There wasn’t any point in waiting around on the docks. Qaralana was tired, but she didn’t want to impose on Henrik and his family, either; so she started back through the darkened forest to find the road and then ran north.
This is really stupid. What am I thinking? It’s too dark, I’m only one person, and…
… and it’s really dark. They won’t be able to see where I am. And maybe some of them will be asleep. And they don’t know the others have been eliminated.
It’s the perfect time to do this.
It didn’t take long for Qara to reach the Armory – the old Imperial installation she’d seen on the way in, tucked into the hillside. She worked her way up through the foliage, behind and around the large boulders, rather than take the path in from the roadway.
From the deepest shadows she studied the installation’s layout. There was a mostly-intact tower on one side and a mostly-collapsed tower on the other, with a rope-and-plank bridge between. As she’d expected, at least one bandit walked a sentry patrol route.
She readied her blades and inched forward, locating the base of a wooden staircase and taking that up rather than going through the open gate not far from it. As she reached the top of the stairs she was glad it was still dark. There was the sentry she’d seen, but there was at least one other man, hammering metal at a forge just below them; and someone of them was exclaiming about someone being near. She slipped to the right along the bridge and then up to the top of the ruined tower.
She had an excellent view of the area. The sentry, an archer, had run along the curtain wall looking for her and was now just below her, staring into the darkness with his bow at the ready but looking across the bright glow of the forge.
This man is going to be blinded. There’s no way he can see me.
She followed him down the stairs and attacked from behind. The man tried to turn, but he wasn’t fast enough. A moment later, he was a body on the ground.
She’d revealed her location with the attack, though. Two arrows clattered to the ground next to her. She looked up to see another thug approaching. He was fumbling with his blades when she ducked under his reach and buried her daggers in his chest. She started for the darkened doorway just behind the now-dead man; but the sound of footsteps stopped her. Another bandit was closing in on her from the ground level of the fortifications, his bow drawn.
“I hope you’ve got lots of coin in your pockets!”
“I do, but you can’t have it!” She had the advantage of being above him, and he was foolishly attempting to fire his bow at her from much too close a range. She simply side-stepped the arrow and used an overhand stab to rid the world of yet another bandit. Then another voice, an Argonian from the sound, came from somewhere in the yard.
“She broke my heart. They always do.”
Try not being obnoxious. That might work.
She crept along the curtain wall, searching for the source of the voice and finding him standing on the lowest level of the complex, staring stupidly into the distance. She jumped down onto the stairway just above him and rolled forward, popping up behind him in a surprise attack that took him out of the equation. Once again she found herself thanking her parents and Delvin Mallory for having taught her the best ways to use stealth to her advantage. She returned to the door and pushed it open only as much as she needed to slip through.
The antechamber just inside was toasty warm, heated by a substantial fireplace. There was a single sentry in the room, but she was seated with her back to the door. Qaralana shook her head at that foolish decision as she dispatched the guard from behind.
I’m no assassin, but these fools are making me feel like one. What a dumb way to guard a fort!
Around a corner the passageway branched. A room on one side was flooded, and full of mushrooms; ahead and down a short staircase was another bandit, pacing in a small chamber. This time Qara did behave like an assassin; she crept up behind the woman, rose, and slashed her throat.
Ahead was a kitchen area. Qara didn’t have time to hide or attack from stealth; the woman bandit who walked in was looking right at her.
“We’ve got a live one over here!” the bandit shouted.
Damn it, now I’m going to have the whole place on me!
The woman was tough, too; but oddly, she didn’t attack. She simply blocked with her sword, as though she expected Qara to wear herself out in the effort. What she didn’t know was how good Qara was at getting underneath her foe’s reach. The bandit was in the process of saying “Not bad,” when the ebony dagger took her life.
Qaralana stopped to look around a bit, and thought about how she’d arrived at this place. There was something satisfying about having this entire venture not be a result of her being Dragonborn.
I still don’t understand that. I’m sure that there’s something important I’m supposed to do. And if it was important enough for Uncle Dar to lose his Voice and me to gain mine, it’s something I desperately need to survive this in order to do. But I don’t know what it is.
Dardeh had insisted on taking her up to High Hrothgar, even though both she and Roggi thought it was far too early for him to be travelling, much less climbing the highest mountain in Tamriel. But he had insisted.
“Look,” he’d said in his weak, raspy voice. “I feel fine even if I sound awful. I know the way, and you don’t. The Greybeards have summoned you, and as irritating as it is, you really need to go see them.” Then he’d chuckled. “Arngeir is going to be happy he won’t need to deal with me anymore, because I was a little short with him the last time I saw him. I promise you this is the last trip I’m making up there.”
“You’re sure, Dar?” Roggi asked.
“Yeah,” Dar said. “Listen, Roggi. I need to get out there. I need to, I don’t know, say goodbye to the Greybeards and Paarthurnax before I’m too old to do it again. They put up with Ulfric for the Moot and they’ll put up with me coming along with Qara, even if I no longer have the Voice. I feel like I need to explain it to them.”
Then he heaved a huge sigh. “And I need to prove to myself that I can still hold my own, even if it’s just with these swords.”
Roggi had stared into Dardeh’s eyes for what felt like a very long time before he’d nodded. “I understand that part, Dar. I promise you that you are still a very valuable person. But I understand that you need to prove yourself. Just like a true Nord,” he added, smiling.
“I figured you would.”
So they’d left, and climbed the very long, very cold path up to High Hrothgar. It was uneventful aside from a few goats getting underfoot, and one snow bear that was very easily taken down by Dardeh and his extravagantly sharp ebony scimitars. They reached the monastery in brilliant sunshine and frigid temperatures. She’d turned, just before they entered, and looked back at her uncle.
“I’m kind of scared to go in.”
Dardeh had smiled that warm, confident smile of his and waved her forward. “Don’t be. We don’t have the World-Eater threatening to end us at any moment, so there’s no great crisis at hand. These may be four of the most powerful old geezers you’ll ever meet, but they’re…” He’d paused, and frowned.
“They’re what?”
Dardeh rubbed his chin. “Inactive. Almost inert.” He grinned. “Geezers. We’ve always had a difference of opinion on how the Voice should be used, or even if it should be used at all. I’m more of a mind with King Ulfric on this particular point. But it’s very important that you learn what you can from them before you meet the Blades, and then you can decide for yourself how you feel about having this power.”
“It doesn’t make any sense, Uncle Dar. Why do I have this?”
“We don’t know. I’m going to wager the Greybeards don’t know, either. But let’s go inside where it’s at least a little warmer, and talk to them about it.”
Qaralana had been more than a little intimidated by the very old man in long, dark robes who came out to greet them when they stepped inside the cavernous old building. He’d glanced at her for a moment and then turned to her uncle.
“So. Once again you grace our halls, Dardeh at-Dadarh. No longer the Dragonborn.”
“That’s right, Arngeir,” Dardeh rasped. “It’s a long story, but it had to happen. Hermaeus Mora was far too large a threat to the world. Maybe not as much of a threat as Alduin was, but… let’s just say that I couldn’t be the cause of the world being in slavery.”
“We have not always seen eye-to-eye,” Arngeir said, “but in this matter I will respect your judgment. It is a difficult thing you’ve done. And now,” he continued, turning to Qara, “we have a new Dragonborn.”
“Master Arngeir,” Dardeh said, “this is my niece, Qaralana of Riften.”
Dardeh explained to Arngeir, and to the other Greybeards as they filtered in from outside, how it had come to pass that Qaralana had come into her power, and how she had learned the Dragonrend Shout and a number of others directly from him. Arngeir frowned at that.
“That is a powerful and evil Shout to have learned so soon,” he said. “It is not one you should have shared with your niece,” he added to Dardeh.
“I just wanted the dragon to come down,” Qara said quietly. “It just happened. I don’t know how. He didn’t actually teach me the words, not deliberately.”
“Well,” the old man admitted, “there do seem to be more dragons of late, and not the ones who bow to Paarthurnax’s rule. I suppose that the gods have their reasons.”
Arngeir put Qara through her paces, having her demonstrate her understanding of several words of power. They taught her Clear Skies, Arngeir becoming a bit snippy when Dardeh offered to teach it to her himself.
“Come on, Arngeir,” he’d said. “You know I can do it even if I can’t Shout anymore. In fact, maybe I should stay up here with you and meditate. I’d make the perfect silent monk.” Arngeir had merely glared sourly at him, rather than gracing the flippant remark with a reply.
And then, after climbing the last third of the icy mountaintop – a passage during which Dardeh had ample opportunity to prove what a good swordsman he still was, against a number of ice wraiths – they reached the top. Qara had jumped, tensed, and drawn her blades when she saw the ancient dragon atop his word wall; but Dardeh chuckled and put a hand on her arm.
“Sorry I didn’t tell ya on the way up. It didn’t seem right to spoil the surprise.”
Qara smacked his arm. “Not fair, Uncle Dar!”
“Drem Yol Lok,” a huge voice rumbled. Qaralana then embarked on one of the strangest conversations she’d ever had, learning about the Way of the Voice from the very leader of the Greybeards himself. He’d shared the Fire Breath Shout with her, and – as he had Dardeh, long before – offered to enhance her understanding of that Shout.
And she’d come away stronger, but even more confused.
“I still don’t get it, Uncle Dar. Why now? What am I supposed to do with this?”
Dardeh had smiled at her and patted her on the back. “I’ll tell you what my Ma always told me. ‘You’ll know when the time is right.’ There is a reason you’re Dragonborn. There is a reason you took your first dragon before you were born. When the time is right, we’ll know what that reason is.”
“Well,” she muttered, “whatever the reason is, it doesn’t appear to have anything to do with getting rid of these bandits on Falskaar.”
There’s some other reason I ended up here, and I don’t know what that is, either. Outstanding.
She was carefully descending into the larger space one floor below when a movement in front of her almost startled her out of her sound-muffling boots. Another bandit stood before an assemblage of crates. His back was to her; and the huge pole arm strapped across his back told her that she needed to take him out of the picture as quickly as possible. She crept up behind the man and then, marshalling all the strength she had in her arms, struck with both blades. It wasn’t so much the strength of her ferocious attack, as it was the element of surprise that allowed her to take on enemies like this; and once again that element made the difference. He cried out and then slumped to the floor.
Bizarrely, the second bandit in this large, multi-purpose space seemed not to have heard his fellow fall. Qara was working her way around the outer edge of the chamber and stopped short when she saw the man seated at a table in its center. In addition to the dining table there were enchanting and alchemy stations against one wall and several cots lined up along the other. She looked at the cots longingly. It had been a long time since she’d slept. Tired or not, though, the same attack that had removed the first bandit in the tower dispatched the second, as well. She took a slice of the cheese he’d been carving up and nibbled on it as she continued exploring the place.
Only a set of wooden doors remained as unexplored exits from this space. She headed for them and once more startled. A Khajiit had entered the room and was leaning over the enchanting table, deeply focused on what he was doing. She silently cursed being caught by surprise and then dashed forward to eliminate him.
The doors led down a flight of stairs and through a narrow hallway mostly blocked by rubble. Around a corner a cage door blocked another sizeable room, full of crates, shelves, barrels and chests.
The storage area. Well, I’d best be careful. I’ve never seen a cache that wasn’t well guarded.
To her amazement, the cage door wasn’t locked. It swung open at a light touch.
What kind of an operation is this, anyway? I’m barely grown and I know how to protect goods better than these people do!
“Whew!” a woman somewhere ahead complained. “What a day.”
Qara ducked behind a large piece of fallen stonework and peeked around it. There was the woman, alright, dressed in lightweight miner’s clothing. A man in leathers sat a table nearby. Neither of them seemed aware of her.
She slipped up behind the seated man and struck, slicing his throat; but he gurgled and groaned and alerted the woman. “Hey!” she yelled, raising a simple woodcutter’s axe and rushing at Qara.
It was a short battle, in spite of the bandit’s much larger weapon. Block, pivot, stab, back, pivot, slice. Qara had practiced it so many times that it required no thought at all. The woman went down, leaving Qara shaking her head.
Why am I so good at this, I wonder? I’m not a very good thief, though that’s how I learned stealth. I’m not especially good with a bow, like Chip is, and I’m not strong with blades like my uncles.
I’ve never seen Mama in a real fight. I understand that she’s a force to be reckoned with. I wonder if I got it from her.
The bandits’ goods were of poor quality and the food they’d socked away was plain, mostly stale or ruined by water seepage, and stowed on rickety bookshelves.
Why is this group of misfits creating such a stir? Maybe it’s the simple fact that they have next to nothing driving them to invade the port. It’s the one way they’d get more, and better, weapons and food without paying for them.
As she made her way through the rest of the winding, broken corridors she found small stashes of coin, and one or two pieces of jewelry, but basically it was a poor cache kept by poor excuses for bandits. There were a few more stationed here and there; and what continued to strike Qara was how oblivious they seemed to her passage.
Either I’m really, really good or these people are really, really stupid.
She finally reached another large chamber, seemingly full of chests. There were weapons lined up on several sizeable tables, and armor laid on another. One very large Nord sat beside the cache of weapons.
Now this is more like it. This must be the leader. I’d better be ready for a real fight!
She readied her potions, just in case. She even put some spider venom – a weak poison, but one that was frequently of use – onto her main blade.
And the man went down with one strike.
Qara straightened up, stared down at the man, and shook her head. “This is ridiculous, you know. You people should have had me dead five times over. At least. Oh well.” She shrugged, and moved about the room checking for valuables. It wasn’t much, but it at least had the makings of a stockpile in progress. The threat they had posed as a group wasn’t immediate, but it might have been a real problem not too far in the future.
She saw a note on the largest table, and opened it up.
All troops mobilize immediately.
Group Orders:
You are to capture the docks and stop boat shipments. Remember to keep an eye out for the object. Yngvarr wants us to find it, and if we do, there is a huge reward.
Hold the docks until you receive further orders. If refuge is needed, utilize Hjalmar Armory to the Northwest.
Lt. Kolgrim of Staalgarde
“Interesting,” she murmured. “I’d better get this information back to Jarl Agnar right away.” She had no idea who Lt. Kolgrim was, but somehow she’d managed to cut off what might have been a serious threat.
As she stepped back out into what was now a brilliantly sunny day she wondered again what “the object” was. Whatever it was had been important enough for these people to kidnap Mecaius for interrogation, and to try to take over the only port she was aware of.
It was a beautiful day for a run, but given how long she’d been running and the fact that a good portion of that running was back up over the switchbacks, Qaralana was thoroughly exhausted when she finally pushed open the doors of Borvaldur Manor. She tried not to yawn as she approached Jarl Agnar. After all, it was a serious matter that she’d uncovered, and he needed to know about it. But all she could think of was bed.
“Greetings,” he said. His voice was cheerful and kind, but his body language, she thought, said that he hadn’t gotten any more rest than she had.
“I went to the docks as you asked, and found that bandits had kidnapped Wulf, Henrik, and his family. Henrik said they were ‘getting ready to make a move’ and told me where the others were holed up. So I went there, and…” Suddenly an enormous yawn caught hold of her and she was unable to stop it. Agnar’s expression had been extremely serious, but a small grin crept up one side of his mouth.
“Oh I’m so sorry, sir,” Qara said, feeling her face flushing hot. “I’m just so tired.”
“Something tells me you took care of the rest of those bandits,” he said. “You look exhausted.”
“I did, sir,” she said, happy that he didn’t seem a man to become offended easily. “Hjalmar Armory. It wasn’t much of a storehouse, yet, but they were definitely starting to stockpile weapons. And I found this,” she added, handing him the note she’d found. “It seems that Yngvarr is behind this. He’s mobilized his whole army to search for something.”
“His entire army?” Agnar’s frown deepened. “Then I am not sure what we are up against.”
“No?”
He shook his head as he read down the note. “Staalgarde Hold has not needed an army for a long, long time. Its capital is far to the east, safe at the end of the Emerald Valley where only those Yngvarr allows in may enter. The distrust and discord between our people stretches back to when Falskaar was first settled; but the last time we fought was over one hundred years ago. His family wanted the throne, and they attacked the Falskaar and Amber Holds.” He sighed. “The war ended with us the victors, and his family put down in shame. They agreed never to try to gain power again, and ever since it has been mostly peaceful here.”
“Only mostly?”
“There have been some minor skirmishes and attacks, but nothing linked directly to the Yngvarrdrs or Staalgarde. The most recent was when the little town of Pinevale was burned to the ground, and that was not recent at all.”
“Pinevale?” Something about that name meant something to Qara, but as muzzy as her head was she couldn’t quite figure out what.
“It was a little mining village on the north of end Falskaar Hold. A real shame.”
“So what could Yngvarr want?”
“I am not sure. But whatever it is, it is bad news for us. And he needs to be stopped.”
“Definitely. He almost managed to seize your main supply route from outside Falskaar.”
Agnar nodded. “We had best get my housecarls.”
We. Right. He means me, and I don’t know how much more energy I can muster.
“The Hjorgunnar family has served mine loyally for hundreds of years. All that’s left of them are two brothers, Ulgar and Svegard. Follow the river east until you come to a stream. Follow the stream north, and it will take you to their cabin. Tell them…” He hesitated, and then sighed.
“Tell them that they are to resume their duties as my housecarls. It is not a statement that is spoken lightly, and they will know it means war is upon us.”
Qara started to speak, but another yawn took her. “I will do that, Jarl Agnar, but…”
He smiled. “But first you must have a few hours of sleep. We have a little bit of time. Rest, and then go retrieve my housecarls.”
Qaralana nodded, smiled, and then left the longhouse to look for a bed. There was a two-story building just across the road from the longhouse that she thought might well be an inn, so she walked slowly across and pushed the door open. A tall, willowy blond woman stood behind a counter on which rested a number of potions and other items.
“Excuse me,” Qara said, feeling as though she knew the answer to her question in advance, “but is this the inn? I really need a room.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said. Her voice was just as petite as she was, tiny and light. “This is a general store. The inn is just down the road.”
“Which is likely where my husband is,” came a sarcastic voice from behind her. Qara turned to see an old woman rising from her chair at a small table that had been tucked into the space under the stairs.
“Did you two have another fight?” the proprietor said.
“Did the sun come up this morning, Svea? Of course we did. I told him no. He doesn’t like it when I tell him no. Gets as grumpy as a bear in winter.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What did you tell him no about?”
“He wants to go fight bandits. He’s just too old, the foolish beast. A war is no place for an eighty-year-old man to be, even if he doesn’t look a day over sixty. He’s still strong, and hardy, but he’s a stubborn old fool.”
“You always make up with him, though.”
“Yes, we do. We might fight like a wolf and a bear but we’ve been together far too long to give up on each other. Your potions are ready, by the way. On the table upstairs.”
The old woman turned to look Qara up and down a moment. Qara smiled. The woman was clearly very old, the deep lines on her face set into a permanent frown. She looked like she’d seen far too much grief in her lifetime. But she had a full head of luxuriant silver hair falling to one side like the foam on a waterfall, and Qara thought she must have been stunning as a young woman.
Then it occurred to her that she must look like either an idiot or a nosy body, just standing there like that.
“I- I’m sorry to stare,” she stammered. “I’m just really tired, practically dead on my feet. I don’t mean to be rude.”
“You’re not rude, dear,” the woman said. “I’m just annoyed at my husband. I don’t recognize you.”
Qara shook her head. “I’m Qaralana. From Skyrim. I came here through… well, it’s a long story and I barely believe it myself. But I’ve been running here and there for two days straight and I need some sleep.”
“Hmm. Well I’m heading back to my house, so I’ll be happy to show you the way to the inn. Bye, Svea. Let me know when you need more.” She moved toward the door and beckoned for Qara to follow. Then she cracked the tiniest of smiles. “Just look at that red hair. My hair used to be red like that. But that was a long time ago, as you can see.” She reached up to run a hand through her hair.
Qara followed the old woman, numbly, and waved goodbye to her at the inn – a building which did, in fact, have the proper sign hanging outside, if she’d been clever enough to look for it. She went inside and purchased the use of a bed.
She had intended to just fall into the bed right that very moment, but a figure on the far side of the room caught her attention. There was an old man there, a Nord: large, heavily lined, with a shaggy crop of steely-gray hair. He sat slightly bent, hunched over his own legs, and he didn’t look happy at all. He didn’t look sad, Qara thought; he just had that look of general discontent with life in all its variety, a look she’d seen often enough in her short time in the world to recognize it for what it was.
She should have just let well enough be, but something about him drew her nearer. He didn’t look up as she approached, but she heard him make a harrumph under his breath.
So he definitely knows I’m coming to talk to him. This should be a challenge.
She walked up and stood beside the roaring firepit, just looking at him and trying to decide what to say. She cleared her throat.
“So then. What is it ye want wi’ me, lassie? Ye’ve been starin’ at me since ye came in.”
His voice was low, and rough, but it had a pleasant timbre. It seemed familiar somehow, even though she was quite positive she’d never met this man or anyone else on this island before.
“Um,” she started; and then in a fit of pique she stomped her foot on the floor. “Damn it, I wish I could stop doing that! Sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that in front of…”
“An auld man, is that it? Is it? Well, I am an auld man. They’re all right,” he snapped. His voice dropped. “Cast me aside like yesterday’s leavins. I’m still stronger’n most of em.”
“I… well, I was wondering…”
“Spit it out, would ye, lass? I’m nae gettin’ that much younger sittin’ here that the Jarl will think about sendin’ me out wi’ his lads.”
Qara felt herself getting annoyed. So he’s got a smart mouth on him, does he? No wonder she was angry.
“If it helps,” she said sarcastically, “he’s sending me out and the last time I checked I’m not a lad.”
She thought she saw the tiniest flicker in his eyes. Or maybe it was the fireplace. She didn’t know.
“And? Ye were sayin’?”
“Do you have a wife? With, very white hair, kind of like this?” She waved her own hand down the side of her face to approximate the elegant sweep of silver she’d seen.
The old man harrumphed. “Aye. That’s her. The auld bat. Kicked me out of me own cot. Why is that of interest to ye?”
Qara snorted. “She didn’t kick you out, sir. She’s just worried that you’ll get hurt. I’m pretty sure that’s all.” She turned to go find the room; but before she did another thought had her speaking to him again.
“For whatever it’s worth, you do not, in any way, look eighty years old. She was right about that.”
She heard him harrumph again behind her back as she returned to the innkeeper to learn which of the rooms lining the walls was hers, and couldn’t help but smile.
The innkeeper had barely left her room before she was asleep.