Frina shook her head as she approached Rorikstead, for it sounded like there was a battle going on somewhere ahead of her. A couple of days ago it had seemed a good idea to take the more southern route west from Windhelm to avoid the frostbite spiders and trolls. Instead, she’d had no end of wolves, saber cats, and the random patrols of Imperial stragglers to contend with, particularly in Whiterun Hold. There were more and more of those the closer she got to the Hold’s western boundaries; and now, looking ahead of her, she could see that Rorikstead’s extreme western position had made it a target for those troops that fled Whiterun after the great battle, looking for a place to mass. Ulfric was undoubtedly right about there being troops in Fort Sungard; but they might just as easily have been from here as from Falkreath.
Frina pulled out her weapons and accelerated toward the skirmish. There were two children running down the road as she neared the town and she called out to them, urging them to take cover; then she ran at speed into the midst of the fighting. The skirmish was just south of the main part of Rorikstead, outside a small farm building, but the Imperials were fighting as if they were defending Solitude itself. The Stormcloaks were outnumbered by a few heads when she took down the first Imperial she met, from behind, with a blow that buried the spikes of her war pick deep into his chest.
Briinda wouldn’t have approved of that kill, attacking him from behind like that. I should circle around in front of my enemy so as to be more honora….
“You call yourself a warrior?” a man with a Colovian accent screeched at her. She looked up just in time to block his blow with her axe. The force of it ran up her arm and into her shoulder, forcing her down onto one knee, and she ached; but she was able to free her pick from the first man’s chest just barely in time to sweep it around in front and take her attacker’s feet out from under him. As his back hit the ground, the air rushing from his lungs in a great whomp, she scrambled upright and finished him the same way she’d killed the first man but from the front.
I do. I call myself a warrior. And I call you dead.
Her joining the fight had made a difference, it seemed. It took only a few more moments before it was once again quiet. She counted just one body in a Stormcloak cuirass but seven or eight Imperials down. A drop of water caught her on the cheek; looking up she could see the overcast that had threatened all day was going to turn to a steady, soaking rain. Nobody would need to be concerned about removing blood stains from the yard.
“Bone-Breaker,” one of the soldiers said as he passed by, nodding at her. She smiled, and nodded back at him.
Bone-Breaker! I guess that’s me. Whoever would have thought it? I wish Briinda could be with me. There are eight fewer soldiers for Tullius to command, and it’ll take him ages to get them replaced. We did well.
She took one last look around and started north again.
North of Rorikstead the road branched toward the west. She turned that way, staying just off the road itself, up along the rocky ridges through which it wound. It was a cold rain that fell, not the type of weather she would have preferred to run in; but it seemed to be keeping enemies off the road, so she simply turned her thoughts to other things.
It was hard not to think about other things when she was working for Ulfric, taking down Imperials on his behalf. Every time she struck someone in that red and brown uniform she was taken back to that horrible afternoon. They’d been a day behind Briinda and Roggi and his clan, on their way to Riften from the west rather than from the north, when the courier had stopped them with the news. Frina had been young enough that it hadn’t sunk in right away, the fact that her sister was dead. For years, in fact, she’d expected at any moment to hear that bright voice singing as she walked up the path to their house. But she would never forget the horrible sound their mother had made, dropping to her knees in the middle of the road, or their father’s fruitless efforts to comfort her while the tears had streamed down his face as well.
They never let me see her body. It’s probably just as well; I was just a child. They never let me see Roggi, either, after that. All they told me was that he was badly wounded and might not make it. Neither one of them was the same after that. I guess that’s why they took me to High Rock. They couldn’t bear staying here.
And all those years after we left Skyrim, all I could think about was coming back here, to help take it back for the Nords, because that’s what Briinda wanted to do. It wasn’t the Imperials who killed Briinda, but it was the Imperials she fought against. And so do I.
Frina stopped, crouching down behind a boulder to peer down the road ahead. There was a tower there, part of a partially-ruined old fortress nearly atop the road, and she could just make out movements. She’d been told about this place and warned that it might be occupied by Forsworn. She decided to skirt around a tall outcropping between her and the tower; it would be a bit of a climb, but the Stormcloak camp was just beyond it, on the banks of the river. As she approached, she began to hear the quartermaster working on some piece of equipment or other, his hammer beating out a distinctive welcome.
I wonder what Briinda thought about Ulfric. Obviously she knew him, and that’s a little surprising since she was with Roggi at the time. I wish I could ask her about him. Somehow I don’t feel comfortable asking Roggi. He’s so much different than the way I remember him, and I’m afraid to make him angry. I wonder what Ulfric thought about Briinda. Maybe I can ask him. I wonder if he’d tell me.
She scrambled over the last few boulders and dropped down onto the relatively flat area where Stormcloak tents had been pitched next to the noisy, rushing water. Horses snorted and stomped in a grassy area near the encampment. She could smell something savory being cooked around the fire. She hadn’t quite reached the camp when a raspy voice calling out orders drew her attention toward the largest of the tents; and as she neared its opening she saw a soldier nod to a familiar figure bent over a map of Skyrim.
“Galmar, sir,” she called out.
He looked up at her and grimaced. “The Empire would turn Skyrim into a puppet of the Dominion. I for one would not care to dance for the amusement of those foul elves.”
“Nor I,” she agreed. She’d passed a Thalmor patrol with a Nord prisoner on her way and had done well to keep herself from simply attacking them. But there had been only one of her and three of them, one of whom was clearly a mage; so she’d gritted her teeth and continued on. “Reporting in. What’s next?”
“Get over to Markarth,” Galmar said. “It’s bad. I told Ulfric to double our troops here but he didn’t, and they’ve reinstated the old Jarl and the damned Thalmor Justiciar without so much as a skirmish. We may not be able to take it back until we’ve secured the rest of Skyrim but we can surely cripple their ability to stand in our way.”
Frina frowned. No wonder Ulfric was angry with Dardeh. This hold was supposed to be his and even that basic part of the truce had not held.
“Rumor has it the Jarl’s steward, Raerek, is a faithful Talos worshipper, if not a true son of Skyrim – he still supports the Empire, after all. But, if confronted with proof of his belief, he might be “persuaded” to aid our cause, indirectly of course. Wouldn’t want to sully his reputation, would we?”
Frina couldn’t help but snicker at Galmar’s grin. He described the general layout of the keep and told her where the steward’s quarters were. Then his expression went serious once more.
“You’ll need to be careful with this one,” he continued. “The Jarl’s men won’t look kindly on you rummaging through the steward’s quarters.”
“I can handle it,” she said, sounding more brave than she felt. She turned back to the camp and sighed. It was still a good long trek to Markarth, and she was hungry. There was time to take a short break before continuing on – but only a short one.
—
“You’re trespassing here! You’d better clear out.”
Frina cringed. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll just … be on my way.”
It had been bad enough coming into the keep in the first place. There was a man yelling at a priest as she entered the place.
“Typical Imperial lies! First you take away Talos, now you’re trying to keep us from seeing our honored dead?”
She wanted to go to him, find out what the problem was, for this was clearly a man who felt as she did about the Empire. But this city leaned Imperial. The angry Nord was taking his chances yelling about Talos in front of the city guards; she didn’t need to do so herself. She was in enough trouble as it was just walking in.
The argument continued, though, drawing the guard’s attention away long enough for her to slip past and creep up the hallway toward the multiple stairways leading up to the Jarl’s throne area. She made her way to the right, and up the set of stairs deepest in shadow, farthest to the right – and very nearly ran headfirst into a group of three Thalmor pacing back and forth across the open landing. Her heart started racing even as her stomach turned.
Filthy Thalmor. I can’t believe I’m this close to them. I want to kill them. Bet that wouldn’t work out too well, though. Even for someone twice as strong as I am.
She darted back down the stairs and waited until the Thalmor had turned back toward the far side of the space, then rushed forward, around the corner and down the short hallway beyond it. A guard was patrolling there; she waited until he was out of sight and then proceeded into the side room Galmar had identified as the steward’s quarters. She saw nobody in the space, so she went up to the first closed door she saw and jiggled the handle. It was, not surprisingly, locked.
She had just broken the first lockpick when a voice behind her growled.
“You’ve committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What have you to say in your defense?”
Damn. That’s what I have to say. Damn it all. Thank Talos I’m not actually wearing a Stormcloak uniform or I’d be in prison at best and dead at worst.
“I’m – I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “Let me just pay the fine and I’ll go.”
“Smart woman,” the guard said, escorting her out of the keep. He dragged her to the entrance of the local mine, which doubled as the city’s prison; he looked through her pack, and made her pay him five septims for trespassing. She was shaking, as he left, both from fear and from anger at herself for having been caught.
Wanted me to feel intimidated, no doubt, by showing me the jail. Probably thinks he did a good job, too, given the way I looked. Well I’m going to prove him wrong. Somehow.
She turned around, slowly, looking at Markarth, trying to decide how to proceed, and walked slowly up the ramp that led toward the smith’s area. At the top of the ramp a sign swinging uphill and to her left caught her attention: an apothecary.
Frina slowly broke into a smile. There we go.
The old woman in the shop wore enough war paint to terrify the average person and more than some of the Forsworn she’d seen along the way. I’ll bet she’s more terrifying without the paint, Frina thought; they probably think she’s a witch.
Frina sold the woman some ingredients she had picked along the roads on her trip through Whiterun Hold, things that were not abundant in the Reach. In exchange for those and some gold, Frina received a potion of invisibility. It was a potent one, as well; it would easily shroud her long enough to slip inside the entryway to the Steward’s room and pick the lock.
“Now, you let me know if you ever need a cure. Or anything else,” she told Frina with a wink, in a voice that suggested she knew how to use those ingredients for any number of purposes, some of which might not be completely above-board. It would be good to keep that in mind.
On her second trip into the keep, Frina was very careful to time her movements around those of the guards and the Thalmor. Once the innermost guard had made his rounds and gone up the short staircase toward a room with a curiously scorched-looking entryway, she downed the invisibility potion and made for the locked door.
The steward had surprisingly little in his quarters for a man of such importance. There was food, and a few books. The dishes and ewers in the room were all of silver, but that wasn’t necessarily unusual in the home of silver mines. The furnishings were all rather ordinary, and so were the few pieces of clothing tucked into the drawers. Beneath them, though, at the very back of one of the drawers, Frina found what she sought: an amulet of Talos inscribed on the back with Raerek’s name.
Frina grasped the amulet tightly and darted from the room, not stopping when the guard yelled at her. Instead, she raced out onto the balcony, narrowly missing the Thalmor once again, and around the corner to the Jarl’s throne. After reassuring the formidable Redguard woman guarding the Jarl that she meant only to ask some questions, she stepped close to the older man sitting near the throne.
“Recognize this?” she whispered to him, opening her hand just enough to give him a clear view of the amulet.
Raerek was an old man, with gray hair and a faded complexion. He had clearly been in a position of power for many years, and had seen a great many precarious situations; for while he blinked rapidly a couple of times his face never changed expression. “Not here,” he whispered calmly, rising from his seat and heading back toward his chambers. “Follow me. Stay close and the guards won’t bother you.”
“You worship Talos. Why won’t you join our cause?” Frina asked him when they were safely in his room. The man’s eyebrows rose.
“Ah, I see. You’re one of Ulfric’s spies.” Raerek sighed. “Well. I can’t deny that the man is right about some things. But I’ve seen first-hand what Ulfric is capable of, given the chance. Suffice it to say he is no friend to Markarth, and no friend of mine.”
I wonder what that means. I know Ulfric was here many years ago. What did he do?
Frina listened to Raerek speak for a few more minutes and found herself feeling surprisingly sympathetic toward him. He didn’t necessarily want to be fighting Ulfric. He didn’t want war. His loyalties were strictly toward his nephew the Jarl and the city itself, and he and his family were trapped by the terms of the White-Gold Concordat, the oath they’d sworn to the Thalmor in exchange for peace. He knew that terrible things awaited him if she showed the amulet in her hand to anyone – especially if she showed it to the Thalmor.
For a moment she thought about what Roggi had told her, that the Thalmor had tortured Ulfric. Then the memory of the sounds she had heard rising up from the dungeon in Windhelm had a shudder running up her spine.
I won’t do that to you, old man.
“So what if we came to some kind of alternate agreement?” she asked as gently as she could manage.
A few minutes later Frina found herself dashing out the door of the keep with news for Galmar. A shipment of silver and weapons was making its slow way out of the city to Solitude, and if she hurried back to Galmar for reinforcements, she might be able to intercept it and cripple the Imperial war efforts.
—
“Is that so?” he said when she approached him back at the camp. “Good job. I knew you’d come back with something for me. It just so happens I’ve got some scouts along the road. Meet up with them and see if together you can’t overpower the caravan.”
“Yes, sir,” Frina said, turning to leave.
“Watch yourself out there,” Galmar said as she stepped out of the tent. She had to smile. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he actually liked me a bit.
“Will do.”
The scouts weren’t far away at all, as it turned out. It wasn’t long before Frina saw the small cluster of blue cloaks huddled under a tree at the side of the road. She moved slowly toward them and cleared her throat.
“Psst…”
One of the heads turned, and a familiar face peered out from under the overhanging branches of the tree. Ralof broke into a broad grin.
“Hey there! I was wondering if I’d run into you out here!” He gestured around him and smiled. “The Reach is a beautiful but dangerous place, eh? One false step, and…”
“Yeah, no thank you,” Frina said, looking around at the steep slopes. Not only were they steep, they were littered with loose stones. Ralof was right; it would be far too easy to fall and die in this place. “I’d just as soon not break any bones. Especially my head.”
Ralof laughed, and stepped closer to her. “And those Briarheart men. Have you seen them? That’s some evil magic right there.” He grinned at her again.
“Uh, no, I haven’t seen any of them. But I’ve heard of them. I think I’m glad I’ve not had the pleasure.”
Frina smiled at Ralof. It was hard not to. He was so obviously pleased to see her again, and was trying so hard to make conversation, that it almost made her wish they were just sitting around a campfire, or sharing drinks at an inn. But they weren’t; they were in a warzone and they had a job to do.
Apparently her thoughts showed on her face. Ralof’s smile didn’t dim, but he chuckled, and nodded, clearly realizing that it was time to get down to business.
“So what brings you? You have the look of purpose in your eyes.”
And he has a twinkle in his, Frina thought, hoping that she was wrong about that. Ralof was a handsome man, and friendly. “You could do worse,” Roggi had told her, and he was probably right; but every time she thought about it, she saw Ulfric in her mind. And Ralof, nice though he might be, just couldn’t compare.
“There’s an enemy wagon on the road to Solitude, Ralof. Full of silver and weapons. Galmar wants us to capture it.”
“Really. It just so happens we’ve been tracking a wagon for about a day now. So that’s what’s in there – coins and weapons. How do you know that?”
Frina thought about it for a moment and decided that no, she didn’t want to endanger Raerek. Ralof’s a good fellow as far as I can tell, but Raerek and I made a deal. He gave me the information I needed. I won’t compromise him unless it turns out that he was lying to me. “It doesn’t matter. We just need to get it for Galmar.”
Ralof’s smile did fade, this time. “Ah I see how it is. Fine. Keep your secrets.” He looked disappointed for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Well that wagon had a little… accident, and it’s stranded just up the road. We’re outnumbered, but I have a plan.”
It was a good plan, too, Frina thought as Ralof described it. They’d take down the sentry; then she would act as a distraction, drawing the rest of the Imperials into a barrage of arrows. She told him as much, and sighed in relief as he smiled at her praise. She didn’t want him upset with her for no good reason.
“But let’s wait until it’s darker. We might have a better chance of dropping the sentry undetected.”
“Good idea. Wait for my signal and we’ll move out.”
As it turned dark, they slunk down the road and to within range of the sentry. It reminded Frina of Broken Oar Grotto: dark, quiet, and with nearly stationary targets in range of her bow. Best of all, the sentry was backlit. He might as well have been calling out to them to shoot. It was too perfect not to attempt.
“Ralof!” Frina hissed at him. “I’m a really good shot. Let me try.” He nodded at her.
There was what felt like a very long wait between releasing the arrow and the moment the sentry fell silently to the ground. Frina blew out the breath she’d been holding and nocked another arrow.
“You infiltrate the camp,” Ralof whispered. “We’ll cover you from the ridge. Good luck!”
The Imperials had set up a tent and made a fire beside the broken-down wagon, and she had to shake her head at it. The fire was going to render them night-blind under the best of circumstances, at least for long enough to get some decent attacks in.
Infiltrate, my ass. I’m taking out at least one or two of these guys from a distance.
A lone soldier patrolled the road just outside the makeshift campsite. She waited until he paused. Perhaps he’d heard the rest of the Stormcloaks moving through the short brush. It didn’t matter; she fired a single arrow and waited for those long heartbeats once more until he dropped like a stone.
Frina could see Ralof and his men moving closer to the edge of the ridge, within a stone’s throw of the Imperials. She decided to try one more shot before she deliberately drew their attention. Circling downhill and around the front of the campsite she spotted one man sitting directly between her and the fire, the most perfectly silhouetted target she could have wished for. She grinned, drew her bow, and dropped the man. This time she could hear him cry out as the arrow struck him, and watched the remaining Imperials leap to their feet and begin peering out into what must have seemed the deepest black of night.
Ralof’s men dropped down into the camp from above, taking out several of the Imperials by surprise. Frina drew her other weapons and ran into the battle; but because she was light, and quiet, and because they had all been staring into the flames, they didn’t see her coming. One of the soldiers backed up directly into her attack; she frowned at having killed him from behind, but shook her head and moved forward, looking for another target. But she never found one.
It was all over in a matter of moments. They had thinned out the patrol enough from a distance that the mass attack settled the matter with each of them on a single target; and there were no Stormcloak losses, to boot. It took Frina a few moments to find Ralof, in the dark; but he was beaming at her when she did.
“What a team!” he said, looking more than satisfied with the outcome. “I’ll stay here and guard the shipment. You get back to camp with news. Have them send some men and a new wagon; this one isn’t going anywhere.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Ralof! That worked out really well.” She started to move back out to the roadway and then had a thought. She turned back and tapped him on the arm, earning herself a surprised glance.
“I think I killed more Imperials than you did, Ralof. I was keeping count.” She grinned at him.
Ralof tossed back his head and laughed. She waved and trotted back down the road to report to Galmar.
I do like Ralof. I like him a lot. I just don’t like him… like that.
Galmar was delighted with the news.
“Well done! I knew I could count on you. I’ll send men with a wagon to collect our prize. We’ll put the weapons to use here and send the coin back to Windhelm.” He stretched, and in that moment Frina found herself blurting out a question she’d had since she left Markarth.
“Galmar, Raerek said that Ulfric was no friend of Markarth. He said… oh, how did he put it? That he’d seen what Ulfric was capable of. Why would he say something like that? Isn’t Ulfric in the right, about all this?”
Galmar sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Some… no, many… say that Ulfric desires to be king and nothing more. Have they not seen that his anger floats on a sea of tears?”
That was no answer. But it tells me what I needed to know. Ulfric has greater reasons for what he’s doing than just his own personal ambition. That’s all I need to know.
He shook his head and frowned. “No matter. Get some rest, and then head out to Fort Sungard. Meet the brothers preparing to take back the fort, then join them in wiping out the Imperials. What do you say? Can you do this?”
Frina smiled at him. He truly cares about Ulfric. He truly cares about Skyrim. I’m with him all the way.
“Of course I can. Perhaps you should get some rest as well. Sir.”
Galmar chuckled as Frina stepped out into the camp. She stretched, and found herself yawning. Yes, she thought, making her way to one of the small tents with a bit of rough bedding laid down inside. I’m surrounded by my fellows. I like the sounds of camp. I can rest for a bit.
She’d barely had a chance to lay her head down before she was sound asleep.