They travelled south for the rest of the day, in relative peace and quiet aside from the inevitable wolves; even those, though, were fairly few. The only real challenge they faced, surprisingly enough, was a single bear that came barreling up the banks from the riverside. Both Dag and Roggi slowed it down with arrows; then she sprinted at it and caught it with her swords. Roggi finished it off with a stab from his greatsword.
“Hmm,” Dag said, looking at the carcass. “Bear meat tonight?”
Roggi wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. No, please.” Dag pulled out her knife and knelt to skin the bear. That hide would make a lot of leather.
“How about venison?” she heard a few moments later, and turned just in time to watch Roggi bury a perfectly placed arrow into the deer that had just emerged from the woods.
Dag stood, and stared. “Well sure. That sounds good,” she finally managed to say, surprised yet again by what a good shot he was. Together they skinned the deer and cut a few choice slabs of meat from its carcass.
There was old prison just to the south, he told her, over the bridge where the White River met the Darkwater as it rushed down from the Rift’s high plateau. Animals would likely be scared off by all the human activity, and they’d be able to find a reasonably safe spot to camp out for the night. As they approached the prison, though, it was clear that the time since Roggi had last seen it had not been kind; the tower leaned over the river at a crazy angle, its base partially broken and washed downstream along with a good bit of the riverbank on either side.
They chose the alcove just outside one of the remaining doors as the spot to build a small cooking fire and settle down. It wasn’t much, but the overhang protected them from the drizzle that had set up, and stone at their backs meant only one side to watch. It was a better camp than they’d planned on making, if not a level one.
Roggi was pleasant enough while they prepared their meal and ate, but Dag thought he seemed preoccupied. He told her to get some rest while he took first watch. Her stomach full and her legs tired, Dag wasn’t going to argue; but before she dropped into a nap she noticed him staring into the fire, frowning. His demeanor felt vaguely familiar to her. She hoped she was wrong.
The sun was high in the sky the following day, as they rounded a corner and began trudging up yet another hill. The road had followed the steep southern bank of the White River toward the west, around the foothills of a simply gigantic mountain south of them. It was by far the biggest thing Dag had ever seen; the Throat of the World, Roggi called it. It was the largest mountain on the continent of Tamriel, as far as he knew.
“I’ll bet it would be nearly impossible to get to the top,” she said.
Roggi looked up. “A bunch of monks who call themselves the Graybeards have lived up there for hundreds of years, not at the top but high enough. There’s a path up to it, if you can call it a path,” he laughed. “The Seven Thousand Steps. I’ve never been. Too much climbing for me.”
Dag’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “Seven thousand? No thank you.” She shivered, imagining the winds that must blow that high up.
There was a large fortified watchtower ahead of them, attached to a very high bridge spanning the White River. “We’re getting fairly close to Whiterun,” he told her. Dag smiled. She was ready to be in civilization again, she realized.
As they started to pass by the front of the tower, a tough-looking woman stepped out from the doorway and blocked their path.
“Stop right there,” she said, drawing her sword. “This here is a toll road. You’re going to have to pay, say two hundred septims to use it.”
Dag sighed. Yet another shakedown. She pulled one of her swords, and behind her heard Roggi’s slide out of its sheath.
“No, it’s not a toll road,” Dag said. “How about you let us by, and I won’t kill you?”
The woman wasn’t having any of that. She sneered at Dag. “How about I take that money off your corpse, instead?” and lunged at them.
“Oh, so you want to go, eh?” Roggi yelled from behind her, rushing forward with his greatsword before him. The bandit blocked his first two blows.
Dag heard an impact behind her. An arrow was lodged firmly in the dirt. Looking up, she spied an archer, across the river but higher than them, taking aim at her again. Dag pulled her own bow and fired. It was a fairly long shot to make, but she got lucky; the arrow found its mark and the bandit dropped. She heard a shout and turned in time to see Roggi make a forward thrust that caught the first bandit by surprise; he pulled his sword out of her body and stared down at her as she gurgled to her end.
“It was unfortunate that had to happen,” he said sadly.
“It was unfortunate it had to happen to us,” Dag snorted. “They attacked first. We did what had to be done.”
Shouts erupted from above them, in the direction of the bridge. “Great,” Dag muttered. “More company.”
They moved into the tower and crept slowly up the stairs, the sounds of footfall getting ever closer. Roggi tapped her on the back and pushed past her, drawing his bow. She tried to object, but he was already out the door at the level of the bridge, firing, before she could do anything. She stepped out behind him just in time to see a body somersaulting into the river far below.
Dag pulled her swords and crept up into the top level of the tower. “You picked a bad time to get lost, friend,” she heard a deep, raspy voice challenge from above. Great. She grimaced. An orc. Orcs tended to be tough fighters because of their size and stamina. As he barreled down the stairs into her, she stepped back for just enough room to execute a dual sword attack; he couldn’t stop his momentum and walked into it, then dropped like a rock. “Thank you for making that easy,” she told him.
Roggi stuck his head into the area. “I think that’s all,” he said. “I got two more trying to run across the bridge.”
“And I got this lovely,” Dag said, poking the orc’s body with her foot.
Roggi grunted, glaring at the corpse. “Bandits and thieves,” he growled. “They’re the lowest of the low, preying on their own countrymen for profit.” His face was curled into a sneer of disgust. Dag looked at that sneer, uncomfortable. Yes, bandits were the worst. They violated people, tortured or killed them, sometimes burned their homes, took their wealth, left orphans in their wake. She frowned. But thieves? People who just…liberated items? That was getting a little too close to home.
They crossed the bridge, checking the bodies along it to make sure they were truly just bodies, and not bandits waiting for a chance to attack from the rear.
“Let me check the top really quick,” she said, and walked up the last set of steps. There was nothing but a table and chair there; the perfect lookout, from which she could see far down the road both to the east and the west. Lying on the table, though, was an interesting bow. She picked it up; it was heavy and solid and hummed with some sort of magic. She grinned and bounced back outside to find Roggi.
“Look what I found!” she said, handing the bow to him. “I think you should have this. I hate to admit it but I think you’re a better shot than I am. You could put this to good use.”
Roggi examined it, then fitted an arrow to the string and fired it back across the river at a tree on the far side of the road, a very long shot. The arrow buried itself as easily as though the tree was soft flesh. “It is nice,” he said, nodding, “much better than my old hunting bow. If you don’t mind, I think I will keep it.”
“Absolutely,” she said, smiling. “You have more than earned it.” She stretched. “Let’s get going. I’d really like to get to Whiterun before dark.” They stopped only long enough to retrieve as many arrows as they could from the bodies and from the ground where various shots had missed their marks. The arrow Roggi had sunk into the tree stayed, though; it was not going to be removed, try as they might to wiggle it free. That was a good bow.
They had walked some time west from the tower, and around one last corner of rocky outcroppings from the base of the mountain, when the road opened up to an amazing vista. Dag stood and took in the view, in awe. An enormous plain stretched as far as she could see out to the west and north. It was largely treeless but covered with shrubs and grasses; she could just catch the movement of game animals, especially over the river banks. The road crossed the river one more time, at the foot of the hill they were on, and continued on toward the city. She could make out farms, with their windmills turning slowly. It was beautiful.
Most impressive, though, was a structure perched atop a hill in the center, a good long walk away from them. As large as it looked from their vantage point, it had to be huge. She pointed. “Wow.”
Roggi grinned. “That’s Whiterun. The big castle you can see is Dragonsreach. I haven’t been here in years.”
“Well let’s move, then,” Dag said, smiling at him. “I could really go for a mead, how about you?”
“You won’t have to work too hard to convince me,” he said, giving her shoulders a quick squeeze that caught her off-guard but felt good anyway.
Roggi eyed the sign for the Honningbrew Meadery as they passed it farther down the road. They might well have stopped there, but just outside its doors there was a confrontation happening. Two Redguard men, Alik’r mercenaries judging by their armor and glinting scimitars, were menacing a single, unarmed Redguard woman.
“I don’t know what you want, but you’ve got the wrong person!” the woman said. “Leave me alone!”
“You can’t fool us,” one of the men told her. “Come along quietly.”
The other man peered at her and then turned to his fellow. “Brother, I think she’s telling the truth. She doesn’t have the scar.”
Dag froze, and Roggi looked at her, startled. They were looking for a Redguard woman with a scar. Nobody had any reason to be looking for Dagnell, but it would be hard to convince them of that if they were not even sure what the woman they sought looked like.
“Not me,” she whispered to Roggi. “But let’s get out of here.” He nodded, stepped between Dag and the two mercenaries, and hurried her down the road toward the walled city.
“That isn’t good,” he murmured once they were far enough past the meadery. “I wonder what’s going on.”
Dag shook her head. “I don’t know, but it sure isn’t me they’re looking for. I’d be willing to bet that nobody back home even noticed I’m gone, and I haven’t done anything that anyone would be upset about.” Until just recently, she thought; but she couldn’t imagine Haelga hiring two Alik’r to hunt her down near Whiterun, of all places, over a few coins. “Still. I’m glad you’re with me.”
The gate to Whiterun was closed and guarded. One of the guards stepped forward and said “Halt. City’s closed with the dragons about. Official business only.” Dag had to fight to keep her mouth closed. Again? Brynjolf couldn’t possibly have goons in Whiterun, too, could he?
“Well what good are walls if they don’t protect people?” Roggi asked, stepping forward.
The guard blinked and looked confused. “All right,” he said, opening the gate. “But we’ll be watching you.”
Dag and Roggi walked through the gate into the city. She waited until the doors closed before turning to him. “Nicely done! Dragons about, though?” she said. “I thought that was just an old legend, like all the others.”
“I have no idea,” he said, chuckling. “Superstitious nonsense. Those old mounds that are supposed to be dragon burials? There’s one near Kynesgrove. Kjeld always says ‘It hasn’t moved since Ysgramor’s time and it’s not going to start now,’ and I agree with him. Those guards do seem awfully antsy, though.”