It was nearly sunset by the time Dardeh reached the base of the mountain and walked into Ivarstead. Klimmek was standing outside near the inn, talking to Gwilin, a cheerful Bosmer man who worked in the lumber mill that was Ivarstead’s primary business. Klimmek was pleased to know the supplies had been safely delivered; he thanked Dardeh heartily, smiled, and gave him a sack of coin. “My legs aren’t what they used to be. You saved me a lot of trouble. Take it,” he said, and turned to walk away.
“All right, and thank…”
A fireball hit the ground just in front of them. Dardeh pushed Klimmek out of the way and rolled. Gwilin ran, evaporating into who knew where. Klimmek bolted for the corner of the nearest building; and Dardeh stood, slamming on his helmet, just in time to watch the town guards start firing at the assailants. One of the guards howled in pain as a fireball grazed him. One of the attackers was looking around, scanning the area; and when he spotted Dardeh he started running toward him.
There were two of them, wearing strange brown robes and masks that looked vaguely like skulls of some horned animal, yelling about the “false Dragonborn” and shooting fire at everyone. Dardeh shot a glance at the roofs of Ivarstead’s buildings. All thatch, and the buildings are wood, he thought. If they hit one of them there will be nothing left of it. He drew his swords and ran forward, ducking the flames, and started swinging at the first of the attackers while the guards continued shooting the other.
The man began gathering flames in his hand, ready to fire at Dardeh again. Oh, no you don’t, he thought; this has to stop.
“FUS-RO!”
The man fell, landing on his back a dozen feet down the road. Dardeh rushed forward and finished him off with his swords, the final blow a backhanded slash from his right scimitar that severed the man’s head. Dardeh watched, stunned, for what felt like an eternity but was likely just a few seconds, as the head rolled downhill toward the river. He shuddered. I can’t believe I just did that.
The second assailant was falling, clutching the arrow in his throat, as Dardeh looked up. Thank the gods for the guards, he thought. I don’t think I could have taken them both.
There was a note on the body before him. These people had been ordered to travel from Solstheim to Windhelm, specifically to hunt down the Dragonborn. Miraak would be pleased.
“How do they even know about me? Or what I am?” he muttered. “I just barely found out myself.” He stood, and dropped the note on the ground. Could they have heard the Graybeards’ summons all the way out in Solstheim? It had to be. So they knew there was a Dragonborn, if not what person it was.
So I’m to be some sort of target now because I can Shout a word in dragon tongue. Just as though I made some sort of decision to do that. Very good, I needed something extra to worry about. At least these two are dead and can’t tell anyone else what I look like.
By the Nine, all I want to do is find my sister and go back to mining. Could I please just do that? Have I done something bad, that the gods are punishing me, and that’s why my life isn’t my own anymore? Ever since I came back across the border into Skyrim…
I don’t know what this is, he thought. But right now it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I should stay here overnight in case there are more of them coming. I’ll leave and draw them away. He looked down at the body again, feeling a bit sick. I seem to be getting better with practice. Maybe I should just go back to the mine. I’m surely not going to Solstheim.
He sighed and shook his head. I can’t do that. They’re expecting me, back up at High Hrothgar, and I told them I would do this thing. I’m going to head out to Whiterun and then I’ll go get this horn.
The southern route around the mountain back toward Helgen wound through a cold, high, narrow pass. The moons were out, close enough to full to light his way through the cliffs, and he made good time.
About halfway up the rise, he met a farmer and his wife trudging toward Ivarstead, heads down, silent, looking cold in their thin garments. The man looked up and met Dardeh’s eyes.
“There are dragons about, traveler,” he said, his voice quavering. “Be careful.”
“I know. I was at Helgen.”
The man swallowed hard. “It destroyed everything. We barely have enough gold to get by.” He looked at his wife, even the dark not able to disguise the distress on his face.
He’s ashamed, Dardeh thought. Look at him, he’s lost everything through no fault of his own and he can’t take care of his wife any longer. And he’s ashamed of that.
Dardeh reached into his purse and pulled out a few gold coins. “Here,” he said, sliding them into the man’s hand. “It’s not much, but if you can make it to Ivarstead it will get you a warm bed.”
The man nodded. “Thank you, stranger. Keep an eye on the sky and keep safe.”
Dardeh watched their retreating forms for a few moments, then turned and trudged onward toward Helgen. Is this what the dragons mean? Will everyone lose their homes?
Am I supposed to fix this? By myself?
It was mid-afternoon by the time he reached Whiterun and stepped through the gates. He needed directions, he needed supplies, and he needed a few quiet moments with a tankard of mead, in which to ponder everything that was going on. It was busy; the blacksmith was having a lively conversation with a man in Imperial armor, and the two Alik’r he had seen earlier were still hanging about just inside the gate. One of them stepped up to Dardeh.
“You there. We’re looking for someone, and have reason to believe she’s in Whiterun. She’s a Redguard, like us, a fugitive from Hammerfell, and we’re willing to pay for information on her whereabouts.”
Dardeh peered at him. “Why are you looking for her?” And why aren’t you doing it yourself? The city is right in front of you. And, he thought, thinking of the Alik’r he’d seen in Hammerfell, are you just normal fighters or are you assassins?
“That’s none of your concern. All you need to know is that we are paying well. If you’re not interested, simply walk away; we will find someone who is. We are not welcome here, so we will be in Rorikstead. If you learn anything, come find us there.”
They turned and walked out the gate, and Dardeh stared. A Redguard woman, is it? he thought. There’s one right here. I don’t like it. This just really doesn’t feel right. Is she a fugitive because she did something wrong, or a “fugitive” like I was a “prisoner” at Helgen, just in the wrong place at the wrong time?
He made his way to the Bannered Mare and sat down to rest his feet. As he had expected, Saadia scurried to his table to take his order.
He lowered his voice, “did you know that there are some Alik’r bounty hunters looking for a Redguard woman?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you sure? Oh no. They’ve found me? I need your help, please. Come with me, I need to speak to you privately.” She tugged on his hand. “Please.”
Dardeh stood and followed her across the inn and up the stairs, to a small room across from the one he had rented for Lucia. As soon as he stepped through the doorway, Saadia turned on him, pulling a knife.
“Whoa there!” he said, putting his hands up. “Don’t wave that thing around, you might hurt someone.”
“Are you working with them? What did they offer you, gold? So much as try to lay a hand on me and you’ll lose fingers, do you understand?” She looked wild-eyed, frightened, but determined.
“Calm down. I’m not working with anyone, or I’d have taken you the other night.” Her eyes flickered, recognizing the truth of that statement. “Is this why you were acting so oddly when I told you I was looking for a Redguard woman?”
She nodded. “When you asked me if Saadia was my real name I nearly died. My real name is Iman. I am a noble of House Suda in Hammerfell. Those men are assassins, employed by the Aldmeri Dominion. I spoke out against the Empire, and they’ve been after me ever since. Treason, they say. Please, can you help me? They’re led by a man named Kematu. If you get rid of him, the rest will scatter. I don’t have anyone else I can trust, Dardeh. Please.”
Dardeh looked at her face. She’s clearly telling me true this time. And she’s afraid, but she’s strong. She’s just not in a position to do anything about this herself. Treason, is it? That’s serious and I could get myself into a real mess if I get involved. He sighed. Ma would scoot her into the house and help her. I know she would. She wouldn’t even ask questions. I don’t know why she trusts me. She just met me. But I can’t just walk away.
“I’ll see what I can do. You need to stay put, though; the men who talked to me are heading to Rorikstead and I’m sure they’ll find you if you leave Whiterun.”
After he had eaten and resupplied Dardeh made camp outside Whiterun, and sat by the fire, contemplating his next move. One of the Alik’r had been captured, and imprisoned in Whiterun, and Dardeh had gotten Kematu’s location from him. But Kematu was hardly alone. He had a good number of tough Alik’r fighters with him.
I can’t just abandon Saadia like that, he thought. I can’t take them all on by myself, either. One or two, maybe. It was ridiculous. He could fight a dragon, but not common bandits? No, they aren’t common, you fool, he scolded himself. They’re Alik’r and they’ve spent their lives learning how to do what you’ve just barely practiced. A Shout is handy, but you can hide from a dragon in places it can’t go. An Alik’r can follow you, at much closer range. You have to get Kematu out in the open, by himself.
Dardeh packed up and left for Ustengrav the next morning, having gotten very little sleep. He’d spent most of the night working out a plan that might possibly work. Why is it, he had wondered, that I feel compelled to take care of this? She’s a kinsman – sort of. She helped me with Lucia. That was kind. But I’m not obligated, or anything. It’s not as though she turned out to be my sister.
However, he thought as he trudged his way up through a pass north of Whiterun into the cold and the snow, I really am tired of hearing people tell us who we can worship, what we can say, and what we can think. And killing us if we don’t agree. And assuming that waving a few coins in front of someone’s nose is the way to get anything you want. I don’t know whether Saadia – Iman – really did something that’s treasonous or not. I don’t think I care. These people, the ones who think they are better than the rest of us. They need to leave us alone.
He laughed at himself. I sound like I belong with the Stormcloaks. ‘Skyrim belongs to the Nords!’ He shook his head. “Not a chance.”
Off in the distance, to his left, he heard the hollow sound of a dragon roaring. He stared into the sky for a long while, but didn’t see anything that looked even remotely like a dragon.
“Nah. Skyrim belongs to whoever manages to survive all of this,” he muttered to himself. “And it looks like I’m going to have to do a lot of the work to make it happen.” He started climbing again.
Why me?