Even as night fell and I and the rest of the higher ranking members of the Order gathered for dinner and our informal nightly discussions I struggled to solve the problem. I was left sitting in thought, staring into the cooling remains of the bowl of stew in my hands until Viconia’s non-to-gentle punch to my knee startled me into the present.

  “Interested in joining us here on Nirn, Kaius?”

  “Hmm? What?”

  Rolling his eyes Alexi’s grin threatened the split the corners of his mouth along the mess of scar tissue on his cheek while the others around the campfire chuckled. “See how much he values and respects us?” He joked, leaning forward and placing his own empty bowl onto the spare stool in front of him. “I said; what are you going to do with Areldur?”

  “Areldur? I thought that he was part of the light cavalry?”

  On her side of the fire, Avita stretched out her legs and smiled sadly. “He is but he is having difficulties. Overall he is an adequate rider and he is more than capable of fighting, but he lacks stamina.”

  “And not just from his years as a Bishop.”

  Stirring the vanquished remains of my meal I chewed on my lip in thought. “He wants to fight and he has martial experience. We’re short on capable fighters.”

  “I know…” Avita glanced between Alexi and the others around the fire and gestured with empty hands. “He means well and after retrieving the Gauntlets he has more than earned the right to fight with the rest of us but the curse is crippling him.”

  The evening meal was one of the few occasions that we all could sit together and discuss the events of the day and plan for the coming ones and all of those deemed important enough gravitated to it. Besides myself, Viconia, Alexi and Avita all of the other high ranked members were present in their various positions. Carodus sat off to one side of the fire with the recently promoted Praefects Geimund and Gukimir close by. If not for the slight differences in their scars and deserter brands they would have been utterly indistinguishable and was something they utilised to the fullest. In a hulking mass of scarred green flesh, Mazoga sat close to the fire with a book that she had procured from somewhere, slowly and carefully reading with a finger pointing to each word in turn and in the darkness Falid sat in quiet meditation, little more than a silhouette in the gloom.

  Members of the camp followers were also with us in their own capacities. As always Sepula was my own personal shadow and while it had taken a week or two I had finally convinced him to leave his scrolls and documents behind long enough to eat at times. The only other people with us were a hardened smith by the name of Sergius Turranius; elected from the craftsmen and builders to represent them and Brellin in his capacity as the most experienced healer.

  It was Brellin that I turned to and he looked up at my scrutiny and shrugged. “I can’t explain it Commander. It’s unlike any disease or ailment that I have ever seen. It shares symptoms with malaria, ataxia and helljoint but nothing I have tried so far has made the slightest difference. Not that I’m surprised mind you. As far as I am able to discern every descendant of Sir Casimir has suffered the ailment, right up until Areldur took it upon himself. Please don’t ask me to explain how that works because I have no idea.”

  I rubbed at my face and nodded. Areldur had arrived a few days before Avita did, bearing the Gauntlets of the Crusader. Previously the Bishop of Chorrol’s Cathedral, he had been present and seen countless pilgrims and travellers attempt to lift the Gauntlets from where they had lain for two centuries. Both Viconia and I had heard first hand from Sir Casimir of how he had struck and killed a beggar in the Cathedral and had been cursed by Stendarr as a result. The curse was debilitating, painful and in that moment Casimir had cursed his entire family and lineage. As far as we could tell the curse both on the Gauntlets and his dynasty had been unbreakable until Areldur took it upon himself to lift it.

  Being able to lift the gauntlets had come with a price, and when the last surviving member of Sir Casimir’s lineage had journeyed to Chorrol in an attempt to break the curse, Areldur had willingly taken the curse onto himself. He had freed the young man and the rest of his family from continued torment and gained the right to lift the gauntlets in return. None of us seated around the fire could fault the bishop’s determination and devotion but despite the fact that he had been an adventurer and mercenary before becoming a priest, the curse was making him a liability.

  “Where is Areldur anyway?” I asked, looking about the fire and not catching sight of the Altmer anywhere.

  “In the chapel conducting the evening prayers.” Viconia replied from her spot next to me. Time to ourselves was becoming a luxury and we took every opportunity to be in each other’s company. There was something calming about feeling her lean against me, even if it was during dinner.

  “Once a priest, always a priest.” Avita laughed.

  “What does that make you then?”

  Avita’s grin at Alexi’s subtle teasing was soon joined by an apple core that she had just finished eating and not only showed her throwing arm and accuracy but his reflexes and skill when he caught it just before it hit him between the eyes.

  The laughter of the group was loud for a moment but they all saw my expression as I mulled over the thoughts and options in my mind. “What are everyone’s suggestions?”

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  Glances were shared and Brellin was the first to awkwardly clear his throat. “Commander, I can’t recommend him taking part in any battle in his current state. The curse or disease or whatever it is will only result in him getting killed.”

  “With the choice between quality and another warm body to put between Tamriel and Umaril, I have to say that we have to stick with quality.” Alexi’s stare was deathly serious and there was no hint of the jokester that he usually was. “Most of us have seen or fought daedra in some degree and if we let Areldur ride with us it’ll get more than just him killed.”

  “His retrieval of the Gauntlets is to be praised, as is his selfless actions to do so.” Rumbled Falid from the shadows and there was a brief shuffling as most of us turned to look in his direction. “Unfortunately his affliction puts our mission at risk. Perhaps his skills might be better utilised elsewhere?”

  I nodded as everyone turned back to face me. “Well, that sounds fairly unanimous. I’ll have a chat to him later but I reckon he might be able to help me out with some of the more religious arrivals.”

  “Like the flagellants you mean?” Alexi’s comment was sarcastic but there was still an undercurrent of darkness to his words. “We all knew that we’d attract all sorts being part of the Order of the Nine but whipping yourself to show faith? That’s a whole new type of crazy.”

  “Not the craziest I’ve seen.” Added Viconia, leaning further against me and putting her boots up on the stool between us and Alexi. “I could weave tales of the Underdark that would make daedra worshipping seem like the cult of Mara.”

  Opening his mouth to reply Alexi paused, tilting his head and listening over the crackling campfire and the sounds of several hundred people eating and relaxing after a day of work. The sound that had caught his attention had also caught mine and I sat up straighter as I recognised the sound of hooves.

  “Someone doing some late riding?” I queried, seeing the shared expression of confusion on Alexi and Avita’s face.

  “I doubt it. Only a damned fool or someone looking at breaking their neck would be out riding in the dark.”

  On the edges of the clearing, the handful of sentries that we posted every night called out into the shadows and from our position we saw the shape of a rider and his horse illuminated in the light of dozens of flickering torches. The Priory was more of a makeshift town with every day that passed and we watched curiously as the horseman made his way down the beaten dirt track between the lines of tents.

  “Who commands here?”

  From my position resting on the crudely fashioned stool I looked up at the mounted individual with some amusement. Not only was he appearing vastly overdressed for the climate and the situation while I was dressed in little more than a rags, his accent and tone brooked no insubordination.

  His own pants were pleated and tucked neatly into a pair of leather riding boots that were immaculately kept and absent the slightest trace of muck or mud. Every buckle and crease was perfect despite the fact that he had been riding at speed long enough for his horse’s mouth to be edged with froth and in the light of the campfire his chainmail and armour gleamed with polish. Over a breastplate of silvery steel clung a surcoat of red and yellow, a raven clutching a crown of oak leaves staring outwards from its golden filigree.

  Our silence twisted his expression into one of annoyance as he tugged on the reins of his steed, pulling the horse’s bit tight until it stopped in place to allow him to stare us all down. “Will no one answer me? Damn your hides.” Moving from face to face as we sat with building amusement his gaze came to rest on me where I comfortably sat with Viconia’s sinuous body curled around me. “You there! You will answer my question lest I have you flogged!”

  Whatever reaction he was expecting, it was not the sudden outburst of laughter from our collective group to the point where the like of Mazoga and Carodus were almost rolling on the ground. Alexi was slapping his knee, chuckling loudly and I couldn’t help but smile at the red faced fury of the rider as it built to apocalyptic levels.

  “Well commander, you better stand up.” Alexi spluttered, trying and utterly failing to keep his expression deadpan and tone serious at the indignation of the surcoated rider. “You wouldn’t want to be flogged… Again...”

  “I’m certain he enjoys it.” Viconia added with sarcastic relish.

  Amidst the renewed laughter around the campfire and the sudden bloom of confusion on the armoured rider’s face I disentangled myself from Viconia and stood up. The rider looked about the group, seeing the differential way they were all treating me despite the fact that they were all collectively laughing and realising the error he had made. As all the pieces fell into place in his mind he almost fell out of the saddle in his attempts to dismount quickly, dropping himself to one knee.

  “A message for you…” He stated with a quiver of uncertainty in his voice as he struggled to come up with a way to salvage the situation. “Sir.”

  Trying to keep my own expression serious in comparison to the others I stepped over to him as he bowed, taking note of the hesitant way that he had spoken my title that seemed to stem from something different than his error. A rolled sheet of parchment was plucked from a weatherproof saddlebag and held out and I took it from his hands, seeing the slight tremble in his arms and the way that his pants were being ruined as he knelt in the dirt.

  Like the heraldry on the surcoat, the wax seal on the rolled parchment was unfamiliar but no different from the hundreds, if not thousands of noble families and houses throughout the Empire and I cracked it open and began to read. The handwriting was elegant and flawless, the words flowing across the parchment but I still frowned as I read them out loud.

  “Let it be known that Duke Bradelc Weylinille Stenanius de’Leorion the third, Lord Marshal of Wayrest, blessed of the house of Maumaulese, Champion of Lainlyn, lay-brother of the Knights of the Horn,” I stopped not only for breath but to scroll through almost three full lines of titles, honours and awards before my eyes came to a halt on a particular collection of words. “Reclaimer of the Sword of Arkay and Greaves of Mara…”

  The laughter died away and while the armoured messenger remained kneeling at my feet I felt a chill crawl up my spine. The relics had been reclaimed and for the first time in three thousand years it appeared that they would soon be reunited. It was difficult to ignore the way that my heart was suddenly hammering into my ribcage and my breathing quickened. With an undue haste I continued reading the scroll, reaching the end and feeling a new feeling sink into the pit of my stomach. As the others fell silent I abstractly knew that they could see the change in my body language and expression. Viconia rose from her seat and moved over to me and I barely even felt her touch on my shoulder as I closed the scroll and nearly crushed it in my grip.

  “Has been duly appointed Commander of the Knights of the Nine.” The night seemed to rise up and swallow me as my mouth became as dry as the deserts of Elsweyr. “He will arrive in the morning.”