Rise of the Dawnbearer - Part 3: A Change of Heart

The afternoon drew long as a group of three Dragonborn laid low in the tall grass. Peering over the supple blades they observed the activities of a caravan of travellers that had made camp a few hundred meters from the main road. They had been hidden there, watching the camp since late morning making careful note of the defences. Their mission of destroying the caravan had looked unlikely when they first started watching the travellers as they appeared well armed and in overwhelming numbers. Early in the afternoon however, a development had made their task much easier.

Just after noon the three brothers had observed several Dragonborn ride into camp. The brothers knew that these Dragonborn were not of their clan – they were easily identifiable as being from the Dragonborn capital Djerad Thymar. Mondaresh, the leader of the three brothers, watched as the camp bustled with activity around the new arrivals for a number of minutes before a contingent of armed guards left with them, heading back the way they came. The sum result of this development was that the defence surrounding the camp was greatly reduced.

The sun was hanging low over the horizon when the three brothers retreated from their hiding position in the grass back to where their brethren lay in wait. Mondaresh drew himself into the inner circle of the group where the eldest of his kin strategized over their plan of attack.

“We will wait until the plains are covered in darkness” Jokral snarled. “With the element of surprise we can take out the guards surrounding the camp before anyone notices.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Dernark. “We should wait until dawn. They’ll be tired and it will be easier to slaughter them.” He nodded in self approval of his plan.

Jokral stared at Dernark. “If we wait, we risk the other guards returning before we strike. We would not be able to take down their combined forces.”

Dernark snarled at Jokral, not because her plan was better but because she had made him look foolish (although this was rather easy with Dernark). Onferaar, one of the older Dragonborn in the group, spoke softly but with a commanding weight behind his words.

“It is settled. We attack after nightfall. One group will take out the guards on the north side, while a second comes in from the east. Our remaining fighters will hold in the long grass to the south west and ambush any who attempt to flee.”

The group looked in agreement. “Mondaresh.” Jokral looked toward the young combatant. “Take Dernark and Talynar, along with your brothers, and circle around to the east. Take out any targets of opportunity, but wait until our signal before advancing on the main camp.”

At this, Mondaresh nodded and left the circle. When Jokral had said ‘your brothers’ he knew she meant to include Raxogar, however Mondaresh had no desire to bring the runt along – he would only get in their way, and Mondaresh knew it would take all of his skill to fight fully trained and experienced humans. He caught the eye of the two brothers we wanted, and along with Dernark and Talynar started heading around the caravan to the eastern side, giving it a wide berth so as not to draw attention.

Raxogar watched as the small group of Dragonborn, which had been in discussion about tactics, broke up gathered together with other members of their kin to form two groups. As he watched the two groups leave, he realised that he had not been included in either of them. As he felt a mixture of anger and disappointment at being left out, he decided that for better or worse he should follow the group which included his three brothers, though he would keep a healthy distance behind them.

By the time Mondaresh and his companions had reached the east side of the caravan, the sun had completely set and the only light left to them was from the crescent moon hanging low in the sky. Raxogar, some twenty meters behind his brothers, could make out two pinpoints of light about thirty meters ahead of the group, along with a camp fire in the distance, partially obscured by two carts.

Raxogar lay himself low onto the ground. The grass here was particularly thick, so if he lay flat he would be completely obscured from the vision of any guards that wandered by. As he thought about this, one of the small light sources started approaching his location. As it drew nearer, Raxogar started to panic that he had been seen, and that the approaching guard was intending to attack him. He quietly unsheathed his sword and held it low in the grass next to him. He also coiled his right leg beneath himself. He knew that if it came to it he would need to make the first move.

The light grew closer and closer. Raxogar could see the torch was being carried by a bearded man wearing a leather jerkin. More importantly, he could see a longsword at his belt. Raxogar nervously swallowed, his mouth unusually dry. He placed his left hand on the ground in front of him whilst his right hand grasped the hilt of his crude blade. Readying himself to spring forth Raxogar focused all the rage and hatred that had building in him since his birth. He took several deep breaths, then counted to himself “three, two …”

Just as Raxogar was about to spring forth, the man stopped, barely six meters away from where the young Dragonborn lay hidden. Raxogar froze, not sure if he had been spotted and unsure as to whether he should begin his assault. The man bent over and stabbed the stave of his torch into the ground. He then took a couple of steps to his right, undid the front of his trousers, and proceed to relieve himself into the long grass.

Raxogar had not moved an inch as he watched this scene unfold. He lay, half coiled to spring, watching as the man urinated into the long grass. The man tilted his head back, his eyes closed, with a look of great relief on his face. Raxogar suddenly realised that this would be the most opportune time to attack, while the man literally had his pants around his ankles. Before he could make a move though, he realised that his kin had the same idea.

From out of the grass directly in front of the man came a hand holding a dagger. With his head tilted back, the man didn’t even see the blade as it plunged into neck. As he reached to his throat, spluttering, he collapsed on top of Mondaresh, who retracted the blade from the man’s neck and shrugged the dying body off him into the coarse grass. Mondaresh didn’t look back as he darted away into the darkness followed closely and quietly by his brethren.

Raxogar approached the man. He watched quietly as the man gurgled his last breath, his blood mingling with the dirt. As the body stopped moving, Raxogar sighed heavily. He didn’t know if he was relieved or angry by his brothers’ intervention. As he started questioned whether he would have been able to make the fatal blow himself, a loud roar echoed across the plains. Raxogar was startled out of his daydream and back to the realisation of the present – the raid had begun.

Without conscious thought Raxogar’s legs started propelling him forward towards the source of the bestial bellow. As he drew closer towards the encampment he could hear the sounds of clashing steel and anguished cries. He continued to press forward without hesitation or any perception of his surroundings until he was bowled over by an unseen shape.

As Raxogar regained his feet and his composure he caught a brief glimpse of steel as a sword swung over his head. Had he been as tall as his brothers he may have taken a fatal blow, but in this instance his diminutive stature was a blessing instead of a hindrance. He steadied himself and faced his unknown adversary.

The human soldier swung his sword repeatedly at his foe. Raxogar, due to his intense training with his brothers, dodged and parried the blows efficiently, but was reticent to attack. He didn’t know why, but he felt no animosity against his counterpart, and had no desire to do him harm. The anger he had mustered earlier had strangely evaporated, now replaced by anxiousness and fear. This went unnoticed by his foe, who continued to attack relentlessly.

Not wanting to advance on his quarry, Raxogar stepped backwards a few steps, unknowingly tripping on a lute which had been left on the ground. The sound of the trampled lute and the scene of a Dragonborn falling head over heels backwards would have been a comical one, had it not been for the fact that he had been in the midst of a fight for his life. Left prone by the fall, Raxogar looked up to see the human bearing down on him with a finishing blow. Unable to raise his weapon in time, Raxogar prepared for the searing pain of steel ripping through flesh.

It was over before Raxogar even knew what happened. All he saw was a glint steel behind the guard’s back followed by spurts of blood as the human fell forward onto him. Confused, he looked over the dying man’s shoulder to see one of his kin snort in disgust at Raxogar, clearly regretting his actions in saving the young Dragonborn, before disappearing back into the darkness.

With great effort, Raxogar heaved the dead body off of him. Relieved, but also confused, he pushed himself up off the ground and started walking away. He looked back at the dead man and wondered why he had not wanted to strike the man down. Years of training had prepared him for the moment when he would unfeelingly strike down his foe, yet when the time came he did not have it within him. Knowing that this was the wrong choice for a Dragonborn of his clan, Raxogar resolved himself that, next time the opportunity came, he would unthinkingly and unrelentingly strike at his foe.

Whilst still within his inner thoughts, Raxogar turned away from the corpse that he had been staring at and rounded the side of a nearby wagon. At that moment, a human woman came around the corner of the wagon in the opposite direction. Perhaps because of his last encounter running into a human, Raxogar instinctively drove his shoulder into the woman’s chest.

The woman tumbled over backwards, hitting her head on the wheel of the wagon. She fell, unconscious, into the grass in front of Raxogar, her sword spilling a few feet from her hand. Raxogar rounded his sword on her and took several deep breathes as he gathered his resolve to end her life.

For the third time that night, Raxogar hesitated before striking. He looked down at the defenceless woman, her long blonde hair draped across her face. He grimaced as he tightened the grip on his blade. Tensing his muscles, he raised his elbow in line with the blade of his sword and leaned in to strike, but as he did so he heard a scream, which was followed by one of the most bewildering scenes the Dragonborn had ever our would ever see.

A young girl, seemingly no older than Raxogar himself, and with the same long blonde hair as the woman lying before him, lunged out of the dark and grabbed the blade of his sword with her bare hands.

In complete shock, Raxogar froze. Of all the things he had expected to happen, this was not one of them. After a moment of bewilderment Raxogar pulled at the sword, expecting the blade to slice through the girl’s hands and out of her grasp.

Raxogar tugged on the hilt of the sword, but the girl did not let go. Instead, she turned inside of his arms, her now bloody hands grasping firmly onto the cold steel of the sword.

“Let go!” Raxogar growled. He knew the girl probably didn’t understand him, but he needed to vent his frustration at her. He pushed and pulled at the sword, but the young girl did not relinquish her grasp. As he jostled her to let go, Raxogar could see the blood from her hands spurting across her face and into her hair.

“I said let go!” With a surge of force, Raxogar pushed the girl face down to the ground. As she fell, she unwillingly let go of the sword blade.

Raxogar stood over the young girl, his bloody blade pointed down at her. She turned her face upwards, and for the first time Raxogar looked upon her face.

For a moment the world turned quiet as Raxogar stared into Ellana’s eyes. As he stared at her he saw the fear in her face. In his years of training he had never seen anyone look at him with fear. He felt a swell of emotion wash over him, not understanding what it was or why.

A hollow feeling had filled Raxogar's chest. Shaking himself he tried to focus on the pent up anger and rage. He grasped the hilt of sword ever tighter, hoping that muscle memory would take over and he would strike down the enemy lying before him. Gritting his teeth, Raxogar let out a bellowing roar at the young girl, but not of his physical or mental attempts to convince himself to strike worked. After a few moments he let out a long sigh and his form slumped. As his eyes unfocused, for the first time ever Raxogar started to contemplate what he was, where he was, and why he was at that moment standing over a defenceless girl with blade pointed at her throat.

After what seemed an eternity, Raxogar came to a shocking realisation. The vicious monster that stood over a young girl with murderous intent, the soldier who had trained all of his life to kill humans, the monster that attacked a caravan to kill and pillage, that Dragonborn no longer existed. As he stared into Ellana’s eyes his will to fight had faded away.

Feeling without purpose, Raxogar dropped his sword on the ground and fell to his knees. As he continued to look at Ellana, he could see a mixture of confusion and relief on her face. He continued to stare in her direction, though his eyes unfocused and he lost himself in his own confusion.

Ellana slowly and warily crawled to her feet whilst still keeping her eyes on the Dragonborn. She backed away from him and, only after putting a safe distance between them, turned away and ran over to her mother who still lay unconscious on the ground.

To be continued…