The grass grew thicker and the path narrower as she dashed along it. She was beginning to wonder whether she’d ever make it to the Priory, and she needed to get there as soon as possible.
The sooner I get there, the sooner I can get home.
She slowed for a moment at a road sign, puzzled by its placement. All there was to suggest an intersection was a narrow footpath leading away at right angles to the road. One of the sign’s arrows pointed back the way she’d come and, of course, read “Amber Creek.” The other pointed ahead and, to her confusion, read “Riverwatch Hot Springs.”
Hot springs? Well that’s not where I’m headed but maybe the Priory is past it?
I don’t want to take the footpath; I don’t know where it goes.
What am I saying? I don’t know where anything goes, out here! I’m sticking to the cobbles.
Only a few minutes later, Qara stopped in confusion. The pavement – or what there’d been of it – had ended, and she now stood on a dirt trail. It was well-packed dirt, but a dirt trail nonetheless. More important was the fact that she’d almost reached the foot of the mountains and there was no sign of any sort of civilization here. There were deer, and there were foxes and birds, but there was nothing that looked like a priory.
“Great. I’ve gone the wrong way. Now what?”
She could go back to Amber Creek, but if she did that she would look like a foolish newcomer with no idea of where things were. Which, she thought, would be completely accurate. Still, she didn’t want to advertise that fact to people who thought she was important because she’d accidentally stepped through a portal. The only other real choice was to head in the other direction from that intersection – the direction without a road pointer.
Let’s see. If I’ve been heading west – and I’m pretty sure I have been – that would mean that third direction is south. And the Jarl did say southwest is where the Priory is. I guess it can’t hurt to try. The sun’s still high so I’ll be safe.
I hope.
She kept the mountains on her right as she jogged through the grasses, marveling at the beauty of the place. It truly was like the Rift, only more in some way. More densely-packed trees, more grass. Fewer people. Most parts of the Rift, even those that were pretty out of the way, had enough people within a short enough distance that it didn’t usually feel like wilderness. This, however, was very empty aside from a full complement of wolves.
Farther south, she drew near to an old burial mound and slowed to approach it cautiously. The unmistakable sounds of weapons clanking had her drawing her daggers.
Just downhill from the barrow a skeleton was fighting a deer. There was something about the pointlessness of killing a deer when one had no stomach that made her laugh; but skeletons were no joke, and this one needed to be dealt with for the benefit of future passers-by. She rushed forward and took a swipe at it; but the skeleton had engaged a wolf, leaving Qara’s blow to connect with thin air. She tsk’d and ran after them, finally disassembling the skeleton and dispatching the wolf. When she looked up from its carcass, she smiled. There, just beyond them, was a roadway. A wide, paved roadway, probably the one she should have been on to begin with. She started along it, west toward the mountains.
Good. I know where I am. Sort of. At least as far as a person can know where they are in a totally new place.
Not long afterward she spied roofs through the gaps in the trees. The nearest building to her was a stable, and beyond it a large, beautiful structure beside a small pond, nestled in a clearing at the base of the mountains. It had to be the Priory. Across the road, a stone platform held several statues – shrines to various deities – but the most obvious because of its light color was a statue of Mara. Qara couldn’t imagine a more peaceful spot in which to contemplate the Divines.
And that was exactly what was happening as she slowed to a respectful walk and removed her helmet. Two men in priestly robes sat on a bench at the edge of the platform, the nearer to her of them enjoying a small meal.
It’s so remote out here. Agnar seemed quite sure of these priests, but how would he know their loyalties for certain? For all we know, Yngvarr might have sent people and money out here to buy them off the way he has with the bandits.
She approached the two and cleared her throat.
“I’m looking for Brother Thorlough,” she said quietly. “Could you tell me where I might find him?”
The man smiled up at her. “I’m Brother Thorlough,” he said. “How can I help you?”
She smiled back. He had a deep voice, and his accent reminded her of her father when he exaggerated his own brogue just to be funny. It was a welcoming sound, but it made her even more eager to get home.
“Do you know anything about the bandit activity around here? Have they been out here bothering you?”
He looked puzzled. “Not really. I know they’re a growing problem and are all over Falskaar, but that’s it. Nothin’ else.”
“Hmm,” Qara said. “Ok. Well here’s the thing. I’ve just come from Amber Creek at the request of Jarl Agnar. It turns out that the bandits are Yngvarr’s men – or at least people he’s paying. Jarl Agnar wishes you to return to Amber Creek to help.”
The look of astonishment on the man’s face made it clear that he knew nothing about the situation.
“That can’t be!” he exclaimed. “Unless…” He paused, frowning.
“Unless what?” she prompted.
“Unless Yngvarr’s trying to start another war.”
She nodded. “That’s the fear. He’s even had his people kidnapping citizens of Amber Creek. Apparently he’s looking for something, and it doesn’t seem to matter to him what they have to do to find it.”
Brother Thorlough shook his head. “That is troubling. Regardless, we cannot help.”
Her mouth fell open. “Why not? I mean… I’m sorry, I don’t wish to be rude, but why can’t you help?”
“Seven hundred years ago, Shor saved our ancestors so we could flourish in this land and absorb its knowledge, not tear it apart with war. We will not help instigate another one with the Unnvaldrs.”
She felt herself getting impatient, and had to hold herself back from stomping her foot. This was a man of the cloth, after all, and he and his counterpart were trying to meditate. Instead, she took a deep breath before replying.
“Your ancestors helped win those last few wars, the way I heard it. Besides, it’s not Jarl Agnar who’s doing the instigating. It’s Yngvarr. All you’re being asked to do is help defend Amber Creek. At least that’s what I see.”
“Of course. We’re still loyal to the Borvaldurs.” He sighed. “If it comes to it,” he continued slowly, “and let us hope it doesn’t – we will fight by King Agnar’s side until victory or Sovngarde takes us. That’s the best I can offer. Talos guide you.” He rose and walked to the far side of the platform, leaving Qara standing in astonishment and confusion.
King Agnar? Not just Jarl?
And I have to be the bearer of bad news to him.
Great.
“Thank you anyway,” she murmured, not knowing whether Brother Thorlough heard her, and not feeling particularly thankful. She turned to leave. At least, she thought, I know which direction to go this time. Maybe the trip back to Amber Creek will be quicker.
She pondered Brother Thorlough’s statements all the way back to Amber Creek. In her experience, if your king asked you to do something…
Well, for that matter, kings don’t usually ask nicely like that. They just direct. Or order.
Qaralana wasn’t usually impressed by people’s titles. After all, she’d grown up with an extended assembled family that included people of power. Some people bribed or connived or inherited their offices and usually weren’t worth fearing. The people who truly mattered were the ones who’d achieved their stations through their own efforts, with physical power or intellectual superiority. All of them were just people, to be sure; but they were people who had earned, and were due, respect. That truth struck Qara once more as she considered Agnar.
Her uncles were both friends of King Ulfric; and even so she’d heard about several times they’d done something they didn’t like, simply because he’d told them to. If Agnar was King of Falskaar, then the monks should be as quick to do his bidding as anyone in Skyrim was to do Ulfric’s. And Agnar hadn’t ordered. He’d asked. He’d asked her, not ordered her, to take the message to them, as well.
And here am I, a complete outsider and not one of his subjects. He was kind and gentle. Why are these people not doing as he asked when it’s the peace of their homeland being threatened?
The unease was still roiling about in her mind when she opened the door to Borvaldur Manor and looked around for Agnar. He didn’t appear to be anywhere on the main floor. She poked her nose into the rooms on either side of the great hall and found a woman in one, but no sign of Agnar. It didn’t seem right to head up to the second floor without permission, but she needed to find the man – no, the king – and relay the uncomfortable message from the priests. So she climbed the stairs, reluctantly.
Agnar was there, at a modest round table, sitting in a common wooden chair, looking every bit like an average Nord hunter or farmer. She couldn’t help but smile at him as she approached.
“Have you spoken with Brother Thorlough?” he asked. His expression was the perfect mix of hopefulness and dread. She regretted what she had to tell him.
“Yes I have,” she said slowly. “And I’m afraid their answer isn’t going to make you happy. It didn’t make me happy, either. The monks know nothing about the bandits, and they won’t help you unless Yngvarr directly instigates war.”
It was as if she’d conjured a storm cloud directly over Agnar’s head. When he spoke, his voice was louder, angrier.
“Unless? Unless he instigates war? He sent men to kidnap and interrogate one of our people! And he blankets the land with his mercenaries! Is that not a declaration of war?”
Qara fought the urge to hold her hands up in fear. This man was very angry, and she never knew exactly how to approach very angry men. They were intimidating.
“That’s what I tried to tell him. He listened, but he didn’t seem swayed by the information. At all.”
Apparently she hadn’t been able to keep her fear from her face, or out of her voice. Agnar stopped, looked at her, and perhaps realizing how threatening he’d sounded heaved a great sigh.
“Very well. We shall work without their help. For now.” He paused for a moment and rubbed his forehead. Then he nodded, as if he’d convinced himself of something. “I need you to do something else for me, if you’re willing. I’ve had word that bandits have overrun the docks, and have cut off trade with Skyrim.”
Docks? Trade with Skyrim? Of course! That’s how I get home! By ship!
“Please, go to the docks and if the bandits are still there, get rid of them if you can. Then talk to Henrik, who runs the store there. Ask him if he learned anything helpful while the bandits were there.”
“Of course. I’ll head out right now. But, um, how do I get there?”
Agnar spent a few moments describing the route to her; Qaralana thanked him and scurried out the door, down the road out of town to the east. It roughly paralleled the water – the “creek” that had given the town its name but which seemed to grow wider and deeper with every step she took along its banks. Finally, as she’d been told to expect, the road turned sharply north. The sound of roaring water grew louder as she approached the bridge crossing the now-substantial river.
She’d been puzzled at first: why cross a bridge heading north to get to a harbor which was to the south? And then she stood on the bridge itself and looked around in awe.
There were two structures nearby, one on either side of the water. On the Amber Creek side a ruined tower – a mere quarter of a lower wall – slumped out over the banks. Perhaps some great spring flood had undermined it, causing a collapse long ago. Portions of it were still strewn along the riverbank downstream. On the far side of the bridge was a more complete tower, situated atop a knoll well above the water line. She could see signs of occupation: an archery target overlooking the river, and a practice dummy “guarding” the top of the structure.
But it was the view past the guard post that was not only stunning in its scope, but which also explained the bridge. Just beyond the tower’s foundation, the river fell. Qara couldn’t see how far it fell; but she could see a great pine forest, or at least the top of its trees, far below where she now stood. The flat, bluish-grey line of the ocean shone far in the distance past the trees. It was breathtaking; and the roar of the river leaping over the edge told her that it was a mighty fall indeed.
It’s an escarpment, like the one going from the Rift to Eastmarch! They had to build the bridge here because it was the only way to go down. I’ll bet there will be switchbacks on the other side, leading to that forest.
She could easily have stood there for hours; but looking eastward she saw that even though the sun was still up, the moons had begun to rise. She needed to get moving.
The road curved south again past the towers and, as she had expected, began to descend through a series of sharp switchbacks. Pines began to outnumber aspens until, by the time she’d reached the base of the escarpment, she was in a pine forest as beautiful as the one behind her uncles’ home in Falkreath. It was deeper, and darker, and more silent than the forest in Falkreath, but it was familiar enough; and she enjoyed spending the waning moments of the sun running along through it.
I’d best hurry it up, though. I need to get to the docks and help the people at the trading post. It’s going to be really dark by the time I get there. Help the people – and maybe find a way to get home.
Well, it’s not like Mama and Daddy didn’t teach me to work in the dark.
The road crossed over the river once again, it having grown even wider and more impressive in its travels toward the ocean. Farther downstream there was a mill, which was very intriguing to her but too far away to investigate this late in the day. Not far down the road from the river she gasped as the road emerged from behind a thick stand of trees onto an open intersection. To the left of the road, atop a very high mesa, was an impressive, fortified city. A sign at the crossroads marked its direction as being toward “Borvald.”
So this is the city Agnar’s people came from originally. A perfect place for a capital, and very defensible up on the plateau.
I guess it makes sense. Borvald is the capital. Agnar is the Jarl of the Borvaldurs, which means he’s King, even if he lives in Amber Hold and serves as its Jarl – the same way King Ulfric is also Jarl of Eastmarch. But I never would have imagined… Agnar seems like such a simple man. If not for the banners in his longhouse I wouldn’t have thought him anything other than a fairly wealthy person.
The road sign told her to turn right toward the docks. She was grateful for the guidance; it was hard to tell where she was. The forest seemed even deeper in the lowering light. She passed by a semi-intact Imperial-style fortress, tucked into a hillside on her left, and sought out the deepest shadows she could find as she went by. If there were in fact bandits saturating the countryside, that looked like exactly the sort of place they might have chosen to settle. There were too many just like it in Skyrim for her to ignore the possibility.
There was more of a breeze, down here in the lower altitudes. It was slightly stronger, slightly louder, and had – she stopped to sample the air to verify it – a touch of salt tang that told her she must be nearing the ocean.
She was tiring, so she took a moment to kneel. Qaralana wasn’t exactly a religious person but she had spent many hours alongside her friend Harald, learning about the old gods. She had decided, partly out of amusement and partly out of curiosity, that she would revere the old Redguard god Satakal. There was something about the notion of existence being an endless cycle that appealed to her; and thus she knelt to pay her respects to the snake that consumed its own tail.
A few minutes after she resumed her trek, Qara realized that she could hear not only the wind in the pines, but the rhythmic voice of ocean waves lapping up against the shore. She adjusted her helmet, readied her blades, and began creeping toward the buildings she knew had to be just out of sight.
She drew nearer and nearer to the water, slinking through the forest rather than following the roadway. There was a cluster of substantial boulders before her, not quite a cliff but likely a good vantage point, and she climbed atop them. The masts of a ship were the first things to come into view, and then the chimney in the wreck of a building. She dropped down from the rocks and saw an intact home beyond the burned one, and the glow of a firepit nearby. And then she heard a man’s voice, low and rough.
“Hello?”
She turned quickly and ran back up the slope, looking for a position from which to attempt an assault with her bow if needs be, or a surprise attack with her blades. The boulders were as decent a choice as any; so she sprinted for them and invoked the Shadow Stone at the same time, dropping out of sight. As she moved to the very edge of the formation she saw two men, dressed in shabby assemblages of random armor, running up the path she’d taken just a moment before. Then, right in front of her, another man rounded the corner of the intact home. He was alone, and near, and she was invisible.
These must be the bandits.
She dropped down from the stones once more and followed the man, moving as silently as she could, hoping to take him by surprise and with a single strike. It didn’t happen that way. He turned at the last moment, sensing her there; and when she threw her first blow he tried to fire an arrow at her. That move, at least, she was able to deflect, knocking the bow out of his hands.
“Yer quick, aren’t you?” he said, drawing a sword.
“Yes I am,” she spat at him, slicing back and forth with her two blades as fast as she could. At last her off-hand blade caught him under the ribs, and she rammed it up into his heart. He fell to the ground.
But just as he landed, so did a blow from a sword, from behind her. She’d been moving, turning at the moment it struck her, so most of the blow came from the flat of the bandit’s sword. Still, it hurt. A lot. She ran.
The bandit who had struck her had gotten off-balance through his own overpowered attack, so didn’t see where she’d gone. He was definitely angry at losing track of her in the dark, as she’d ducked into some thick foliage and was making for higher ground again.
“Running away like a coward?”
Running away? You bet. Like a coward? Nah. My daddy trained me better than that.
From one spot on the hillside, she found that she could leap onto the thatched roof of the intact building. While she was tall, as most Nord women were, she was also light and extremely agile like her mother. She ran, leaped, and then scrambled up the side of the roof, dropping just over the ridgepole, where she took a potion of invisibility to give herself a moment to regroup.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” one of the bandits leered. He’d taken the position atop the rock outcropping that she’d occupied just a moment earlier, and was standing there fully exposed.
I’m not a great archer, but even I can make this shot.
Her arrow landed a solid, but not fatal, hit on the bandit. He groaned, and dropped out of sight, cursing. She waited for a moment; and as she’d expected all of her foes came running downhill looking for the source of the arrow. She waited, and waited, and finally the man she’d injured stepped out into the open. She lobbed another arrow in his direction and it, too, struck him. He staggered and moaned.
An arrow from one of the other men sliced a narrow gash across her cheek.
“Damn it!” She dropped back over the ridgepole, under cover, and grabbed a healing potion from her pack.
“We found you,” the archer sneered.
Qara stood back up and loosed again, and by some miracle managed to catch the most injured of them in the arm.
“I let you do that!” he snarled.
“Right,” she muttered, taking aim again. This time, he was moving too slowly to avoid the arrow. He finally fell dead.
Well that’s great but there are at least two others out there, if not more.
She missed several shots, and growled at her own lack of ability. It was too dark, their armor was too dark, and she couldn’t see movement. But they were still taunting her.
“Silly little woman,” one of them said.
“Well, now you’ve gone too far,” she muttered. “That’s going to get you killed.”
She stowed her bow, drew her daggers, and jumped down to the ground on the far side of the house from the bandits. From there she could use her best skill: stealth. It took her several very long minutes to slink around the boulders and up into the forest, but those minutes were worth it. She knew they couldn’t see her, because they kept shouting idiotic things at her, obviously trying to draw her out into the open. It didn’t work. She found the bandit with the warhammer just before he found her; and while he did get one good strike on her that nearly knocked the air from her lungs, she managed to cut him down, turn, and run away casting healing on herself before the next bandit could reach her.
Then she heard it: two people behind her, one of which was closing in fast. She heard the whoosh of another warhammer missing her by a hair. In her desperation, the talent she’d not quite learned to control yet took its place. She turned and Shouted at the nearest man, just one word of Frost Breath. That was enough, though, to give her time to leap back onto the rooftop and tend to her continued existence.
“You’re not welcome in Falskaar, Traveler,” she heard.
Oh so someone else believes that old tale, eh? Interesting.
She shot an arrow in the direction of the voices, not knowing whether she would reach a target, and then pulled out her daggers once more. Returning to her perch atop the boulders, she looked up to get her bearings and saw the man who’d been taunting her racing toward her. This time she knew how to slow him down.
“FO- KRAH!”
The man cried out and staggered as the frost enveloped him, and then shrieked as Qara barreled into him with both blades flying. He recovered for a moment – almost – just long enough to sneer at her.
“You’re going to cut me with those little knives?”
“Why, yes I am,” she growled, slashing one of them across the front of his throat, taking him down.
She stood up, panting, and listened for more pursuers. There should have been one more, or so she thought; but there wasn’t. All she could hear over her own breathing were muffled cries from the direction of the docks.
She jogged down the slope, to the beachfront, where the sounds of distress drew her to the ruined building. In the farthest, most interior room of the broken house were four people, bound and gagged: two adult men, one woman, and a male child. She worked as quickly as she could to free and un-gag all of them. The rougher, darker-haired man disappeared immediately, but the other turned to the woman and child.
“Get up to the house and rest. I’ll be right along.” The woman nodded and took the boy by his hand, then scurried off. The man turned to face Qara.
“Are you Henrik?” she asked, hoping that was the case. Otherwise I’m going to have to go chasing after that dark-haired man, and I can’t even imagine where to begin looking for him.
“Yes, I am. And thank you for what you did. They were getting ready to make a move. I couldn’t let them do anything to Freya or Galen.”
“It’s fine. I’m glad I was able to get to you before you were hurt.” She smiled at him, hoping that she actually had gotten there before any of them was injured. The others had all left too quickly for her to tell. “Jarl Agnar of Amber Hold sent me here to help you. He needs any information you might have about those bandits and what they might be up to. Do you know anything?”
The man nodded. “As it happens, I do. They were staying in the Hjalmar Armory, just northwest of here.”
“That must be the place I passed on the way down here.”
Henrik turned to leave, but Qara grabbed him by the arm. “Wait. I helped you, now I hope you can help me. How can I get to Skyrim from here?”
Henrik chuckled, and pointed at the ship tied up at the dock just below them. “Well if he hadn’t dashed off in such a hurry I’d have introduced you to Wulf. He can also tell you all about the lighthouse and some of the other things on the coast here. He makes the occasional trip back and forth to deliver goods, and I’m sure he could take you to Skyrim. For a price, of course. Sailing isn’t cheap.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much!” Qara exclaimed.
Now I can get home. I’ll wait until morning, and I’ll talk to Wulf, and…
She watched Henrik walk slowly across the short distance to his house and disappear inside it. Then she stood alone, for a long while, listening to the waves lap up against the shore and watching the ship rock gently in time with their motion. She looked up and down the coast, and then turned and gazed back into the dark, beautiful pine forest.
This is where Daddy was born. This is his homeland. It’s beautiful here. I need to get home and tell him that it’s all still here and just as beautiful as it can possibly be, and…
Then something occurred to her that had her thoughts stopping cold in their tracks.
That means that in some small way, I have roots here, too.
… and Jarl Agnar is waiting for me.
And there are more bandits that need to be removed.
I need to help these people.
She looked back at the ship and sighed. Wulf would need to wait for another day.