Dagnell’s eyes creaked open just a crack. A sound had brought her to consciousness, a quiet, irregular dripping that was impossible to sleep through once you’d heard it. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. The light filtering in from above told her that it was day, but it was coming from straight overhead, not at an angle as through a window. Then she inhaled. The odor of stagnant water told her that she must be in the Cistern. She heard footsteps, then, people rustling about very quietly. It must be early.
She rolled over and silently cursed herself for being a fool. The club to the head from a bandit had felt only a little worse than what was going on in her skull at the moment, and her stomach was complaining bitterly about what she’d done to it the previous night. Ignored your own limits again, didn’t you? her ever-present companion told her. Yes, and I know better, she replied silently. She tried to remember what had happened, and came up short. After “bribe Gulum-Ei” there was nothing at all. With any luck she hadn’t done anything too conspicuously stupid, gotten maudlin in her mead, or sick on someone’s boots.
Well at least, she thought, I remember what I’m supposed to do next, even if I don’t remember what I did. Gods help me, what a stupid thing that was. My head hurts. It matches my mood, she thought as her brain replayed watching Roggi walk away from her. If she’d only been able to open her mouth and tell him the words she’d been thinking. If only… but she was used to “if only.” She’d had a lifetime of “if only,” starting with “if only Da had gotten to a weapon quicker…” Still, it hurt. It might have been something really special with Roggi, something that would have lasted for years. Or a lifetime, even. Now she would never know. She pried her eyes open the rest of the way and then caught her breath, completely confused.
Brynjolf was sitting on the floor beside the bed, leaning up against a cabinet, eyes closed, his arms crossed atop his knees, his breathing regular but quiet. She watched him for a moment, trying to sort out what was going on. It was one of the least comfortable sleeping positions she’d ever seen; that floor was very hard. Why in the world had he not gone to bed when things wound down for the night?
Unless, it slowly occurred to her with a sense of exquisite dismay, she was in that bed? She lay there for a moment not wanting to move, focusing on the scent of the pillow she was on, and realized that no, it didn’t just smell like unused, musty bedding; it did rather smell of, well, man. She must have just flopped down on the nearest bed and it happened to be his. She had no recollection of it. How completely, utterly embarrassing.
She pushed herself up, slowly, quietly, and closed her eyes again as her head commenced to pound. A few moments of sitting quietly, though, reassured her that her stomach wasn’t going to rebel after all. Well, it could have been worse. She’d be all right once she got going. And if she wasn’t, it was her own fault.
“So you’re awake, lass.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.
She peeled one eye open to find Brynjolf looking her over. Either he slept very lightly or he hadn’t ever been asleep. “Yeah, I think so. Um… I’m sorry. I get the feeling that I ended up on your bed.”
He smirked. “Yes,” he said very quietly, “and now we’ll have fresh tales about how I bedded the new recruit. Happens every time. I’m a real wonder, if you listen to the lads.” He yawned and stretched, wincing as his back cracked. “You would think I might remember such a thing.”
Dag was certain she must be as red as Balimund’s forge.
“I suppose I need to get out of here.”
He stood and stretched again. “Yes. Mercer is fit to be tied.”
Dag sighed, and tried but failed to meet Brynjolf’s eyes. “I’m really sorry about last night. I made a mess of myself.”
He shrugged. “Eh. It’s all right. We’ve all been there.” He made a vague waving motion toward his nose. Apparently its unique shape was the souvenir of a bender. It was, after all, fairly obvious that he had a temper. She vaguely remembered him saying something about things going “sideways.” She didn’t need to hear the story, but the idea was still amusing. Or it would have been, if her head hadn’t still felt like it was inside a barrel being beaten with steel swords.
“Just get going now. Good luck in Solitude, lass. Keep Gulum-Ei alive, but remind him who we are. Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” He turned and headed out toward the Flagon, rotating his shoulders as he did so, stretching them out. Lass, Dag thought. I guess he’s still suffering from his affliction. He’ll never remember my name. Looking down at her feet, she realized that her boots were off; someone had removed them for her the previous night and placed them at the foot of the bed. Huh. Well, she was pretty sure they hadn’t all “been there,” to that place she’d been in the last several days, but at least they’d treated her with a fair amount of compassion.
Eyes open, and walk with the shadows. Such an odd phrase, and yet somehow appropriate, she thought as she pulled her boots on. She started toward the Flagon, looking around at the alcoves, and then stopped as something dawned on her. There were extra beds there. They’d told her about them, even shown her the empty ones. Dag looked around for Brynjolf, but he’d disappeared.
Huh.
Before she left the Guild, Dag spoke to both Vex and Delvin about extra work. Vex told her to plant a beautiful, stolen ruby in a home in Whiterun. Delvin tasked her with stealing 500 septims’ worth of goods in Windhelm, to show the locals the Guild was still around and not to be trifled with. She was hoping to do those jobs along with the trip to Solitude, somehow. Both jobs had nice price tags attached, and she could keep any goods she stole from Windhelm. That house here in Riften might actually be within reach fairly soon, at this rate. It made no sense, but the idea of it was beginning to appeal to her. She could always sell it later, if she changed her mind.
She stopped in at the Bee and Barb to pick up the plainest breakfast of bread and cheese that she could get, and looked at her map. The obvious route to Solitude was north to Windhelm and then west. But that would take her by Kynesgrove, and she just couldn’t bear the thought. Not now. Not for awhile. Not even if she skirted the town by going up into the forests above it. She decided to avoid the roads as much as she could, and just head northwest, overland, making a first stop in Whiterun.
As she was leaving, the mage mercenary sitting in his usual spot by the door tapped her on the arm.
“Name’s Marcurio,” he said. “I don’t mean to be forward, but are you feeling better this morning? You looked a bit under the weather yesterday.”
Dag grinned. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose,” she said. “Thanks for asking. I’ll be fine.” Eventually. Some day.
“All right, that’s good,” Marcurio said, nodding. “I see you’re looking at a map. I’m still available if you need some backup.”
Dag considered it for a second or two. “Thanks, but no,” she said, smiling. “I need to make this trip alone.” For all sorts of reasons, she thought.
“All right, then. Be careful out there.”
Yes, she thought. He’s still a handsome thing. And I’m still not interested.
It was actually easier to make good time alone and overland than with a companion on the road, she decided as she climbed the hills just to the west of Shor’s Stone. Jogging along in the fresh air was helping blow the cobwebs out of her head. It was clear and sunny, and the beautiful scenery was calming. The climb worked her muscles and focused her mind, as well. She listened for animals, and heard mostly birds. Surprisingly, very few wolves or creatures of any sort approached her, and those that did were easily taken care of.
It felt like old times, the times wandering about in Hammerfell on her own, not needing to worry about what anyone else did or thought, shaking off sadness through physical exertion. It felt good to be in the light, instead of in the dank Cistern. She would be at the escarpment soon; then she would find out how good her climbing skills were. Hopefully, she thought, I can get down it without breaking my neck. That would really have Mercer fit to be tied, to find out that his new errand girl wouldn’t be doing his errand.
Dag heard an odd noise ahead of her somewhere; a strange, almost hollow sound that at first made her think of thunder, that echoed like thunder, but wasn’t, quite. It was like the scream of a hawk, but not, quite; it was a broader and deeper and harsher sound that reverberated through the valley and bounced off the mountaintops. It was at some distance, but as she continued on her way over the next half hour or so it happened again several times, growing louder and louder. She had never heard anything like it, and the louder it got, the more unsettling it was.
Dag was almost at the edge of the cliffs when the sound happened again, nearby, and was followed by an enormous boom that shook the ground, sending her heart pounding in a sudden fit of sheer terror. It took all her self-control not to simply bolt; but she didn’t want to become the running rabbit to some great hawk. She dropped into a crouch and pulled her bow, then crept out of the trees just far enough to get a view of the area.
And she nearly fainted.
There was what had obviously been a mining camp a few hundred feet ahead of and below her. Smoke rose from the partially-collapsed bones of three cabins. There was what appeared to be a curved stone wall at the southern edge of the camp. But what was on top of the wall was the thing that nearly froze her solid.
It was a dragon.
There was no doubt that it was a dragon. It had a long, snake-like neck with a blocky head covered with spikes. Its body was brownish-green, and huge, scaled, beautiful but terrifying, as massive as two or three mammoths together, ending in a tail as long as its neck. The wickedest talons she’d ever seen grasped the top of the stone wall. But what was most impressive was the pair of enormous, folded wings; even closed they spanned more than half the wall.
Dardeh had been telling the truth.
She didn’t dare move.
“You’ll probably hear one of those bastards before you see him. And if you do, find some good solid shelter,” Dardeh had told them. She had no shelter but the trees behind her, and those had been thinning out as she had approached the edge of the escarpment. So she backed, slowly, agonizingly slowly, toward that little bit of cover, praying to any gods who might be paying attention to keep her movements quiet.
Suddenly, in a riot of motion and sound the likes of which Dag had never experienced, the dragon launched itself from the wall, its enormous wings setting leaves and dust flying as it worked to gain altitude. It circled overhead once, close enough that Dag could see at least the first two of its gigantic fangs. She had joked to herself about getting eaten by one of Dardeh’s dragons, but the proximity of that event had her trembling in her boots. She wished for a brief moment that she’d brought Marcurio with her after all; she had no idea what kind of magicks he knew but anything would have been more useful than what she had at hand.
Then the beast screamed and flew away to the north. The hollow noise repeated at odd intervals, growing fainter, until finally she couldn’t hear it any longer.
Dag tucked her bow away and ran as hard as she could toward the northwest, finding the quickest route she could down the side of the escarpment. She kept running until she was on the hills just above the western edge of the volcanic tundra. There, she made a rough camp under a rocky overhang, and sat, trembling, still not quite able to believe what she had seen. She felt very small, and very alone.
She hoped that Dardeh, wherever he was, really did know how to kill a dragon, because she surely didn’t.