Dovahsebrom Forgotten: The Lost Tale of the High King Jhunal of Solitude, Part I

By Gaius Verum, author and former member of the Imperial Geographic Society

Solitude was thinly blanketed by powdery snow on the morning that the future High King Jhunal began his battle-training under the enigmatic spellsword Skjell Ebonhand. The gray stone walls silently watched under their ivory cloak as the prince began to forge the skills that would determine his fate in the upcoming deathmatch. Jhunal heard the disappointing, ineffectual tone of steel on ebony as his blade was met with that of his instructor.

“You think that a weapon would do it? Unless you become a Yokudan sword-singer, no blade you ever wield could kill that man!” shouted Skjell.

Their sparring match and their conversation took the same pace:

“Then why are we here?” demanded Jhunal.

Clack.

“You won’t kill him with steel. You’ll kill him with steel, and the magic I’ll teach you, and your wits.”

Clack.

“Why do you think I’ll be some great mage? Just because you were hired? Because I’m part Altmer?” Jhunal retorted.

Skjell disarmed Jhunal as the prince attempted another strike. Clink, swoosh.

“Altmer? To Oblivion with Altmer: you’re a Direnni! You hail from one of the greatest lines of swordsmen, generals, and mages in history! To Oblivion with your Imperial ancestry: you’re a Septim, younger brother of Emperor Cephorus II. To Oblivion with the fact that you’re a Nord: you are the heir to Skyrim. But what will that do for you when you face Jarl Falgeir? His blood was not so great as yours to begin with, and his line has been held with disdain for four generations.”

“What are you getting at?” asked the Prince.

“Falgeir is not an incomparable pitfighter because his grandfather was. He is an incomparable pit fighter because he trained the way Bathorgh did, surrounded in Orcs. Bathed in ferocity, but still able to spit out better weapon play than anyone around him. He walked the walk which proves his prowess, weaving in between the attacks of nine archers and a giant scorpion. Your blood can do nothing against that.”

“The question remains as to what can, then,” Jhunal stated, his eyes narrowing.

“You can. Learn the blade, learn the spell, and learn wits. I can teach all three.”

“And the admixture of these three skills will be enough to defeat him?” Jhunal queried.

“If you use all three without fail? Invariably,” promised Skjell.

“Then I seek nothing less than perfection,” Jhunal noted.

He picked up his sky-forged blade, and faced his instructor yet again.