Young Writers Society

Chapter 3: Unbound

The saying that one’s life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die could not have been less true as Faneas stared at the beast on top of the tower. Its colossal wings seemed to chill the very air inside Faneas’ lungs, yet its eyes seemed to burn straight to one’s soul.

Around Faneas, panic had erupted among the peasantry, many of them clambering over each other to get away from this nightmare. Those still capable of rational thinking (or at least, a portion of it) immediately either tried to aid the soldiers, or helped to get the elderly and children to relative safety.

The headsman, with the axe still held above his head, stood dumbstruck as the dragon let out a cry of rage. A shockwave sent rocks and soldiers plummeting from the walls, of which one of these rocks fell on the headsman, ending his life almost instantly.

A firm hand closing around his arm brought Faneas back to reality. Beside him crouched Ralof, tugging insistently at Faneas while pointing at a small turret several yards away.

‘Come on, Breton,’ he shouted, helping Faneas up onto his feet, ‘the gods don’t give out second chances lightly.’

Faneas and Ralof ran unopposed to the turret, which was beside the inn, as most of the soldiers were preoccupied with the dragon. When they reached the turret, Faneas saw a handful of the other Stormcloak rebels, including their leader Ulfric, who closed the door behind as Ralof entered.

‘Jarl Ulfric,’ Ralof panted, ‘are the legends true then?’

‘Legends don’t burn down towns,’ the Jarl said, his bass voice sounding no more than a low rumble.

‘How’re we gettin’ out o’ here, Jarl Ulfric?’ a muscular Stormcloak asked.

‘We go up, of course. From there we can attempt to climb down into the forest.’

Leaving behind the seriously wounded, Faneas and the rebels made the way up the tower. The tumult from outside was slightly muted through the walls, but occasionally dust and minor debris fell from the roof as the dragon roared or flew passed.

As they were nearing the top of the turret, a deafening crash erupted around the ascending rebels. Large slabs of stone toppled from the walls as the dragon’s jet-black head broke through the turret.

Faneas had been thrown out of the way by the explosion, along with Ralof and Ulfric a few feet either side of him. The dragon looked around quickly at the rebels who started bombarding it with stones, before opening its mouth a sending forth a burst of flames.

‘Yol Toor Shul!’

Faneas heard words as the fire incinerated the vulnerable rebels, before flying off to demolish another part of the town.

Around Faneas, several rebels lay dead or dying, yet miraculously he and Ralof were unharmed. Ulfric sat coughing several steps downward from their location.

‘Are ye alright, Jarl Ulfric?’ Ralof asked stumbling over to help him up.

‘I’m fine,’ Ulfric said, waving away Ralof’s outstretched hand, ‘let us get out of this gods-forsaken town before we’re all sent to Sovngarde.’

‘Come on, Breton!’ Ralof said, pulling Faneas to the gaping hole in the side of the turret, ‘Jump onto that inn’s roof over there. We’ll follow after you.’

Faneas looked down at the inn slightly terrified. ‘Jump down there?’ he asked.

‘Go!’ Ralof almost threw Faneas out as the dragon threw over a tall pine tree, which started falling towards the turret.

The inn’s roof gave way under Faneas as he fell shoulder-first onto it, bringing him to a halt on a bed inside the inn. Fire had chased Faneas into the inn, and had started lingering in the corners of the small room.

Faneas looked up and saw Ralof gesturing at him to continue running, before he vanished from view. Smoke had begun circling Faneas like a pack of ethereal wolves, thus he quickly made his way out of the room.

Bottles of ale, loaves of bread, and various vegetables laid strewn around on the ground floor of the inn as Faneas stumbled out of the tavern. Most of the other buildings were also ablaze, and Faneas could hear people shouting from inside several of them. Close by, the guard named Hadvar was hurrying civilians into the safety of a stone stable nearby.

‘Haming, get over here!’ he shouted to the young boy who had stood before the tavern. The boy started running over, but when he was a few yards from the stable, he stumbled.

‘Haming!’

Before Hadvar could start running to save the boy, however, the ground shook violently. The dragon had landed twenty yards down the road from the boy, and was preparing to incinerate that section of the road.

Not really realizing what he was doing, Faneas ran across the road and seized Haming from the ground. Just as he reached the opposite side of the road, the dragon sent its hungry flames racing across the ground, before flying up into the air with a great roar.

‘You, prisoner!’ Hadvar shouted, running over to where the Breton sat covering the boy, ‘You, you just saved him?!’

Faneas stood up and dusted off his clothing. ‘I didn’t even realize what I was doing until the heat seared my back.’

‘I really underestimated you. Thought you were no more than a heartless thief.’

‘I was just in the wrong spot at the wrong time.’

‘Well,’ Hadvar said looking around at the civilians in the stone stable, ‘we need all able-bodied and brave men right now. Gammer, take care of Haming and the rest for me.’

An old man wearing leather hunting clothing lead the boy into the safety of the stables. ‘Of—of course Hadvar,’ he said, knocking an arrow into his bowstring.

‘Come with me, prisoner!’ Hadvar said, throwing a iron sword at Faneas, and proceeding towards the epicentre of the commotion.

They made their way throw the flaming obstacle course of mayhem that the dragon had sown through the town. The main road was blocked up ahead by another felled tree, this one’s flames giving off a devilish heat.

‘This way,’ Hadvar said, gesturing towards a side road leading between a burning house and the walls of the inner keep. They barely made it into the shade of the wall, when the ground shook yet again, the dragon landing on the wall directly ahead of Faneas, yet ignorant of his presence.

‘Faas Ru Maar!’ the black dragon’s screams once again formed words in Faneas’ ears, but he still knew not what it meant.

Almost immediately after screeching, the dragon flew up again, and Faneas and Hadvar made their way through the smouldering embers of one of the first houses the dragon ravaged.

‘Did you also feel that?’ Hadvar asked as they two of them shoved a fallen wardrobe out of their way.

‘What?’ Faneas asked.

‘When the dragon screeched, it felt as if my worst fears were coming alive, as if its screech woke them inside. I don’t know what would have happened to a lesser man when he heard that screech.’

Their question was soon answered. In the wide street they entered, soldiers and civilians were running around, their eyes wide with fear. The few who were not affected were feebly shooting arrows at the dragon, and a female mage was hurling ice spikes at the dragon.

‘Keep shooting! We need to protect the townspeople!’ the commanding voice of General Tullius shouted from where he was worming himself out from beneath his dead horse.

‘How do we kill a target which just shrugs off our arrows like annoying gnats!’ a random archer shouted.

‘We need more arrows!’ another shouted.

Hadvar grabbed Faneas by the arm. ‘Come. Let’s get ourselves bows at the keep, and aid the defence,’ he said, leading the Breton through a smaller gate into the inner keep plaza.

A shout from the other side of the otherwise empty plaza made Hadvar draw his sword.

‘Hadvar! You traitor!’ Faneas saw that it was Ralof, who had somehow managed to get into the plaza.

‘Now is not the time, Ralof!’ Hadvar shouted, as the dragon had roared as he sent another firestream at the town, ‘Come with me!’

‘I’ll never follow ye anywhere! Come on Breton, follow me!’

‘Prisoner, I can get you to safety,’ Hadvar said to Faneas, ‘Don’t trust Ralof.’

Faneas stood between the two former comrades, pondering with who to go, when the dragon started descending on the plaza quickly. He looked from the one to the other, before hastily deciding.

‘Lead the way,’ he said to Hadvar, who started running towards a door just a bit further from the main keep doors.

‘Quickly! Get in!’ Hadvar said.

Just as Faneas ran in and Hadvar closed the door, a loud roar came from the plaza, shortly followed by the sound of stones falling, barring the door.

Hadvar walked over to a sconce and took the torch. ‘I hope Gammer got the other people to safety.’

‘Where are we?’Faneas asked, looking around at the various beds, tables and drawers around the room.

‘The troop barracks. See if there’s a spare armour set on one of those racks. It’s one size fits all, so...’

Faneas walked over to one of the racks where he miraculously found a light armour set of Imperial armour, leather boots, and arm bracers.

‘Hurry up. We need to get out before the dragon brings this building down on us!’ Hadvar said, searching on one of the tables for the key to the door into the rest of the keep.

As Faneas started strapping on the armour, the keep shook as the dragon flew over again. By the far wall, a weapon rack shook and fell over, swords and spears clanging loudly on the stone floors.

Hadvar exclaimed of success as he found a large set of keys, and started fiddling around the lock, trying to get the door open. The Breton finished pulling on the boots, and headed over to see if he could help Hadvar.

The latter was struggling with a small, rusty key, and there were several others dangling from the ring.

‘Try that bronze one,’ Faneas said, pointing at a long bronze key that shimmered in the torchlight.

Hadvar placed the key in the hole, and almost instantly, the lock clicked open.

‘Smart man,’ Hadvar said, pushing open the door and proceeding a narrow corridor, ‘I don’t even know why that door was locked in the first...’

Faneas nearly walked into Hadvar after he abruptly stopped a few feet from an iron gate leading into a bigger hall. The Imperial soldier gestured for Faneas to move stealthily forward, before crouching to the gate.

From inside the hall, Faneas could hear two voices, that of a man and a woman. Faneas could recognise the man’s voice as a muscular Stormcloak rebel from the tower earlier, and the woman was clearly also a rebel.

‘Let’s get ou’ o’ ‘ere,’ the man said as he came into view, walking beside the woman, a woodcutter’s axe in his hand.

‘Did the others go this way?’ the woman asked, pointing down a staircase at the other side of the hall.

‘Think so...No, Grundir!’ the man ran over to a person sitting on a chair close to the other end of the hall.

Hadvar slowly pushed open the gate (which was unlocked), and crept out into the main hall, the two Stormcloaks’ backs to him as the stood around what Faneas could now see was a dead Stormcloak, blood all over his sky blue tunic.

‘Damn these Imperials,’ the woman said, picking up the sword which lay on the floor beside Grundir, ‘I hope they burn in the deepest voids of Oblivion for this.’

Just then, Faneas bumped into a candle stand, causing enough noise for the rebels to swing around, weapons at the ready.

‘Imperials!’ the man exclaimed.

‘Now, please, we do not need to do anything rash,’ Hadvar said, holding his palms before him to show he means the rebels no harm.

But it was no use. The two Stormcloaks roared with rage, their weapons thirsty for the blood of the two people standing before them.