“You think you stand a chance?” the conjurer snarled, casting flames into Frina’s face.
Frina ducked, wincing as she felt the fire’s heat on her cheeks. That was bad enough; but off in the distance, over the roar of the flame spell, she could hear a dragon’s roar increasing in volume as the beast flew closer to them.
Got to get out of sight!
She threw all of her weight against the woman and staggered her for a moment. That was all the time she needed to attack with both weapons – both freshly-sharpened weapons – and take the mage down. She wasted no time, simply turned and ran for the opening of the cave, healing her burns as she went.
I sure hope you appreciate this, Oengul.
She’d taken some smithing materials down to the Stone Quarter the morning after moving into her new apartment. If nothing else had existed to prove that she’d been in the Battle for Solitude the condition of her gear surely did. She’d been eager to borrow the smith’s grindstone to repair it.
“So you’re the castle blacksmith,” she’d said just to be friendly.
“Of course I am!” he snapped. “What do I look like, a tavern wench?” Oengul was largely bald, and what hair he had was gray. He most certainly didn’t look like any tavern wench Frina had ever encountered. She raised one eyebrow at him as she settled onto the grindstone’s seat.
“Ah, I’m sorry. Don’t let my words cut too deep. I’ve just been working the forge too hard trying to get this sword right for the Jarl.”
“Really?” Frina had asked as she started pedaling. “What’s special about that particular sword?”
“Well…” He scratched his head. “Nothing, yet. He wants it to look like High Queen Freydis’ sword. She ruled from here in the Second Era and the edge on that sword was legendary. Getting the real sword would be better than making a replica but, well, I’m not a warrior to get it from its resting place. It’s down to the southeast of Kynesgrove, best anyone knows. Place called Cragwallow Slope.”
Frina had nodded, and turned her attention to her own weapons, but she’d determined right there and then to get that sword for the smith. Help Windhelm, that’s what Ulfric had told her to do. And she intended to do so. The alternative was to consign herself to a life of sheer boredom or maybe serve drinks at Candlehearth Hall.
The bonus to getting the sword was that it was destined for Ulfric. She’d thought about that as she’d worked and listened to Hermir, his apprentice, gush about him over and over again. I think she wouldn’t be very happy if she knew what has gone on between me and the Jarl. But I surely understand how she feels.
And thus she had come south and east and into the mouth of a cave, just barely ahead of being spotted by a dragon that was patrolling the southern end of the volcanic tundra. She worked to slow her breathing, to get a sense of what was there.
It was clearly occupied; a large brazier stood at the end of the passage just before her, a mammoth skull suspended above it. She moved forward and turned right at the brazier, through the tunnel and toward a bubbling sound that was suspiciously familiar.
Alchemy station?
An opening to the left was full of ferns, and mushrooms, and illuminated by a large hole in the ceiling, obviously open to the sky. It also held another mage standing before the alchemy station she’d heard. Frina had just enough time to register all these things before the mage cast flame at her.
She backed up into the tunnel and readied her bow, then got off two shots by ducking in and out of the corner. She missed the first shot but landed the second, which staggered the woman. Frina was grateful that this mage didn’t have a very good aim; it gave her time to grab her melee weapons and move in close to take the woman down before she could begin casting again.
There was another passage leading away from the far wall, into a series of caves: narrow but very tall gaps between masses of rock. Some areas had light filtering in from far above; others were dark. The floor was covered with a surprising amount of plant life – ferns, grasses, and even a few small conifers – some of it tall enough to obscure her view forward; such was the case as she rounded a corner and nearly collided with another mage, wearing what looked like dwarven metal armor. She was able to dispatch the mage with a couple of quick bow shots, but not before the mage’s conjured flame atronach drifted into range and began tossing fireballs at her.
Frina turned tail and dashed back toward the cave system’s entrance, grabbing the wraith-summoning staff as she went. She could hear the voices of angry mages behind her, getting nearer by the moment. When she reached the crack in the rocks that opened onto Eastmarch she slipped outside, crouching low near the rocks just in case the dragon was still nearby.
It wasn’t. Frina caught her breath for a moment or two and then re-entered the cave.
A few moments later she took down the flame atronach, catching it by surprise with a well-placed arrow. As it exploded on the cavern floor, the angry voices of both male and female mages in passages beyond came nearer; so Frina ran back to the entrance once more.
Once it was quiet again she pushed back through the tunnels and found herself at the entrance to a room that might once have been set up as a study or a ritual chamber, but which had been severely damaged by the elements. Carved stone pillars that might have once held up the ceiling or provided support for walls sat at crazy angles or lay in broken segments on the floor, far below, in a pool of water. Short fences lined the path around the sunken center of the room, protecting anyone traveling through from falling. There were several bookcases resting unevenly along the walls and Frina could both see and smell moldy, ruined books on their shelves and floating in the pool beneath. There was another mage standing near the bookshelves.
Frina took a quick shot at him and did some damage but did not finish him; he cast a warding spell and moved out of her line of sight. Frina backed up into the tunnel a few paces, bow at the ready, and waited. It took only a few moments before another flame atronach appeared at the opening to the cavern, alongside the well-warded mage.
“The problem with your spell,” she said under her breath, “is that you make yourself very easy to spot. A very good target, I mean.” And with that she fired another arrow that flew into and through the mage’s spell and caught him squarely in the chest. Still he moved toward her, healing himself as he came.
“Don’t you see? I am master of the arcane!” he growled; then he began casting flame at her. Frina tsk’d and fired off one more shot at the man. Then she retreated back along the various tunnels once more and waited for things to quiet down. If they thought she had left, they would not be on their guard.
When she returned to the ruined cavern she found the flame atronach still patrolling, but on the far side of the room. It cast fireball after fireball at her but she used the low fencing to her advantage, ducking in and out of cover as she shot arrows at the creature. Finally, one of them pierced it and it fell, exploding shortly thereafter.
Frina circled the room and continued through the passage on its far side, following the light provided by braziers. The path eventually opened into a large chamber, this one containing the remains of what looked like a large structure. It reminded her of the guard towers dotting the landscape around Whiterun aside from the fact that it was built far into the mountain itself. She stopped for a moment to wonder why such a thing would exist and then squinted as motion caught her eye. Far across the open space was another flame atronach, and seated on the floor beside it a mage in heavy armor, wearing a helmet much like the one Dardeh used.
She aimed carefully and shot the atronach. It fell, and exploded; and Frina took a blind shot through the flames of the explosion at the mage. She heard a grunt as her arrow struck its target. The mage hadn’t been killed, though. He ran forward, casting an elemental armor spell on himself as he growled, “I’ll see you burn.”
Frina grabbed for her melee weapons and dashed forward, jumping down off the ledge into his path and swinging hard at him. To her dismay she heard a female voice off to her right somewhere yelling, “Over here!” The woman distracted her; but she also distracted the mage bearing down on Frina just long enough for her to strike a solid hit, pushing him backwards. Before he could recover, she unleashed a flurry of blows on him that took him down.
Frina looked to her right just as the elven conjurer who had been their distraction advanced on her and began casting flames. She gritted her teeth against the pain; there was no time to cast a healing spell or reach for a potion. She simply started striking with both weapons, as hard and fast as she could in spite of not really being able to see her target. The mage was wearing only lightweight robes. As soon as Frina’s first blow struck, the flame spell was interrupted and Frina was able to finish her off.
She healed her burns as best she could while wandering into the center of this space. It had obviously been used for some magical ceremony or other; a ring of lighted candles filled the floor, while an arcane enchanter, tables, and bookshelves surrounded them. A large chest against one wall drew her attention. Opening it Frina found some coins, one or two pieces of nondescript mage gear, and a very old sword. She pulled it out and examined it closely; while the pommel and grip were slightly worse for wear the steel itself gleamed, its edge straight and unblemished and clearly razor-sharp.
“There we go,” she murmured. “Oengul will be pleased.” She headed for what looked to be the exit, a dirt ramp leading up and turning back toward the cave entrance. She was taking no particular care to be quiet, and jumped when she heard a man’s voice behind her.
“You’re dead!”
She spun around, grabbing her weapons, just in time to see one final mage casting an armor spell on himself. She ran forward, ducking low just as he began to cast fire at her and sweeping his legs with her war pick in the move that had served her so well so often. It did again; the mage lost his footing and fell over backward and she ended him quickly.
“The flame spells are getting tiresome. Don’t you people know anything else?” she grumbled to the corpse. “I’m glad hair grows quickly, though. Well at least I have the sword. Now to get it back to Oengul.”
___
“My lord? We’re sorry to disturb you, but I thought it best you had this news immediately.”
Edwyn Wickham looked up from the book he’d been studying in the Archmage’s quarters as the figures approached. He sighed. He’d felt a degree of understanding approaching just then, tantalizingly close but not quite close enough. The materials Urag gro-Shub had assembled for him about the early days of the Empire had been intriguing, some of them first-person accounts of various events that were quite thrilling to read. He’d felt as though there was something he was missing, though, some connection to the present day that was vital to his future endeavors but which he did not quite understand. And as Agryn Gernic spoke to him he felt that wisp of understanding dissolve.
Why did you have to die, Harkon? I needed you to confer with, to check my reasoning and question my conclusions. I needed the insight of your much longer life. I believe I know how to proceed, but…
He set the book aside.
“I trust you had no difficulty getting in to see me?”
“Of course not,” Vyctyna laughed from her seat in the vestibule. “Invisibility has its advantages.”
Edwyn smiled. “That is a certainty. Now what is the news?”
Agryn grimaced. “I was pretty sure the rest of this lot wouldn’t have heard it yet, given how focused they are on their own research. Solitude has fallen, my lord. General Tullius of the Imperial Legion has been killed. Ulfric Stormcloak and his forces now control Skyrim.”
Edwyn was glad for a moment that he was seated as he felt the shock of this news rush through his body. How did they manage? How did they do it? He stared at the floor for a moment, his unfocused gaze moving back and forth across the stones as his mind tried to sort through a thousand scenarios at once.
“This is not the outcome I had expected, but it is what I had feared,” he murmured. He looked back up at his right hand man. “And the Lady Elisif? Is she…”
Agryn nodded. “She is safe, my lord. That’s the intriguing thing. We would have thought he’d proclaim himself king immediately, but Stormcloak has announced that he will wait for the Moot, and Elisif will continue to rule Solitude. Under supervision, of course.”
“That is good to hear. Quite a … relief.”
Edwyn stood and walked out into the vestibule, pacing back and forth. It was a relief, to be sure, to know that the sweet Elisif had come through the war unscathed. But for the smallest of moments his mind had shouted at him, clamoring that he might be free, that he might be able to take Serana as his bride rather than Elisif, that he might live a life directed by his own preferences rather than by a very old plan that he had only taken a small part in developing. He was surprised to realize he’d thought such a thing, even as briefly as he had.
But now I must tread especially carefully. Should I take a single misstep this entire delicate construction we have endeavored to erect over the years could come tumbling to the ground. It may not have been my plan but its outcome will be my power and I shall see it achieved.
“How did they manage, I wonder?” he said aloud, not really expecting an answer. “The little rag-tag group of rebels in inferior armor shouldn’t have had a chance against the power of the Empire.”
“Well, sire, one thing that helped them was that they had the Dragonborn with them. I understand it was quite overwhelming with both he and Ulfric Stormcloak using the Voice to clear the way through the Imperial troops.”
“The Dragonborn. Hmm.” Edwyn stared at Agryn and, as he had a few moments earlier, felt the significance of that information calling out to him but the meaning of it eluding him by the slightest of margins. “Do we know who this person is?”
“I don’t,” Vyctyna said. “We could find out for you, though.”
“Yes,” Edwyn said. “Do, please. I’m not certain why it is important that we know his identity but I am certain that it is.”
“He’s Dragonborn, that’s why,” Vyctyna mumbled.
Edwyn walked to her and stared. “Why is that fact important, Vyctyna?”
She smirked at him. “You’re always going on about the Dragon Fires and all that, aren’t you? Isn’t he the guy who could do all of that?”
Edwyn froze, the hair on his neck rising. She’s right. That is perfectly stunning. She’s right; he is Dragonborn and thus… But no. The Amulet of Kings was destroyed long, long ago.
Still…
“Perhaps you are right, my dear. I highly doubt that the tales from that long ago will be taken seriously by the people vying for power in the Imperial City, though. Nor do I expect they know this man. However, I do have a feeling that it is imperative we find out where and who this Dragonborn is. I would hate to have an unknown element create havoc of our plans.”
“And what do you want us to do about Solitude, sire?” Agryn asked.
“That is the question of the moment, is it not.” Edwyn paced back and forth a few times, stroking his chin. “I had hoped to draw out this … engagement of mine for some time. However, it seems to me that Ulfric Stormcloak has forced my hand. If I am to retain any possibility of gaining real power in Solitude I will need to marry Elisif sooner rather than later. That will require slipping her out of the city under the watchful eyes of the Stormcloak guard.”
“Will she be willing to do that?” Agryn asked.
Edwyn smiled. You have no idea, my friend. Elisif is very much anxious to please me. “I believe she will, particularly if I put it to her carefully. Elisif is nothing if not prideful, and I suspect she will look favorably on the opportunity to complicate Jarl Ulfric’s life. And I can be quite persuasive if needs must.”
Vyctyna snickered.
“You find that amusing? Well the remaining problem is that of securing a route out of the city. I can likely get her as far as Proudspire without problems; after all, I am her betrothed and of course I wish her to visit my home. After that…”
“There’s an escape hatch under the tower, you know,” Vyctyna said. “The one by the marketplace. It leads under the walls and comes out near the docks.”
He stared at her. “Really. I had no idea. That might work very well in that case! Spirit the lady down to the docks, take a ferry to Windhelm and from there a carriage to Riften. Is that exit not guarded, though?”
Vyctyna laughed. “You’re not the only one who can be persuasive, you know.”
Agryn frowned. “Tyna…”
“Don’t worry, Aggie. Like I told you before, all I need to do is look interesting. It works every time.”
Edwyn nodded. “It’s settled, then. Let us make our way to Solitude. You two go at once. I will need to make certain that things are under control here at the College but I will follow you shortly. The sooner this is done, the better.”
Edwyn made the rounds in short order, making certain that once again Master Wizard Tolfdir understood that he was in charge. Things had been extremely uneventful here in Winterhold since the Psijics removed the Eye of Magnus, the civil war having been raging elsewhere; so he had no real concerns about the College. He made potions and stored materials that he would not need on the road, and gathered his Colovian finery, and then descended from the Archmage’s quarters to begin the journey to Solitude. Arvak would be able to circumvent the roads by travelling over the Sea of Ghosts; he might even arrive in Solitude before Agryn and Vyctyna did.
He paused in the courtyard and looked around.
This place is mine. Castle Volkihar is mine. And before very much longer, the capital of Skyrim will be mine, as well as its Jarl. And then… Tamriel.