disaster was compounded by the loss of Galnar, who, just like last time, had led the company tasked with retrieving the crown. The survivors weren’t sure of his fate; they had all been left for dead by the Imperials and had come to their senses long after the Imperials were gone, taking the twin prizes of the crown and Galnar, whether dead or alive, with them.

 

It was a disaster on every level. The tiny bright side was that it gave her a conversational starting point with the catters. On the other hand, catting was the last thing they wanted to talk about.

 

“They’re saying they’ve never seen anything like it.” Haan, the brother of one of returned soldiers, had everyone pinned to his every word and was clearly lapping up the attention.

 

Cuss had known the final challenge in Korvanjund would prove difficult for the Company, but this… “King Borgas was that tough?”

 

“Aye, Borgas was tough! They were having a hard time with him, it is true. But that wasn’t what destroyed the company.” Haan leaned forward as if about to spill a great secret, and the entire inn, it seemed, leaned with him. “It was a she-devil! That’s what they’re saying, anyway.”

 

Someone called out, “What was a she-devil?”

 

“The creature that decimated Company E! Aren’t you listening? Those fucking Imperial bastards knew they couldn’t beat our men, so they must have conjured it.”

 

Another voice: “What is a she-devil?”

Haan glared. “How would I know? I wasn’t there. That’s just what the survivors call her. ‘It wore the guise of a naked woman but its skin was pitch black, it had ears like a cat, and its eyes glowed red like flame.’ Probably a succubus or some other type of lesser dremora.”

 

Cuss frowned. “Not a succubus. I have fought those, and other types of dremora, but never one that looked like that description.”

 

Haan tossed Cuss a sneer. “Aren’t you the braggart? Well, I don’t pretend to know all the types of the bloody things. I’m just telling you what the survivors are saying. I think it was a ghost, personally.”

 

“A ghost?!” someone yelled out.

 

“Aye! My brother says he got it right in the side with his axe. But…” he leaned forward again, and the rest of the room leaned with him again, “…he says the axe passed right through it, like it was made of smoke! Then it turned and stabbed him in the gut.”

 

Cuss’ frown deepened. “Wait, it stabbed him? It had a weapon?”

 

“Of course, fool! You’ve never heard of daedric weapons?”

 

“Not in the hands of a lesser dremora.”

 

“Then I guess you don’t know that much after all. It had a flaming black sword that cut through armor like butter and could push a grown man backward with a single sweep without even touching them.”

 

Another voice called out, “What about Galnar?”

 

“The way I hear it,” Hann replied, this time leaning back in his chair like a magus imparting wisdom (whatever else he was, the man knew how to hold an audience), “he was still alive when they took him. They made sure of it because…” a pause as the entire room leaned forward even more, “…they’re going to feed him to the she-devil!”

 

Cuss shook his head as the rest of the room gasped in shock, then stood up with an abrupt enough motion that it splashed some drinks, muttered apologies as he dropped coins on the table, and left the tavern. He needed to think.

 

The relative quiet of the night was a welcome balm as the door to the tavern closed behind him. He paused a moment, considering, then went to the market to purchase a jar of snowberry jam (the jam on bread had become Cuss’ favorite snack since the vendors had opened their stall two weeks ago) and a loaf of flaky bread, then moved on to the empty practice yard, sat, and ate as he tried to wrangle his thoughts.

 

Last time, the Imperials had made it to Korvanjund first, although they had not progressed very far; they had only made it about a third of the way through by the time Trendil’s company had swept past on the way to claiming the crown. And the Imperials certainly had not produced any dremora. Of course, the fact they had shown up this time proved the communication between the two sides of the war was intact, just as last time. It was frustrating to be part of a military where it seemed the “spies” encompassed the entire leadership.

 

“Espionage made easy.” Cuss shook his head, frustrated, as he brushed the last of the breadcrumbs from his legs, then stood, pulled out his swords, and began Form One. He always thought best while practicing, and now was the time he needed to think at his best.

 

He had rejoined the Stormcloaks so he could change things; could force the army to make better decisions. Instead, he was stuck on the lowest levels of the hierarchy, able to affect things only in the most oblique ways.  He tried to think what his mother would have done but that was a practice in futility – Melissa would have eschewed the Stormcloaks and simply gone on an Imperial hunting trip. She would probably have won the war for the Stormcloaks in the process just by exterminating a large portion of their enemies.

 

Cuss cussed at himself again at the thought, then continued his litany of bad words as his agitation made him mistime the âj beewmeb that should have completed the form. He sighed and reset; missing one part meant doing the entire thing over. Trendil hadn’t made such a mistake since she was fifteen, and Cuss was very very glad his mother was not there to see it. Or any of the other mistakes Trendil had made, starting with sneaking away in the first place. He wished he could start again, could make different choices. And the fact that he had had exactly that opportunity and had chosen so poorly the second time was a thorn he would only be rid of if he somehow found a way to turn everything around.

 

He just couldn't think what that somehow might be.

 

 

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