On the morning of the third day since leaving Bruma we continued along the Gold Road, finding the travel easier as the road became more greatly maintained and the forest hemming the road beginning to spread out and thin. Isolated farms appeared amongst the greenery, fighting a constant battle against the encroachment of the forest and competing for the lush soil. Several times we had to walk off the road as heavy ox-carts loaded with logs trundled their way to the handful of sawmills scattered throughout the County. It was generally peaceful, a sensation not dispelled as we came across the tiny priory within sight of the walls of Chorrol.

  It was a simple affair; a tiny stable with a handful of horses standing idly, a double story chapel and a larger building with a tiled roof well worn by the weight of the years since it’s construction. A solid appearing stone fence, waist height and who’s purpose was more for marking out the Priory’s grounds than stock control ringed the buildings, broken only by a single wooden gate that creaked in the slight breeze.

  A middle aged Breton man, standing waist deep amongst one of the dozens of gardens scattered over the priory grounds straightened up as I pushed through the gate and warily cast his gaze over Viconia and I. Having the city guard called on us, while not a situation I wished to find ourselves in would not have been surprising. My appearance alone; rough tattered leather and cloth padded armour, right sleeve missing where I had hacked it away not only to free my bow arm but to fortify the appearance of me being wounded in some fight, face covered with a light brown stubble and festooned with weapons was enough to make anyone think twice about my intentions. Viconia, while at first glance incredibly stunning to the point of outright distraction had a quiet intensity that seemed to threaten everyone with grievous harm or a painful death if their eyes lingered for too long. She too was dressed in rough leather and spun cloth, a sword clasped behind her shoulder out of the way and hilt sticking out from under the dark brown cloak and hood that she habitually kept covering as much of her features at all times.

  I raised my hand in greetings, keeping my other hand well away from all my weapons and smiling as best I could as though no to alarm the man.

  “Good morning.” I called out, seeing him stiffen slightly as I moved closer by a handful of paces. “My name’s is Kaius, and this is Viconia.” A quick motion towards Viconia and I watched his eyes glance in her direction, and decide it was healthier to look elsewhere. “We’ve come to speak to Jauffre.”

  “Brother Jauffre?” he seemed puzzled for a moment before simply shrugging and deciding that we weren’t a threat and bandits wouldn’t have announced themselves to begin with. “May I ask what you want to talk to him about?”

  “Our words are for him alone. We’re simply delivering a message to him and then intend to be on our way.”

  He nodded, brushing the dirt from the front of his robes with one hand and scratching the shaven patch of hair on top of his head. “Well then. I suppose I could take you to meet him.”

  Taking a handful of paces out of the gardens and the flowerbed he was tending to he motioned for us to follow, giving an honest smile for a handful of moments before leading us on. “Welcome to Weynon Priory. I’m Prior Maborel, head of our community.”

  We made our way down the path to the Priory proper, walking past the stable where the dumner stablehand stood in utter surprise at the two of us following after Prior Maborel. He had stopped still as he watched Viconia follow close behind me, still holding a knife in one hand and holding up one of the horse’s legs where he had been caring for the hoof when we arrived. I was quickly coming to understand that Viconia had that effect on most of those who laid eyes upon her for the first time.

  “There doesn’t seem to be many of you who live here.” I said conversationally as we made our way to the front door of the comfortable looking Priory house.

  “There isn’t.” he replied over his shoulder, opening the front door and stepping inside. “Brother Piner, Brother Jauffre, and I are members of the Order of Talos. Eronor, who we passed at the stable tends after the sheep and horses.”

  We followed him up the small flight of stairs to the upper level and I found myself in awe at the sheer number of books that filled bookshelves across every wall. The quantity represented multiple lifetimes of work and dedication to simply write so many, and I found myself wondering exactly how much history and knowledge was stored within this simple building.

  He caught me looking about the collection and smiled pleasantly. “If you have the time you are welcome to spend it browsing the collection. All are welcome here.”

  On the upper floor we made our way into a private study, where an enormous redwood desk commanded the room while being hemmed in by even more books that filled their shelving to the bursting point. A highbacked chair sat facing away from the window at the far end of the room, and seated in it, dressed in a same brown robe as Prior Maborel sat an elderly man of innumerable winters slowly leafing through a tome a thick as my arm.

  “Brother Jauffre, you have visitors.”

  At Maborel’s voice, the elderly monk looked up from his book, glancing at both Viconia and I and immediately assessing us in a heartbeat. He looked like a frail, peaceful and harmless monk, but one look into those cold blue eyes and I knew that he was definitely not all what he seemed. Those eyes were those of an archer, ruthless and calculating and I immediately felt disarmed in his presence.

  There was no sense of tension or concern from the older monk as he set aside his book, placing a thin leather strip in-between the pages to mark his progress as he looked over us further. I couldn’t help but read the book’s title, The Art of War Magic; a must read for any Imperial Legion tactician and certainly not a book for a peace abiding monk.

  Maborel nodded to Jauffre as he waved the younger monk off, standing slowly as though his joints were giving him severe discomfort from the simple movements.

  “I’m Jauffre.” He said, voice soft. “What brings you to see me?”

  Carefully glancing to ensure Prior Maborel had left, I unslung my pack from my shoulders, reaching deep within and placing the Amulet of Kings on his desk.

  The look of shock and sudden wariness was impossible to conceal, a dagger appearing in his hand as though conjured and suddenly we were no longer faced with a hunched old priest. His back straightened, shoulders squared and suddenly he stood as tall as me, lightly resting on his feet in a stance of a veteran swordsman.

  “You best explain yourselves quickly.”

  I did so, ensuring my hands remained far from my weapons and trying to ignore how Viconia glared at him with outright hostility, almost daring the obvious ex-Blade to react. I told him of how I was in prison, how the Emperor and his bodyguards attempted to escape through the catacombs and the sewers under the city but had fallen. He listened intently as I told him how the Emperor had given me the Amulet, instructed me to find him and deliver it.

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  After a while he visibly relaxed, the dagger disappearing without a trace within the folds of his robes and he ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

  “By the Nine this is insane.”

  “I know that feeling all too well.” I glanced back at Viconia who had wandered off slightly to glance over some of the books on the shelves.

  With a sigh he sat heavily in the chair and looked up at me, his expression suddenly calculating and extremely serious. “I am one of the few, perhaps the only one left alive who knows of Uriel’s bastard son.”

  Gesturing about himself he began, suddenly filled with a compelling reason to suddenly voice a secret that had gone unspoken for many years. “Many years ago, I served as captain of Uriel's bodyguards, in the same capacity as the unfortunate Elis Ranault. One night Uriel called me in to his private chambers where a baby boy lay sleeping in a basket. He told me to deliver the child somewhere safe but never told me anything else about the baby. I knew it was his son, especially how from time to time he would ask about the child's progress.”

  He laughed, voice filled with bitterness. “Now, it seems that this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim Throne. If he yet lives.”

  “Does he?” I asked, flinching as Jauffre looked back at me with those cold sharpshooter’s eyes.

  “He may. The Emperor and all of his known sons are dead and the Empire is already starting to crack and sway under the strain. It is over two years since I last reported to Uriel about the boy. If he is known to those responsible for the murders of his father and brothers, there is very much the chance that he is dead.”

  “I don’t understand why an illegitimate heir to the throne would be so important, or why the Emperor put so much importance of not only delivering that,” I motioned to the Amulet where it rested on the desk, “but finding you and ensuring that you found this child.”

  Jauffre sat in silence for a few moments, obviously thinking over everything I had told him. “Little of it makes sense to me, but there is so much that only the Emperor’s understood about the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Prince of Destruction he spoke of? Well that can only be Mehrunes Dagon. His own words, ‘Close shut the Jaws of Oblivion’ certainly suggest that he perceived some threat from that terrible realm. I’m not an expect in such matters but I know that it is the general understanding that the mortal realm is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers.”

  “The Amulet of Kings is ancient.” He continued, rubbing the slight stubble of his jawline thoughtfully. “Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods. It is a holy relic of untold power and when an Emperor is crowned, he uses the Amulet to relight the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark for the first time in centuries.

  He shrugged. “It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of…”

  There was an uncomfortable pause, before he nodded to me, and cast a sideways glance at Viconia “You have performed a valuable service my friends, although I am not entirely sure of what to do with this information. Finding the heir is of utmost importance, that much is for certain but I doubt that I can simply walk him to the Temple of the One, place the Ruby Crown on his brow and call it a day. These assassins were able to strike at three different places at once, kill all three known heirs and the Emperor who was escaping through a route known to less than a dozen individuals in all of Tamriel. There is something terrible at play here, and we are against a conspiracy that, if I’m truthful; is somewhat terrifying.”

  “So you are a Blade.” The statement made Jauffre raise an eyebrow and grin.

  “Yes, Baurus told you right; I am the Grandmaster of the Blades. I know I don’t look like much but discretion is our watchword. Sure, the Praetorians may preen and bluster about in their glorious armour, but we are the Emperor’s eyes and ears as well as his Swords. Which, whether you like it or not you have found yourself in this just as deep as the rest of my brothers.”

  His expression hardened to a mask of determination. “And so I find myself in need of your help.”

  “You need me to go find this bastard I take it?”

  A simple nod and Jauffre rose to his feet once more, the persona of the monk neatly packed away into the recesses of his mind and instead now replaced with the professional soldier-spy. He moved as though he was half his age, the packed energy leaving his muscles humming under the tension as he moved through the study, pulling a key from within a hollowed out centre of The Mirror and opening a chest under the window.

  “His name is Martin and while no longer a boy he has no idea of his heritage. He serves as a priest of Akatosh in Kvatch’s Cathedral. You must go there at once. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems highly likely then he is in terrible danger.”

  The squeal of barely used hinges echoed through the room as Jauffre opened the chest, revealing a small arsenal of weapons and equipment that hadn’t been used in years, but were no less effective as a result. Various items including a full suit of splint mail armour; identical to those worn by Baurus and his late comrades and a beautifully forged Katana lay within. Jauffre wasted no time in pulling most of the equipment out.

  “My resources here are limited.” He apologised, briefly lifting up one of the Swords, drawing it slightly out of the scabbard and seeming happy with its gleaming edge before sheathing it with a click of metal. “but I will help in any way I can.”

  He placed most of the items on the desk, leaving the single katana leaning against his chair and obviously not wishing to part with such a fine sword. Motioning to both Viconia and myself to the small collection of equipment and armour he seemed almost apologetic at the quality and amount he had available. “Feel free to help yourselves, but I will unfortunately be unable to accompany you. There is much to be done and I need to mobilise the Blades to meet this new threat whatever shape it may take. You must travel immediately to Kvatch, find Martin at once and bring him safely back here. By the time you return preparations will be made for his continued safety, and perhaps we may know more of what is happening.”

  “This is a considerable chance you are taking with us.” Viconia said, the first words she had spoken all morning. “Why don’t you suspect us of betrayal?”

  His sudden smile was chilling to behold, and once more I realised that this seemingly frail old man wielded supreme power in the Empire. Power matched only by the late Emperor. “My dear, if you believe that you can escape the judgement of the Blades for any form of treachery then you are welcome to try.”

  Leaning forward on the desk I saw his shoulders bunch and swell with strength under the loose robes, showing that there was a body as hard as steel an under the outer surface of a harmless monk. “but you wouldn’t have been the first to try, and I guarantee you that there will never be someone who’ll succeed…”

  Viconia actually seemed impressed by this, a ghost of a smile plucking at the corner of her mouth as she turned her attention to the items in front of us. There wasn’t much there that was of much use to myself, but Viconia soon added a pair of daggers and their sheaths, as well as a finely crafted belt and pack to her own meagre equipment. I did however grab the trio of quivers; filled almost to bursting with their collection of arrows tightly wrapped together as well as a fine hauberk of steel chainmail and its accompanying coif. While adding a significant amount of weight to my person, an additional 6 kilograms would be of little hindrance in comparison to the Legion armours they expected foresters to wear on patrol let alone in combat. Being trained to fight behind the lines in full Legionary Plate within an Archer Cohort if the need arose ensured that wearing anything less was a blessing.

  “You may stay the night if you wish.” Jauffre said as we made claim to whatever caught our eyes. “You won’t get far this afternoon and you’ll travel faster after a night indoors. Take this time to prepare yourselves for the journey.”

  The thought of spending my first night indoors and in a regular bed for the first time in months was too good to pass up, and while Viconia’s face betrayed nothing of her emotions I doubted she would’ve voiced any complaint at the thought. I simply nodded my thanks, gathered my arms full of the quivers and the chainmail and followed Jauffre as he showed us where we could rest our heads for the evening.