Harald was in a foul mood.
He trudged back down the slope out of Evermore’s gates, to find where a trail led deep into Ivrian Ravine. His heart wasn’t in it, though. Not in the least.
“Cat got your tongue, Harald?” Ulkarin asked after a few moments.
Harald harrumphed.
“No. I’m just… I guess angry isn’t the right word, but…” He trailed off and shrugged, unable to put words to his state of complete unease. “You certainly seemed anxious enough to please the guard, Kalaman.”
The mer nodded. “I was. This is not much more than a messenger’s task, truly, and yet there are three distinct reasons I thought it might be beneficial to take it on. First,” he said, holding up a finger, “we need to get into the city, and the captain there seems not at all inclined to let us in without some equivalent exchange.”
“I coulda told you that much,” Ulkarin grumbled.
Kalaman grinned. “I’m certain you could have done. My second reason – and the far more important one in my estimation – has to do with my research into this disease and its effects on not only the bodies, but the minds of its victims.”
“Minds?” Harald asked.
“You will have noticed, young sir, that the Afflicted with whom we are familiar in Skyrim largely keep to themselves, quietly and without threat to the uninfected unless they are directly threatened themselves. We generally leave them be.”
“Yes, and?” Harald knew he was being surly but couldn’t help it. The longer he stayed in the Reach the more short-tempered he was becoming.
“You heard the guard, just now. The victims of this variety of the plague are actively attacking others. Spitting through their visors, I believe he said.”
“Yeah,” Ulkarin agreed. “You saw the guard at the border gate, beating down one of them. That Afflicted wasn’t out on the road for the fun of it.”
“The people of the Reach feel threatened by this disease,” Kalaman said. “It must affect its victims differently than the strain east of the mountains.”
Harald stopped, put his hands on his hips, and blew out a breath. “That’s a big leap, Archmage,” he said, wishing immediately after he’d used Kalaman’s title that he could stuff the words back in his mouth for as peevish as they sounded. “For all we know that gate guard was just taking it out on someone who looks different. Maybe the Afflicted here are fighting back because they’re treated poorly.”
“That’s true enough, Harald, but I think Kalaman’s on to something important. People are afraid.”
“Think back to Arnima,” Kalaman said gently, approaching Harald more closely. “As we were speaking to Jackos before our adventures up the valley, what else was happening?”
Harald sighed, annoyed. “It’s to be a quiz, now?” He tsk’d and rubbed his forehead. “Let me think. The mages were practicing their flame attacks on that shack in the corner and… wait…” There was something else about that. He remembered the way the building had looked, covered in green vines, with windows and doors boarded up. There had also been a smell.
His eyes opened wider. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “I thought they were just trying to exterminate the vines. I thought that terrible stench was the vines burning. But…”
Kalaman nodded. “There’s nothing quite like the scent of burning flesh. We certainly have encountered enough of it since then to verify. Had it been just vines they were burning, there would have been no cause to seal the openings of the structure.”
“Yeah,” Ulkarin said slowly. “And everyone here has spoken of torching the Afflicted. I think you’re right, Kalaman.”
Harald felt his stomach roil as he recalled the sensory information that he’d overlooked at the time. “Gods. I feel sick just thinking about it.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry for being cross, Kalaman. You’re right, we need to know what this is.” He shuddered. It was bad. Mortifayne was crazy, Merosa wasn’t much better, the Witchmen were nearly possessed and there were strange, grotesque creatures springing up all around them.
“What’s the third reason, then?” Ulkarin asked.
“Well,” Kalaman said quietly, “I stepped in to take charge of the moment not only for professional self-interest but because our young leader seems not quite himself. I thought perhaps it would be beneficial to have at least some small portion of weight removed from his shoulders, even briefly.”
It startled Harald, for a moment. As he struggled to find a response, Ulkarin nodded.
“You have seemed a touch edgy, Harald.”
Harald stared at both of them for a moment before words came. “Well, I am edgy. And I hate to say it but I’m tired of always being young Harald.” He shook his head impatiently. “I know I am young, in terms of winters lived, but I’m always being treated like a fragile artifact or something. Even my uncles, who taught me to fight, treat me like a child more often than not.”
Kalaman smiled. “My apologies. When one lives as long as a mer lives, everyone is young in comparison, Harald. It is not meant to be diminutive. You are in fact being asked to shoulder much more than most men your age. I feel the weight of it myself, and I am only responsible for one small part of one of Skyrim’s holds, not the entire province.” His smile faded. “But our findings regarding Namira make this particularly worrisome. I fear the fervor of both Witchmen and Afflicted is somehow related. Thus, you will understand my enthusiasm for seeing how this enclave lives.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
Harald found the way north, along the eastern bank of the river they had crossed earlier and around a stony outcropping, where a sturdy stockade fence and a lone guard blocked their passage. Kalaman winked at Harald, stepped forward, and blithely lied their way into whatever was beyond.
Ulkarin chuckled, once they were past the gate. “Charity missions for Mara?”
“If we find that these unfortunates are willing to accept aid we will find a way to assist them. In the name of Mara, obviously. If not, well, that is hardly a problem to be laid at my feet.”
The Ravine was lined with wooden structures and tents. The ruddy-skinned inhabitants didn’t show any aggression toward them, but several women told Harald to back off, in no uncertain terms.
I guess if you’ve got nothing but the stew in the pot before you and the rags on your back, you don’t want to risk losing any of it.
At the head of the ravine, a hanging bridge ran behind the waterfall that fed the river, toward a cluster of shelters surrounding a stone firepit. A man in heavy armor and furs turned at the sound of their approach, glanced at Kalaman and Ulkarin, and then focused on Harald.
“Come on. Spill it.”
“You’re in charge?”
The man chuckled. “Doesn’t take much more to command authority around here than a full set of armor. So yeah, I guess I’m somewhat of a leader. And you? You didn’t just wander in with an absent mind, I’m guessing.”
And then, Harald made a mistake.
Whereas Kalaman had eased their passage by stretching the edges of the truth out like a nearly-too-thin piecrust, Harald, in his exhaustion, simply blurted out the facts: the guards wanted to know what this enclave was up to. The Afflicted man snarled.
“Ha. Those guards know me, and they knew exactly what would happen to any lapdogs they sent our way. Sorry to break the bad news, but they led you to your death.” He raised a hand and began casting flames.
Harald backed up a couple of paces out of sheer surprise. Movement in his peripheral view allowed him barely enough time to dodge a stream of dark green projectile venom; as he ducked he also avoided the leader’s flames. A second of the Afflicted came up on his left. He wore only common clothing but his knife was sharp and Harald was unprepared. He hissed in pain, finding his balance and raking his shield’s sharp spikes across the Afflicted’s face and body. Kalaman summoned a flame atronach that hurled a fireball perilously close to Harald’s head, killing the Afflicted whose venom Harald had barely escaped. As Harald followed up his spiked shield with a sword thrust, Ulkarin’s huge battleaxe ended the leader. Harald found a healing potion and attended to his cut, frowning as he approached the others.
“I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Do we take out the rest of them?” Ulkarin asked, his weapon still at the ready.
“I would advocate against it,” Kalaman said quietly. “Unless, of course, they attack first.”
Harald nodded, stowing his shield on his back but keeping his sword in hand. “It’s clear that this man was not in his right mind, to mount an unprovoked attack on a couple of obvious warriors and a mage. I know I was pretty blunt but it was just a statement, not a threat.”
“Let’s head back to the city, then,” Kalaman said. “I’ll give our regrets to the officer and insist that we’ve done our duty.”
The Afflicted were just as surly on the way out of the ravine as they’d been on the way into it. Some even drew weapons, but none attacked. Harald tried to sort out the situation as they approached the magical barrier and Kalaman spoke to the disappointed officers.
I don’t understand what’s happening here, at least not well enough yet. I know the Afflicted are a danger, but not what’s making them aggressive. The same goes for the Witchmen, even though we suspect what’s behind them. I definitely don’t understand all of the other things we’ve faced. If I return to Father right now without something more definite than a full slate of vague fears they’ll be sending me to the healers instead of preparing for whatever it is that’s brewing out here.
He heard the guard captain tell Kalaman to enjoy the luxuries of the city and heaved a sigh. A few luxuries would be welcome. Harald had, after all, been raised in a palace and was used to the finer things. It was disappointing, then, as they stepped through the gate and into what looked like no more than a large plot of well-trodden, rocky earth. To their right were some parked carriages; a woman gardened in a fenced-off, raised bed next to a couple of shacks leaning against the huge stone walls. To their left were several terraces; one carried a ramshackle wooden ramp up to a deck, while fur tents clustered beneath its meager shelter.
Harald snorted. “Luxuries?”
Ulkarin pointed up. “This is just the, oh I don’t know what you’d call it.”
“The service entrance?” Kalaman said.
“Yeah. That. Look up there. That’s where the real city is.”
Harald studied the sturdy-looking stone buildings above them and sighed. “I guess you’re right. This isn’t any worse than the docks and the Argonians’ housing at home. In fact,” he added, looking around again, “it might actually be better. Let’s go.”
A huge stone staircase led up to the city’s next level, where there were more signs of wealth. Attractive awnings shaded the carpets and baskets of a Khajiit’s stall, where its owner played a flute. A neatly-maintained flower bed surrounded the base of a healthy-looking specimen tree. Guards patrolled the well-swept streets, but there were civilians as well – nobles, judging by their elegant, colorful garb. Harald felt keenly aware of his dented, grubby armor and sweaty, doubtless dirty body as they passed by. A nobleman called out to one of the militia.
“Is there ever a smile to be found among the guard? The gloom of the East is behind you! Live it up and enjoy Evermore!”
The guard tsk’d. “I just can’t get used to it. Evermore has become so wealthy! If you’d seen this city thirty years ago you’d think that a dragon break had happened. It’s just not natural to change so suddenly, especially as bleak as the rest of the Reach is.”
That was true enough, Harald thought, pulling off his helmet. He’d heard Dardeh mention how bleak and bare Skyrim’s terrain had been during the war, beaten down as it was by battle and patrol. It had taken all of the nearly twenty years since for trees to return to the Whiterun valley and grasslands to recover their full growth. Here, the scars of flooding and strife were clearly visible everywhere outside the walls.
“So the kingdom is suddenly wealthier,” Kalaman murmured from just behind Harald. “I wonder how much of that might be related in some way to Mortifayne’s… patron.”
Harald gave Kalaman a startled glance, but then nodded. “Something to keep an eye on, no doubt. I’m getting a very bad feeling about this,” he whispered.
“Forty feet of solid stone tower separate us from that despair,” the noble answered loudly. “Force the world’s woes from your mind and relax. Besides, our privileges are birthright! We are the gods’ chosen! They would not bless us with such pleasures otherwise!”
Once they were well past the nobles, Ulkarin snorted loudly. “It’s hard to stay motivated, working for these city snobs.” He led Harald and Kalaman through the pleasant-looking city proper to a door set in one of the interior walls, while pointing upward. “The palace and the cathedral are up there. I’d guess Kegor’s in the castle at the moment.”
The enclosed stairway opened onto a tall bridge, much like the one in the Divide but much larger and grander, with an enormous church at one end and the Palace at the other. He couldn’t help but compare it to the Blue Palace in Solitude, or the ancient, dreary-looking edifice he’d grown up in, the palace that screamed “war” from every cold stone. If the nobles here were in fact snobs, he could see why that might be the case. It was extravagantly beautiful.
They entered the Palace to an imposing audience hall, longer and grander than any in Skyrim. The ceiling was of tile inlay, and arched stone niches lined the walls. Midway down the hall on either side were shallow pools of water surrounding shrines – Mara on the left and Talos on the right.
Talos again. I thought they were Imperial-leaning here. I don’t know that I’ll ever understand these people.
Two thrones, one empty, rested on a dais at the hall’s far end; the other held a balding, middle-aged man wearing a circlet, noble’s clothing, and a full beard. Deep in conversation with him was another balding, middle-aged man in armor. Harald looked at Ulkarin for confirmation and was met with a nod – it had to be Kegor.
“And we’ve seen the Orcs procuring more weapons from an unknown supplier,” Kegor said. “They simply wouldn’t be this powerful without some external help!”
The king – Sigmayne, if Harald remembered correctly – seemed unimpressed. “And who do you suspect this illusive group is? Any hard leads rather than theory?”
“Forgive me, but simple logic says that such a ragtag militia of Orcs can’t resupply and arm themselves this fast without help. They sustain massive losses, but come back with an even larger force, every time!”
Sigmayne frowned and sighed deeply. “These damn Orcs. Well, keep to your investigation.”
Kegor bowed. “I will. Thank you for hearing me. I’ll have my leave and return to this case. Hopefully I can find someone else to help as well.”
“I believe this is your cue, young sir,” Kalaman whispered from behind Harald’s back. Harald shot him a quick grin and then moved to intercept Kegor, who had already turned to leave.
“Excuse me, but I assume you are Kegor? Jackos in Arnima told me to speak with you regarding the Redguards we routed, near the Bog.”
Kegor crossed his arms and rubbed his chin. “Jackos huh? Haven’t spoken to him in some time. Well, if what you say is true and those Redguards are gone, then we can commence stage two – and that’s ridding ourselves of the rest, for good.” He cast appraising and utterly unsubtle gazes at all three of them.
Harald frowned. This is beginning to smell like another dangerous errand. But how the Reach works – who all the players are – is just the kind of detail I need to know so that we can prepare to meet them, head-on. “What’s the plan?” he asked, hoping that his frown had looked like serious contemplation rather than annoyance.
“We’ve got what seem to be scouting posts up the river. We would have dealt with them already if not for their confined locations, perfectly situated for ambush.”
Harald glanced at Ulkarin and received another nod; Kalaman followed suit. Reassured, Harald turned back to Kegor. “It sounds like this might be better handled by a small group that won’t raise alarms than by a whole squadron. Tell us what we need to do.”
Kegor raised an eyebrow, but rustled about in his papers until finding the one he wanted. “Very well. These are the three last known locations of those posts,” he said, pointing out the spots on his map. “Burn whatever equipment that exists there and pacify any hostile threat however you see fit. The people attending these posts move often, so you may encounter small resistance. Make sure the reds can’t set up camp any time soon. Understand?”
Harald nodded. “Absolutely.” And I don’t like it. But if this is what we have to do, I guess we’ll do it.
“Good luck to you,” Kegor said with a slight smile. “I’ll make sure the reward is waiting for your return.”
“I don’t…” Harald began.
“Thank you. We’ll return forthwith,” Kalaman interrupted, nodding at Kegor and putting a hand on Harald’s back to turn him to the door. They’d retreated halfway down the chamber before Kalaman murmured. “Please pardon the interruption. It simply seems to me that we are better served by appearing to be wandering mercenaries than high-ranking spies from Skyrim.”
“And you never look a gift horse in the mouth,” Ulkarin added. “If he’s going to pay us for this, let him pay us.”
“Indeed,” Kalaman said, grinning at the big Breton.
Harald sighed as they left the castle. “You’re both right, of course. It’s just that I don’t need money and it’s clear that this kingdom does.”
“It’s also clear that exactly none of that money would ever make it to the general population,” Ulkarin grumbled. “Take it, Harald. Maybe you can make good use of it. Take that reward and any other this dysfunctional monarchy might offer.”
“I concur,” Kalaman added.
“Alright. You two win.” Harald shook his head though; it didn’t sit right with him at all. “I sometimes feel that I’ll never be able to think like a king.”
“I disagree, strenuously,” Kalaman said as they clumped back down the covered wooden staircase. “You saw that this errand requires a small group at the most. That means you have a natural flair for strategy.”
“Just taking it on at all means you’re thinking way ahead, Harald,” Ulkarin said. “You could have just walked away.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll take your word for it, you two. Where are we headed first?”
“What a view!” Ulkarin breathed as they headed downhill to the southwest of the city. “Wish I could frame it!”
Harald had to agree. The road wound downhill through lush, green foliage, crossing the streams rushing toward the Bjoulsae River, sparkling in the distance with stark, gray mountains on the horizon. The river widened rapidly outside Evermore, then ran all the way southwest to Wayrest and emptied into the Iliac Bay; it was that long, unimpeded waterway that had led many a group to High Rock for sanctuary or conquest. Such were the bands of Redguards Kegor sent them to exterminate, clustered around the edges of the river’s uppermost extent where they could disrupt shipping and spy on other factions’ movements.
The nearest of the outposts was on the far side of the river from them, quite a distance southwest from Evermore and across a bridge at what Ulkarin called Azra’s Crossing. Harald trotted across, eager to find the Redguards, and then stopped short as a woman’s voice called out.
“Back. Off!”
Every one of the village’s buildings was covered with the thick green vines they’d observed back in Arnima. But this was worse. In addition to the vines, there were huge, glowing green pods that looked ready to explode and spread their sickly green contagion into the otherwise lush surroundings.
“Looks dicey to me, Harald,” Ulkarin said quietly.
“Kalaman!” Harald hissed. The mage had wandered farther into the town, examining the growths at closer range than Harald felt at all comfortable witnessing. “Don’t!” He didn’t know what to say aside from that, but the potential for one of the pods to burst and contaminate Kalaman was something he didn’t want to risk.
“Don’t worry, Harald,” Kalaman called back. “I’m just checking to see…” He trailed off, frowning. “And I do not see. The path seems to end at the side of this mountain.”
“Great,” Ulkarin snorted. “So how do we get to the outpost?”
Harald grinned at him. “Same way the Redguards got there. Via water.”
“You want me to swim. In heavy armor.”
“I’ll never ask anyone to do something I’m not willing to do myself,” Harald said, only half joking.
“That’s a truly admirable outlook,” Kalaman said, leaving the pods behind with a wistful sigh. “Learned at your father’s knee, no doubt.”
Harald laughed. “My uncles’ knees, really.” He approached the river’s edge, his amusement changing to a frown as that seemingly unimportant detail suddenly rose into sharp focus.
I’ve never seen Father fight. Or use a Shout, for that matter, in spite of everything they say about him. It’s all come from Dardeh and Roggi.
He waded into the cold water, wincing as it filled his boots and began chilling his body. Suddenly the idea that he’d been trained by people who were beloved, but who really weren’t related to him at all, was disturbing to him.
It’s not that Father didn’t train me that bothers me. He’s the High King, after all. He’s a busy man. But…
He thought about the day he’d nearly bowled his father over in the Palace. How, at that close range, he’d truly seen the deep furrows in Ulfric’s face and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. How Roggi had said “He’s… tired, Dar. I worry.”
The chill that ran up his spine had nothing to do with the temperature of the water they were sloshing through. He’d been concerned about being here getting information for his father ever since he’d jumped aboard the merchant’s carriage, but it had been a vague concern, motivated as much by his desire to prove himself as anything else.
He’s not well. That’s why Roggi was worried. That’s why they were both angry with me for going to Markarth the first time. Roggi can’t rule if something happens to Father, and nobody would ever accept Dardeh because he’s half Redguard. I’m not sure Mother could, either. Losing my brother nearly broke her.
I have to get home. I can’t stay here.
But I have to. I gave my word!
As Harald ground his teeth in dismay and frustration they reached the first of the Redguard outposts, just visible past a curve of the water-scoured cliff face. There was a wooden deck; a circular contraption mounted atop a post sent a beam of light across the widest point of the river, toward one of the other spots Kegor had pointed out.
“Signal light?” Ulkarin muttered.
“Looks like it to me,” Harald said.
“Ingenious,” Kalaman said. “They can keep in touch around the entire river valley. No wonder there have been such coordinated attacks.”
“All the more reason to destroy it, then,” Harald said.
The Redguard and the Khajiit who roared out from around the cliff had definite opinions otherwise. Ulkarin drew his bow and aimed for the Redguard, but the man was on him before either he or Harald had a chance to react. Kalaman, on the other hand, had summoned a flame atronach.
“I’ll try and make this quick!” the Archmage snarled, tossing a fireball at the Khajiit. Both it and the atronach’s fireball landed, sending the feline’s fur up in flames and dropping him to the ground without so much as an answering taunt or a return blow. The Redguard, meanwhile, had taken advantage of Ulkarin’s attempt to change weapons and was beating on the big Breton’s fortunately-heavy armor. Harald growled, dashed up behind the Redguard, and skewered him. The blade, along with another of Kalaman’s expertly-lobbed fireballs, ended the battle.
Ulkarin huffed. “Well, that was easier than expected. No thanks to me, that is.”
“You landed the first strike,” Kalaman said smoothly. “We just mopped up.”
While Ulkarin and Kalaman talked, Harald approached the device and examined it carefully. A large gem was mounted behind an array of circular lenses, with a button beneath the apparatus to activate it. It reminded him of the Dwemer devices he’d seen that focused light and sound to accomplish their tasks. It was fascinating, and he loathed needing to destroy something so ingenious – but it had to be done. Harald sighed, pulled out his sword, and shattered the mechanism with a gigantic blow as he had the Dwemer controls in Kagrenar. It burst into flames, scorching the deck below it and nearly singing Harald as well.
“There’s one down,” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”
Continue they did. Across the river once again, to where the first signal had been aimed and up a slope to a more-fortified encampment, they found a larger group of Redguards with more specialized and powerful warriors among them. Surprise, though, had given them the advantage; after a brief, intense battle they took everything of value and torched the rest, as Kegor had requested. The third and final outpost was quite a bit farther down the river, and its inhabitants included an enormous Blade-master. Ulkarin, though, was nearly as large as the Redguard, and finished him off after Kalaman’s fireballs had done their work. Harald peered at him once they were certain the Redguards were all down.
“Are you ok, Tiny? You look a little ragged.” Ulkarin had been in the thick of the battle and was, in fact, bleeding from several nasty-looking cuts.
“I’m a bit tired, to be honest,” the big man said.
Kalaman winked at Harald. “Allow me,” he said, raising his hands and bathing Ulkarin in the warm glow of a healing spell.
I should have known that the Archmage would know Restoration magic, he thought. He says he’s not particularly talented as a mage but I can’t think of any I’d rather have at my back, given what I’ve seen.
This, the largest of the three outposts, was also the most richly appointed, with a full bed next to a warm, colorful rug. It almost saddened Harald that they needed to burn it all – but burn it they did, and then turned back on the long trek to Evermore.
They found Kegor sweeping up and arranging goods in a corner beneath the stone bridge that held his home. He turned to Harald with a satisfied look.
“We’ve dealt with the outposts,” Harald told him.
“So you have! I expected you’d return having botched the job! Truly a marvel to have someone as skilled as you serve this kingdom. If it were up to me, you’d have been knighted a long time ago. Expecting the reward right? I hope it compensates the ordeal we’ve dragged you through. It’s going to be a VERY long time before that shameless lot has the gall to send more of their thieves up our waters. “
Harald saw the piercing stares both his companions were casting in his direction and, against his instinct to protest, simply nodded and accepted the sack of coin Kegor offered.
“Thank you. Now then, I couldn’t help overhearing that you needed some additional help when we met you in the castle.”
Kegor frowned. “It’s considered treason to listen in on the King’s affairs, you know. Lucky for you, I’m not the king, so I can let it slide.”
Harald smirked. “And I’m not one of the King’s subjects. I’m still willing to help, though.”
“I do need someone for a very specific task. If you overheard the key points of that conversation you know that I’m looking for evidence. Evidence of another party who’s made things difficult for us in terms of dealing with that extremist group, Orsinium’s Sons.”
“They’re still about?” Kalaman asked. “I thought they’d been splintered long ago.”
“Well, they’ve reformed themselves. One of our scouts reports that the Orcs are running low on gear and food again, over at the old Direnni ruins of Umbasir. They’re waiting for someone to either provide for them yet again, or give them orders on where to strike. We’re sure this party hasn’t joined the fray for selfless reasons; they’re using the Orcs for their own purposes and we’re not sure why. So see what you can find out about who this party is and what their dealings are, then return here with the evidence.”
“Very well,” Harald told Kegor, who turned and left the area before Harald could finish. “But we have something else to do first,” he muttered toward the man’s retreating back. He shrugged and looked at Kalaman. “Don’t we? Don’t we need to see the Arch Priest?”
“About the implications we’ve discovered regarding Mortifayne and his amulet, yes,” Kalaman said. “I suggest we do that while we are here, before heading out for Umbasir.”
Ulkarin had been pacing behind the mage, but at that he tsk’d loudly. “Not before we have a breather,” he said. “I could go for a pint right about now. Come on, what do you say?”
Harald looked at his friend’s tired, dusty face and chuckled. “I say you’ve earned it. Let’s go find the inn and collect our wits a little before we do anything else.”
“An excellent plan, young sir,” Kalaman said, heading toward the upper levels. Then he stopped for a moment, without looking back. “Sir, that is,” he added.
Harald laughed, and followed Kalaman into the city.