Eagles of the Sands (Part 3)

• Posted by A-Pocky-Hah! February 28, 2017 - Filed in TSC: Short Story - #AMOSS Event  #AMOSS:Tes  #EotS  #TSC: Short Story  - 1,274 views

   

  Eagle of the Sands

  Part 3

   

  Corvunir travelled from rooftop to rooftop, using his short teleportation spell - or ‘blink’ as he preferred to call it - to jump across large gaps. His eyes wandered below, looking for his target.

   

  Miraz ibn Arshad was the main reason why he and Rena were here. He was one of them, their sworn enemies - the Blades, former royal protectors who still cling on to the memory of a dead dynasty.

   

  The Bureau had hunted many of them down across Tamriel through their covert operations division, ‘Night Talon’, whom Corvunir and Rena were a part of. They were the hidden blades of the Bureau; unseen, unheard, and unknown by anyone, operating under the highest of authority of the Aldmeri Dominion.

   

  The signing of the White-Gold Concordat meant that the Thalmor were allowed the freedom to hunt down the remaining members of the Blades on Imperial soil, but even they couldn’t hunt what can’t be seen. That’s where Night Talon comes in.

   

  Corvunir stopped near a ledge as he waited for a group of Redguards to pass through below him. They were all headed for the compound, weapons raised and shouting. They can handle themselves. He assured to himself, referring to the Desert Eagles. They were more than capable enough to deal with a few Redguards. He had seen their work first hand. A bit average on performance, but there’s room for improvement.

   

  Then he spotted someone from the corner of his eye. A burly man wrapped in cloth with bits of steel glinting underneath it.

   

  Miraz.

   

  Corvunir followed him, like an eagle looming over its prey. He was walking at a considerable pace until he stopped in front of a pair of men with their horses. “Head to the camps at the coast and inform the captains to make preparations for the next stage of the plan.” He said to them with an authoritative tone. “Don’t stop until you reach there, understood?”

   

  “Yes, sir!” The riders both replied.

   

  “May Ruptga watch over your journey.”

   

  The riders mounted on their horses and spurred off into the night.

   

  Corvunir didn’t like the sound of what he had just heard. The Redguards were planning something big. His only guess could be that they intend on retaking the towns and villages along the south-western coast of Hammerfell which was currently occupied by Dominion forces. Aldmeri High Command needs to be informed of this. He thought. But first.

   

  Moving a finger across his sash, Corvunir pulled out a small bolt and cocked it into his wristbow. He needed to get closer in order to get within effective range for the bolt to penetrate through Miraz’s armor which was hidden under his garb. He reached his right hand out and blinked, letting the shadows consume him before he reappeared, several feet away from Miraz and fired.

   

  The bolt flew… but it didn’t connect to its target.

   

  Miraz had heard the bolt come and quickly turned around, drawing his weapon, the Blades’ signature Akaviri katana, and sliced the bolt in half with a single cut before sheathing it back. “I should’ve known they would send one of their Talons after me.” He said. “But I would’ve never expected you, Blackhawk.”

   

  'Blackhawk’ had been his callsign in the Night Talon, and an infamous name amongst their enemy. He was one of their top operatives and had earned a reputation for killing many Blades agents, including those who had bested a handful of their own.

   

  “So you know who I am.” The Night Talon operative said. “Then you know how this ends if you do not cooperate.” There was a steely edge to his words.

   

  Miraz sneered. “As if I would cooperate with the likes of you Talons. I’d rather die than be hand over to the Thalmor.”

   

  Why must they always be so stubborn? “That could be arranged.” Corvunir took out his folding shortsword from his sash. The blade unfolded open when he pressed the button on the hilt.

   

  Miraz answered the threatening gesture by unsheathing his katana. It was four inches longer than Corvunir’s shortsword and whispered of ancient metalwork brought down from the eastern land of Akavir. Miraz cracked a devilish smile and said, “I’ll kill you and let the dunerippers feast on your remains, Elf!”

   

  “Then come get me,” Corvunir challenged.

   

  Miraz came.

   

  For the first time since he arrived on Hammerfell, Corvunir was in his element. Stealth had come second to swordfighting. He was a master swordsmer before he became an agent of the shadows. The Eagle watches over the world, and we are its talons. He recited, the words of the Night Talon. Let our prey remain ignorant of us, until we strike them down from above.

   

  Despite his armor, the Redguard was fast, blazing fast. He was quick with his sword arm, slicing and cutting at every opening he could find. His katana was a whirling blur, a tempest of steel. Miraz was a no ordinary Redguard, Corvunir could tell. He was of the Alik’r. Speed and ferocity had always been a trademark of theirs.

   

  He blocked the blows calmly, his shortsword meeting each slash and turning it aside. For those that he couldn’t block, he dodged or sidestepped away. He twirled around his opponent in an attempt to catch him off-guard. Their blades rang and rang again until suddenly, they locked against each other.

   

  Miraz made an animal-like growl before pulling back. He casted a powerful gust of wind from his left hand, throwing the Night Talon operative several feet back.

   

  Corvunir regained his footing as his feet dug deep into the sand. Wind magic, he thought, his calm expression now turned serious. Of course, it had to be wind magic. The Redguard casted another gust of wind, but Corvunir blinked pass through it. He reappeared right in front of Miraz, stabbing his blade into the man’s right shoulder.

   

  “Gah! You bastard elf!” He grabbed the Altmer by the throat and threw him away before pulling out the embedded blade. The cloth over his fresh wound was stained red. “You’ll pay for that!” He growled as he threw the sword away. Miraz loomed over the temporarily stunned Altmer, raising his katana above his head with the tip of the blade pointing downward.

   

  As he pushed his katana down, it wasn’t the sound of steel going through flesh he heard. Instead, it was the soft sound of the blade stabbing the sand-covered ground, with no elf in sight.

   

  Corvunir had disappeared into the shadows.

   

  Miraz was seething with rage. “Come out, shadow walker!” He shouted, moving around in circles to cover his flanks. “Stop hiding in the shadows and show yourself! Fight me like a man!”

   

  “Technically I am no man.” came the chilling reply. The Altmer’s voice was so clear... as if he was standing right beside him.

   

  Miraz felt a sharp jolt of pain at his lower abdomen. He looked down and stared in shock at the appearance of a blade piercing through from the back. “W-what…”

   

  Corvunir had reappeared behind him with his recovered weapon. Grabbing his injured shoulder, he used it to pushed the sword deeper before pulling it out. Miraz dropped to his knees and coughed out blood, the combined pain coming from both his right shoulder and abdomen was excruciating. The Altmer’s sword was placed dangerously close to his throat.

   

  “Just go ahead and kill me, Elf.” Miraz said through gritted teeth. “It’ll save me the trouble of going through what the Thalmor has in stored for me.”

   

  “If I wanted you dead, I would’ve done it already.” Corvunir sincerely confessed. “However, the reason while you’re still breathing now is because of the information you possess. Information that I need.” The silence in the air made it clear that Miraz knew exactly what he meant. “Wind Scour Temple. Where is it?” It was all that he asked of from the Redguard. The Bureau knew it was located in the Alik’r Desert, but where exactly remained unknown to them.

   

  “Do you take me as a fool to simply hand you over the location of our base?”

   

  “If I say ‘please’, will you give it to me?” The sarcasm in his voice was further aggravated by his deadpan expression.

   

  “Not even if you’re my mother,” Miraz replied with a low growl.

   

  Corvunir shook his head and sighed before placing his left hand on the Redguard’s injured shoulder and pressing it. “I can never understand you Blades. Why do you still persist on continuing this? Do you have any idea or even the slightest sense of what you are doing? You’re bringing Hammerfell into a war it has no hope of winning. Is that what you want? More death? Is the Great War not enough for you?”

   

  He was tired of war. Man were truly a barbaric race. The Blades were the reason why the Great War even started in the first place. If only they hadn’t stuck their heads and meddle in the Thalmor’s affairs. They stirred up the eagle’s nest and they paid the price.

   

  “No hope of winning?” Miraz chuckled despite the pain. “Tell me, Elf. How much of southern Hammerfell has the Dominion truly acquired? Sentinel still stands, as well as Hegathe, Bergama, and Kozanset.”

   

  “We will take them all,”

   

  “Aye, you would, that I would not doubt.” The Redguard agreed before his tone grew dark. “But we Redguards are not so easy to give up our land. We are born warriors, Yokudan blood flows in our veins. We will fight till the bitter end, and even if we lose our cities, we will reclaim it back just as the Alik’r reclaims the ancient ruins left by our ancestors.”

   

  “A noble pledge, but pointless. You’ll only waste away more lives.” Corvunir then asked the same question again, “One last time. Where. Is. Wind. Scour. Temple?” For every word, he pressed on the man’s wound deeper, making sure he could hear the question more clearly.

   

  Miraz scoffed. “Forget it, Elf. I’ll never betray the Blades… unlike the Oathbreaker.” A mocking smile crept up his bloodied lips. “Aelron was his name, was it? I heard he died in the Imperial City when the Dominion came knocking at the gates. Serves him right for betraying our order all those years ago. They say the Blades made him suffer a slow and—”

   

  That crossed the line.

   

  Corvunir stabbed his throat and twisted his head, breaking his cervical vertebrae with a loud snap before kicking him to the ground. He stared at Miraz’s dead body with a cold and lifeless expression. But inside he was, quite frankly, angry. Altaron was no traitor. He thought sullenly. He has no right to call him that. They all have no right to call him that.

   

  Aelron had been their team leader once. ‘Ronin’ was his callsign. Together with Rena they were a highly effective and efficient team in the Night Talon, and considered themselves to be akin to family. That all ended during the Great War. During the Siege of the Imperial City, six Blades agents were sent in to kill him. Altaron killed four of them before succumbing to his wounds. The last two desecrated his body.

   

  Corvunir blamed himself for his death. He was there that very day, trapped under a pile of rubble, forced to watch helplessly as his leader and friend fend off those pack of wolves who were hungry for revenge that was a hundred and fifty years old. Aelron’s death could’ve been averted if he had acted quicker, if he had used his powers earlier on rather than shun at it. I should’ve learned more from Ambros rather than just a simple teleportation spell.

   

  His thoughts were interrupted when he heard footsteps shuffling over sand. “Miraz, we heard fighting. Is everyth—shit!”

   

  Corvunir turned around and was met by five armed Redguards. They rushed at him immediately, but were quickly taken out by a short and sudden hail of arrows. Their bodies dropped just three yards away from him, each with an arrow in the head or chest. From the moment he saw those arrows, Corvunir knew who the archer was.

   

  “Corv! Thank Y’ffre I found you,” A familiar voice called out. Rena jumped down from the roof with her bow in hand. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when they said you went after Miraz alone?”

   

  “No,” Corvunir deadpanned. “But I appreciate your concern over my well-being, Rena. As always.” He thought of Rena as an older protective sister. She was always there for him, even though at times he didn’t actually need her help. The fact that she was six years his senior made the idea even more plausible.

   

  “So…” Rena began with a long ‘o’. “Where’s Miraz?”

   

  Corvunir stepped aside and cocked his head at the dead body lying beside him.

   

  Rena looked at the body once then looked up to the Altmer, making a face he all knew too well. “Corv,” She said, her tone shifting to that of a mother scolding her child. “We were supposed to capture him alive.”

   

  “The order was dead or alive.” He argued. “Also it doesn’t make any difference. He’ll still be dead once we hand him over at the safehouse.” That had always been the way for the Blades, even captured ones. To the Thalmor, they were a rogue organization, a lingering thorn in their side that had to be cut out with extreme prejudice.

   

  “Still, it doesn’t hurt to at least try.” Rena pouted.

   

  Did they ever tried to capture Aelron alive? He might’ve said, but found it too harsh for the Bosmer. Even she still grieves for him. “It doesn't matter.” Corvunir said instead. “What's done is done. Let’s just take his head and meet up with the Desert Eagles.”

   

  When the Night Talons met up with them, they were fighting off a group of Redguards, or what’s left of them.

   

  “Still alive, I see.” Calderin said when he saw them, his sabre stained with human blood. “I was worried what I might say to my superior if you two had died.”

   

  They’ll probably have you deny our involvement. Corvunir thought reasonably. To the general public, there was no such group called Night Talon. Its existence was only known by the highest-ranking members of the Bureau and the Thalmor Council. He noticed that the Desert Eagle captain was eyeing at his waist, or more specifically, the severed head dangling there. It was annoying him. “Is there a problem?” He asked.

   

  Calderin broke his gaze and shook his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

   

  “Good. Then how about we focus on getting out of here alive.”

   

  “Aye,”

   

  “Look out! Enemy horsemen!” shouted Arinmo.

   

  From their right, three riders came charging at them, their spears lowered down. Rena and Liriel fired arrows, managing to hit two of them before the group had to move away to avoid the third rider’s path.

   

  The rider passed through them unscathed, but his back was briefly exposed. Corvunir drew his left hand out and casted a spell that pulled the rider off his horse as if he was bound by an invisible rope. The rider laid sprawling on the ground before Corvunir’s blade ended him.

   

  He wiped the blood off from his blade and folded it back into its compact form before climbing onto the dead rider’s horse, urging everyone else to do the same.

   

  Rena rode with him while Arinmo with Calderin, and Liriel with Niramil. They spurred their horses through crowds of angry Redguards, avoiding their arrows and wild sword swings. A pair of men tried to quickly close the gates as they approached, but Rena let loose two arrows and thwarted their attempts at sealing them in.

   

  Corvunir gave the horse a kick, spearheading the way out of the village.

   

  <<<<>>>>

   

  The company did not last after that. Once they were a good distance away from the village, the Night Talons parted themselves from the Desert Eagles. The farewell had been short and simple. A curt nod and a gesture of gratitude for their assistance. Corvunir had told Calderin about the Redguards’ plans. “We’ll make sure High Command gets word of this,” He said before him and his team rode off.

   

  They reached the safehouse after about an hour’s ride. The ‘house’ was actually a large tent, erected near the banks of a small oasis. The twin moons reflected off the lake. Overall, it resembled a nomad’s tent. There was nothing conspicuous about it, exactly what it was intended to be.

   

  Corvunir swung down for his horse and walked toward the tent, bringing with him Miraz’s head. Rena followed behind him. A lone nomad fishing by the lake spotted them. He was a short Redguard with amber eyes. They exchanged looks, and the Redguard nodded. It was a tell-tale sign to the pair that they were allowed in.

   

  Corvunir hadn’t failed to notice the ring on the Redguard’s right hand as he passed through him. Illusionary disguises, he mused, sadly not powerful enough to affect the height of the wielder. Would that we would’ve utilized it more on the field.

   

  They entered the tent, which smelled of incense burning, and into the presence of Norimal, their operations handler. He was sitting down by the fire pit, surrounded by pillow cushions, smoking his pipe.

   

  The Altmer was a hundred and sixty-two years old, considered to be late middle-aged by human standards, with light yellow skin and a long beard which he kept straight and clean. Dressed in nomad robes, he had a sagely air about him.

   

  Norimal looked up and blew a puff of smoke, smiling. “Raven Team, I see you are back from your mission. How did it go?”

   

  Corvunir placed Miraz’s head on the floor before him.

   

  The ‘middle-aged’ Altmer frowned, expressing his disappointment. “Did you really have to kill him?”

   

  He had a feeling that Rena was giving him a ‘I told you so’ look behind his back. He ignored it and said. “He gave me no choice,”

   

  Norimal sighed, taking the pipe out of his mouth. “Such is the nature of the Blades. You trap them in a corner and they will fight like wild dogs till the death. Did you at least recover any intel?”

   

  “There was one. Miraz sent two riders to the desert. They were told to ‘head to the camps at the coast and inform the captains about the next stage of the plan’. I suspect they might be launching an attack on the Dominion forces occupying the area. I’ve already told the Desert Eagles about it and they would send the word to High Command.”

   

  “Ah yes, the Desert Eagles. How did they perform?” asked Norimal with keen interest.

   

  Corvunir hadn’t forgotten the other reason why they were sent to the village. “They performed well, both as a team and an individual.” He spoke with a monotone voice. “Throughout the mission they maintained a considerable amount of composure even after we had been detected. Their breaching skills are… impressive enough, and their members have quite the variety of skills.”

   

  Norimal bobbed his head, taking all the words in, his pipe burning slowly in his hand. “A definite evaluation, Corvunir.” He then turned to the Bosmer in the tent. “Is there anything you might wish to add, Rena?”

   

  “Nope.” She said with a smile. “I think Corvunir’s evaluation sums it all up.”

   

  “Very well then, I will add them to the list.” He put his pipe back to his mouth and resumed his smoking. “You two did a very good job today. Even with the lack of information on Wind Scour Temple, you did kill a Blades agent and a High Value Target in one night. I’d say that’s a win-win.” He blew out another puff of smoke and coughed. “Gods, this tobacco’s strong. Anyways, you two are dismissed. Do spend the night here, I know late-night travelling can be tiresome.”

   

  “Will do, sir.” Corvunir nodded.

   

  “Oh, and carry the head outside will you? I don’t like my tent to smell of rotten flesh.”

   

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