'...I had no idea she was a woman of violence.'
The Breton sat cross-legged on grass opposite me was exactly as Danica had described; obnoxious as he was pious. His habit of putting his nose in the air whenever he felt indignant about something was irksome, as was his way of stroking his mustache in a manner I suspected he thought made him appear clever.
'She isn't. She is a pacifist, outspoken against bloodshed and brutality. You'd be hard-pressed to find a more kind and gentle woman, Maurice.'
In this sacred place where the smell of flowers and the sounds of water soothed the soul in a way no man-built temple to the gods ever could, small annoyances were quickly blown away by Kynareth's soft and honey-scented breeze. I found I couldn't dislike the monk beyond mild and fleeting annoyance, as his faith was as sturdy as the rock walls of the grove we now sat within.
'Ah, but she is, brother Raminus. I journeyed with her to this place and saw her love of fighting with my own eyes at Valtheim Towers. At first I thought that brutish warrior we travelled with was Amara's bodyguard, hired for protection in this barbaric province. I am rarely mistaken, my friend, but when we were beset by brigands on the road beside that stone bridge, Amara was quicker to draw weapons than her thuggish housecarl.'
It was clear by his smirk and pompous tone that Jondrelle felt he had scored a point, and I was begining to think that his life of devotion to the Goddess had skewed his priorities a little.
'But Maurice, did you not just say that it wasn't until she needed to clear the path to the blessed tree by cutting its roots using Nettlebane that you had any idea of Amara's more martial skills? Am I to infer that your life of service to Kynareth's realm has shifted your perspective to the point which any threat towards a plant is as bad or worse than a threat towards another man or mer? Or perhaps you were simply being melodramtic as you set the scene for me?'
I was mostly playing, the calm atmosphere of the Eldergleam Sanctuary was affecting me, but I couldn't simply let his slight against the schemanun go, even at my most tranquil. I could see by his pursed lips and narrowed eyes that I had scored a point of my own.
'Why, Primate Solvus, you wound me. I would have thought a man of your standing would have more respect for the natural world. Why should it be that harm to anything be weighed and measured according to a society's value? This "plant" is older than the men and mer you hold in higher worth. It was here before us, and will be here long after our bones are dust and our souls returned to Arkay's wheel. From that perspective, your Amara's battle prowess against ruffians and cutthroats is but a minor transgression when compared to the travesty of her intent to harm the Eldergleam.'
The pilgrim sat back, his smirk returned to his face, and his nose tickled the air. I couldn't help but chuckle and concede that he may well have a point.
'Your point is well-presented, brother Maurice, although I think you'd have a difficult time convincing anyone other than an Argonian or Wood Elf that a tree is more important than a member of their family. Empathy sets the worth of life in society, Maurice. If you don't mind, though, I would like to hear about your journey here, the battle at the towers, and Amara's relationship with her "thuggish housecarl." Only for the sake of completeness, of course.'
Despsite Maurice Jondrelle's own professed dislike of violence and apparent disapproval of Amara, he was rather keen to elucidate me on the details. I record our conversation below.
'Well, we said our farewells to Priestess Pure-Spring early that morning, and departed the city shortly after. It was a fine day for pilgrimage, and I think we were all excited to be doing the goddess' work. The journey took us passed caves and ruins, and it seemd ... what was her name... Lydia... the housecarl always had something to say. Amara herself was quiet and at peace as the miles melted beneath her sandled feet. She was rather serene, her pale skin accentuated by the black robes she wore, her fair face the very picture of tranquility.'
'It sounds like you devoloped a slight crush, Maurice'
'Certainly not! I appreciate beauty in all its forms. From a butterfly collecting nectar from a flower, to a lady with a fine figure, is not Dibella's realm as much a part of Kynareth's as Mara's? These three goddessess are as one, and can be seen so clearly in Miss Bright-Star.'
The colour that blossomed on his cheeks belied Jondrelle's words.
'How very poetic. I understand, so please forgive my interuption and continue.'
'As I was saying, Amara seemed calm, the housecarl was lively, and the day a pleasant one for a pilgrimage. Until we came to Valtheim Towers. An Imperial woman, dressed like a barbarian in furs and leathers, stepped forward to block our path. She demanded we pay a toll to pass. It was as though a hush descended, and everything became so still. Amara's face, beautiful and pale, seemed to lose a bit more colour, even Lydia who seems used to battle, paused in expectation.
'Then Amara spoke. Her words were softly spoken, eloquently delivered, but firm. "I am sorry, but I simply do not have the coin or even the desire to pay a toll to use the Jarl's road. As thane of Whiterun, I ask that you please stand aside and let us pass. Weigh your decision, there will be consequences most dire should you not kindly do as I insist" I remember Lydia's grin, which matched the bandit's own who shouted, "looks like we've got ourselves a hero, boys!" That's when the proverbial shit started to storm.
'The hush of impending action, the eye of the storm, lifted, passed, and was replaced with a flurry of activity and noise. Swords were drawn, shouts from above resounded, and the highwaywoman brandished her mace at Amara, who before even Lydia's sword had slid from its scabbard, was in motion. Twin daggers, Orcish in appearence, were in her hands at the same moment she dashed forward. The ruffian fell, her throat slashed from numerous cuts from Amara's balletic strikes. I say that in her favour, for if one must take a life, do it swiftly and with grace.
'The housecarl charged into the tower then, her shield and sword ready to defend her thane. I did my part, although I felt it best to let the women have space in which to work.'
I tried to suppress my own smirk then, but when that failed I hid it behind a tankard. Milk this time, to go with my bread and honey.
'I am sure you did, Maurice. For a pilgrim such as you must be well-used to danger.'
'Indeed, brother Raminus, indeed. While the housecarl joined batttle above, your schemanun said her prayers while holding an amulet to my own goddess, Kynareth. Fortified by her faith which shimmered like the clear crystal blue waters of a stream, Amara unslung her bow and knocked an arrow, before moving to a better vantage point in which to support her warrior friend. It was a strange pleasure to watch her shoot, and I don't quite know how to describe it. I have heard stories about Akatosh's monastic orders and the meditation techniques they use, but it was as if the Time Dragon himself slowed his passage while Amara was shooting. Arrow after arrow left her bow in a fraction of the time it should have, each missile finding a target. At one point, just as Lydia reached the bridge, a brigand fell to three strikes in the time it took him to raise his shield in order to meet the housecarl's charge. The last arrow sent him tumbling to fall, already dead, to the churning waters below.'
Maurice Jondrelle was quite animated by now, his arms mimicking the action of drawing and shooting a bow as he told his story.
'Ah, yes. The monastic orders of Akatosh are many and varied, the path Amara chose can be called unconventional. Her way of meditation focusses on techniques while shooting a bow, and it is only in those moments that she stops. Always on the move, that lady, but while doing archery she just seems so at one with everything.'
'She certainly was then, bandit after bandit fell to her arrows while Lydia enaged in much less elegant battle upon the bridge. However, disaster struck in the form of the camp's leader or chief, who was attired in very heavy plate. A bash from his shield knocked the housecarl to her knees, and it was only Amara's arrows which prevented this monster from finishing Lydia off. He moved quickly, rushing to the cover of the tower to avoid Amara's shots. It was only a few seconds later when he emerged from the tower's base.
'The speed at which he ran! Four arrows left Amara's bow, each finding their mark but doing nothing to slow the huge Nord. He was a beast, towering over the priestess in black as he drew close. From where I stood I could see Lydia struggling to rise, and the look on her face when she realised she would not be able to help in the battle below almost stopped my heart.
'However, Amara seemed unphased. Whether beacause she was still in deep meditation, or whether it was because she trusted her fate to the Time Dragon I could not know, but I discovered then that she had one more talent I was not aware of. With a voice like thuder, shouted just as the chieftain raised his sword, Amara bellowed. The force of her shout staggered the warrior, almost dropping him to his backside. Without hesitation she was upon him with her daggers, her bow discarded. With a spinning strike, her left blade struck under his armpit, while her right dagger slashed his neck. A few more quick strikes to the eyes and throat ended the battle, Amara standing the victor over the bloodied corpse of her opponent.
'She looked weary then. So tired. Sheathing her blades and wiping her brow, she ran towards the housecarl who was limping from the tower. They clasped arms and both glowed the colour of the sun from the magickal light coming from Amara's magic. Fully revived, Lydia came to me. "Now we wait" she said with a smile.'
'Wait for what, Maurice?'
'Well, that was what I was wondering as the warrior and I sat upon the river's bank. I was puzzled at first, but then had my answer. Amara approached each of the fallen warriors, knelt next to every corpse, and prayed.'
I grinned. The biggest and soppiest grin cracked my face as Maurice concluded his tale, for what he just described was something I had taught Amara myself; the last rites of Arkay's Blessings and Law performed for the deceased to protect their bodies and souls. Moved, I said my farewells to Kynareth's Monk and left Kynareth's Snactuary, my destination: Ivarstead.
Four
Six
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