An Enchanting Tale

  ****

  Back in the cave, Durro cut Aela across her chest with such potency that his blade shattered her armor. Great gashes oozed blood over her figure. She tried to crawl away, but the knight placed a plated boot onto her ankle. She yelled in pain. Vilkas, a bloody mess, charged, knocking him off his shield sister. Farkas came in running from behind and slashed into the man’s back, forcing him to stumble forwards.

  A sudden jolt accosted Durro. His limbs twitched wildly, and he dropped his weapon. The Companions were taken aback. Durro turned to them. The red glow from his helmet dissipated. With a thunderous crash, he fell to his knees then onto his face.

  As Aela wriggled about in pain, Farkas approached his former shield brother, Durro. “Is he finally dead?”

  Vilkas staggered over, using his sword as leverage to keep from falling. “See to Aela. I’ll check Durro,” he said, wincing in pain.

  Vilkas dropped to his knees, allowing his sword to fall to the ground.

  “Are you hurt,” Farkas asked.

  Aela hit him in the arm. “Of course, I’m hurt, you idiot!”

  Farkas frowned to his brother. “I think she’s fine.”

  Vilkas pulled Durro’s helmet from his head. The nord was certainly dead. Blank eyes stared into the abyss. Vilkas closed them.

  “May you continue to fight in Sovngarde. We have avenged you, shield brother,” he whispered.

  Farkas sat cross-legged and took stock of the battlefield. Dismembered necromages, glowing ashes, blood, and frozen magick covered the ground. He and his Companions were all but defeated. Vilkas lay back, holding his sides. Farkas held his bleeding shoulder, and Aela passed out on her flank.

  “Where’s the dark elf?” Farkas was concerned.

  “The coward must have fled. Damnable wizard; he should have been here to heal us,” Vilkas complained.

  “I am,” S’maash yelled.

  He and J’zargo limped over to the injured Companions and began healing them.

  “Where in Oblivion have you been,” Vilkas growled.

  “Heheheh. J’zargo needed your friend for College business. It was this one, who saved your hides,” J’zargo said. With a modicum of health returned, Vilkas demanded answers. “You may call this one hero, or J’zargo, if you prefer. This one is an instructor at the College of Winterhold. S’maash and khajiit have killed the elder vampire, Delyla. Her defeat broke her spell over your friend. It was us, who won the day.”

  “I don’t understand,” Farkas said.

  “It’s fine,” Vilkas sighed, coming to his feet. “S’maash didn’t run away. He fought the vampire, who must have been controlling Durro. Thank you, both of you. Now, help us get Durro out of here and back to Jorrvaskr. He deserves a proper send off to Sovngarde,” Vilkas added, gravely.