Dagnell walked toward Balimund, smiling. She was just shy of amazed at the amount of coin she had amassed in only a couple of days. As much as she hated to admit it, Brynjolf had been right about there being plenty of it for the taking. While she had eaten breakfast, she had pondered slipping out of town to the south. She had then thought better of it. First, Maven probably had connections who could find her even in Cyrodiil, big nasty connections like Maul, or even the Guild for that matter, to say nothing of the Dark Brotherhood. But second, a little avaricious corner of her mind wanted to see whether or not she could line her pockets even more. Huh, she thought. Maybe he was more right about me than I realized.
Balimund smiled at her as she approached. “What have you got for sale, Balimund?” she asked. “I’m headed out of town and need another blade.”
“Well,” he said, pulling a crate of blades out where she could look through it, “it’s all good steel. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it’ll deal some damage.” She bought another steel sword from him and sharpened it up.
Grelka was happy to sell her some healing potions and a couple of lockpicks. She had some nice leather armor for sale, some plain, some studded, but Dag passed on it in favor of what she was already wearing. Even so, Grelka gave her a smile rather than a chewing out, and Dag would take that as a good sign.
She headed out the north gate and peered at the rough map Roggi had given her. The cave, she had learned, was called Cronvangr; it was over the border into Eastmarch Hold, southwest of Kynesgrove, near the river. It was going to be a long walk; but at least it wasn’t raining. Or snowing, at least not here. All she had to deal with was the constant interruptions by hungry wolves; but she had a lifetime of practice using two swords simultaneously, with a whirling move that could take down most normal enemies. None of the wolves was much of a problem.
That night she hunkered down in a sheltered spot to rest. One might have thought it would be easier to walk down the mountains than up. One would have been wrong. The fronts of her legs burned like fire, and were going to be desperately sore later. It was too bad the carriage driver in Riften hadn’t been willing to make a stop in Shor’s Stone; she would happily have parted with a few of her hard-earned coins for a lift north.
Midmorning of the next day found Dag approaching the opening of a cave that seemed to be in the right spot to be Cronvangr. She looked around in dismay. There were a number of enormous spider egg sacs clinging to the rocks outside the entrance, which didn’t bode well for what she was going to find inside. This is definitely a place where someone could meet a bad end, she thought. At least I have a stronger bow this time. She readied it, and crept into the cave.
There were definitely some signs that people had been here at some point; some old lanterns and a brazier or two were placed along the passageway, nearly obscured by thick cobwebs. It didn’t take long before she ran into spiders like those in Redbelly Mine. Instead of there being only a few, though, the place was crawling with them; and they were all on high alert the moment she got close enough. Her improved bow made short work of most of them, though, and while she managed to avoid getting splashed with venom she was grateful not to be in any close-up combat with them.
She probably killed two dozen spiders on her way down to the bottom of the cave. There was a pool of foul-smelling water there, in which floated several web-wrapped skeever carcasses and other things she couldn’t identify and didn’t feel like investigating further. Another passage branched off to the right. Not far down it, Dag ran into two spiders that were equal in size to the big one she’d killed in Redbelly; but by backing up into the passageway she was able to take them out with a few arrows each.
The far end of the tunnel opened up into a large cave. People had definitely been here at some point. The skeletons of large predators lined the walls; there was even the skull from a small mammoth, probably a juvenile. There were no obvious containers that she could see, though. Ugh, she thought. I may have to search inside these godsforsaken egg sacs to find that shield, if it even is in here. Sighing, she took a deep breath, held her nose, and prepared to reach into the closest one. A sound behind her made her turn to look.
The matron spider descending from the ceiling on a rope-sized strand of its own silk made the one from Redbelly Mine look like a baby. It was simply the largest beast she’d ever seen in a cave, at least the size of an adult mammoth’s head. And it was angry. Its fangs were the equal of a saber cat’s, maybe larger. One bite from them and Dag was a dead woman.
Alarmed, she ran back to the tunnel and turned to fit an arrow to her bowstring, slamming it into the beast. She prayed it wouldn’t fit down the narrow opening. That was what saved her; the spider was in fact too big to leave her lair. But there was no room to dodge its venom. Even as Dag fired the fourth or fifth arrow she got hit full in the face with freezing, stinking poison.
Her eyes blurred, nearly blinded, and she cried out in pain and nausea. Hoping beyond hope that her arrows were coming anywhere near the spider, she kept firing with stiffened, frozen hands, fighting not to fall to the floor in agony. She had some healing potions, but didn’t dare put aside her weapon long enough to use one; the matron had to be put down. Finally, just as she feared her stomach was going to empty itself, her vision cleared enough to aim directly at the spider’s brain and sink one last arrow into it. It shuddered and slumped to the floor, looking like nothing so much as a pincushion for all the arrows she’d put into it.
Dag dropped to her hands and knees and heaved, her stomach finally rebelling. Once it was empty, she wrestled a healing potion out of a pouch with shaking hands, and downed it. Its warmth spread through her body and, after a few moments, she was able to get her still-wobbly legs back under her.
“By the Eight that was awful,” she muttered, walking back out into the cavern. She stopped to admire the matron spider’s carcass. It was every bit as tall as she was and made at least five of her in mass. “No wonder Lenne died in here, if the spiders grow this big.”
Dag pushed around the dead spider and toward the back of the cave. At the farthest point from where she had entered, she spotted something that looked wooden, mostly covered with webs. Pulling them away, her nose wrinkled in distaste, Dag found an old chest, so rotted that its lid nearly fell apart as she raised it. Inside were some jewels, a fair amount of iron ore, and an old iron shield so enshrouded in dust that she coughed for several minutes after blowing it off. Dag pulled the torn page from her pocket and looked at it, then compared it to the front of the shield, smiling as she realized that the pattern he had drawn was nearly identical to the one on the front of the piece she was holding.
Roggi Knot-Beard’s ancestral shield.
The trip back out of the cave and up to the old cobble roadway seemed easier than any walk she’d ever taken.
It was late afternoon by the time Dag walked into the Braidwood Inn and smiled at Iddra. “Hey there,” Iddra smiled back. “You’re looking well. What can I get for you?”
“I would love a couple bottles of mead, Iddra. One for me and one for Roggi. Is he around?” she said, grinning, sliding out some coin and handing it to the innkeeper.
“Yes, he’s up at the mine still. If you hurry you can catch him before he leaves for the day.”
“I will. Oh, and wait. Here’s the other half of that room you rented me before. I want you to have it.” She pulled out a few extra septims and put them firmly into Iddra’s palm. “No arguments. You really saved my hide that night.”
“Well you didn’t need to, but thank you,” Iddra said, pocketing the coins. “Gods know I can always use the money.”
Dag trotted up the path to Steamscorch Mine, grinning to herself. The guards looked at her strangely. Never saw a woman smile, boys? she thought, and headed inside and down the slopes of the mine. She heard Roggi before she saw him.
“How’s the mine been today, Dravynea?”
“Not bad,” the dark Dunmer voice replied. “Be careful around the obvious scorchers.”
Roggi chuckled. “As usual. I’ve always got an eye on the rocks.”
Dag turned the corner of the mine and passed Dravynea, who gave her a curious look but said nothing. “Hey Roggi!” Dag called, spotting him working a malachite vein. He turned, looked at her, and broke into a brilliant smile.
“Well! Look who it is!” he boomed, dropping his pickaxe. “Good to see you again!”
“I brought you something,” Dag said, grinning, handing him one of the bottles of mead. “It’s almost quitting time. Share a drink with me?”
“Any time, my friend,” he said, smiling, cracking open the mead and taking a swallow. “It’s dry work down here.”
She couldn’t help smiling. His sunny disposition was a welcome change from all the distrust and snarling in Riften. “I’ve got something else for you, too, Roggi.” She pulled the shield out from behind her back and passed it to him.
Roggi put down his mead and took it in both hands, staring, then looked back up at her with enormous blue eyes. “My family’s shield!” he said, his voice catching. “You found it!”
“Sure did.” This is great, Dag thought. Just look at him. He’s so happy to have this dusty old thing again. It really means something to him.
“So it was all true,” he said in awe, staring again at the shield. “Lenne really did go into that cave and get eaten by monsters.”
“Monstrous spiders. Those things were huge. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Roggi slipped the shield onto his arm and blocked with it a few times. It could have been carved from the finest ebony, the way he acted. “I don’t even know what to say,” he murmured, then smiled at her. “Thank you. Here, let me show you a few techniques.”
Before Dag could protest, he was behind her, sliding the shield onto her left arm and guiding her through the motions by holding her arms, radiating warmth and smelling of clean sweat and mead. She was surprised at how natural he was at it; hadn’t expected a miner to have any real battle skills. Shield work was not something she ever used, but it didn’t hurt to learn something new. She practiced for a bit, Roggi murmuring encouragement and adjusting her stance as needed. She had to admit, it felt good to have a bit of physical contact that wasn’t an attempt on her life.
“There,” he said, pulling away to smile at her again and reaching for his mead. “Maybe that will help the next time you find spiders.”
“It might, indeed,” she said, handing the shield back to him. I wish I’d known how to do that when I first got here and only had one sword.”
They walked back up toward the mine entrance, stopping at the table where he’d been when she met him, then both sat down to finish their drinks.
He looked at the shield again and smiled. “If you should be leaving town, let me know. Having this back makes me want to do some travelling again, get out of the mine for awhile. Especially,” he said, grinning, “if you’re heading toward Riften.”
Dag laughed. “Well, as it happens, I’ve just come from there. I picked up a job, and I have to go to Whiterun to do it and then back to Riften.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re travelling in exactly the wrong direction, then,” he said.
She snickered. “Yeah, I know. I was kind of hoping you might be willing to come with me. I don’t know the roads, I don’t know Whiterun, and I haven’t met many people in Skyrim, you know? How about it? I’ll split my pay with you.”
“You’re on,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “It’ll be good to see the world again.”
“Ok then. Do you have gear?”
Roggi frowned at the table, flushing visibly. “Um, no. I sold what I had a while ago.”
Dag nodded. To pay his tab at the inn, no doubt. “Not a problem. I made a fair amount of coin since I saw you last. Maybe we should head up to Windhelm first and get you set up. I can’t afford steel plate or anything but I don’t want you just wandering around in light clothes. You’ll freeze to death.”
“I don’t need charity,” he grumbled, frowning.
“Don’t you dare start in on that. I don’t want to have to beat you up again. I’ve been practicing.”
Roggi laughed, the clouds vanishing from his face. “Well all right. I won’t freeze, anyway. I’m a Nord. And I like light armor.” He took a drink and then said, almost shyly, not meeting her eyes, “Look, you can stay at my place tonight if you want. It’s not much; the clan’s old house, and there’s not much left in it, but it’s warm. And free. I’ll grab a bedroll and take the floor.”
Dag pondered for a moment, enjoying the smile on his face. The notion was actually tempting, but, she thought, the small voice in the back of her head snickering, not necessarily because of the coin. “That’s ok, Roggi,” she said finally. “We don’t want people to talk. It’ll be bad enough when you leave with me.” She grinned.
Roggi chortled. “You’re right. All right then. At least come get a meal with me. We’ll leave in the morning.”
They headed back up to the inn and did just that. Roggi spoke to Kjeld, Iddra’s husband and owner of the mine. Kjeld looked over at Dag, raised his eyebrows, and elbowed Roggi in the ribs when he thought she wasn’t looking. She heard Roggi laugh even as he shook his head; a fine sound indeed.
Dag slept like a rock that night, in the same room she’d had her first night at the inn.