“Are those fools at it again?” Chip heard.
There was some sort of loud altercation going on when he stepped through the doors and entered Jorrvaskr. A Dunmer man and a Nord woman were fist-fighting in the left portion of the room, shrieking at and taunting each other. Chip tensed, wondering whether he would need to step in to help break up the fight; but then he noticed that there were other spectators, as well. A bearded man in leather armor watched placidly from the far side of the space. Nearer to Chip was an older man, with thinning gray hair pulled back into a tail behind his head. He wore a set of dark, heavy armor with fur padding that smelled very strongly of wolf to Chip, who wrinkled his nose trying to be certain that’s what he smelled without looking obvious about it.
Neither of the bystanders seemed overly concerned about the fight happening in front of them. Chip looked around the hall for someone who might be the Lydia he sought; but the only females he saw in the area were the one in the fight – clearly not a middle-aged woman – and a much older lady sweeping the other side of the room. He approached the older woman.
No, this can’t be Lydia. She’s far too old.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but is your name Lydia by any chance?”
The woman smiled and shook her head, chuckling. “No, dear. I’m just a servant. I’ve been looking after Jorrvaskr for as long as I can remember. You’ll want to speak to one of the Companions.” She glanced at the fight and smirked. “Go right downstairs. This lot will be occupied for a while, I would expect.”
Chip smiled. This woman clearly knew everything that happened in this place, as well as all of the people in it. “Thank you,” he said. “I really don’t know what the person I’m looking for looks like, to tell you the truth, but I was told I should ask here.”
She pointed toward the far wall, where a low railing marked the edge of a descending staircase. On the wall just above the stairs was a mostly-empty weapon rack. Chip made for the stairs and started down them, stopping to puzzle over the plaque for a moment. It was an odd thing, with a few fragments of metal placed in such a way that they might well have once been part of a much larger weapon. Why they should be displayed in a case that must have been specially-built, in a place of honor on the wall, was intriguing. But he didn’t have time to linger, not when Brynjolf had given him clear instructions that Dardeh needed assistance; so he made his way down the staircase and pushed open the doors at the landing.
The well-appointed basement area ran to his right, the full length of the mead hall above. It was clearly used as living quarters, the dark stone floor covered with warm-looking, colorful rugs and the rough-hewn stone walls covered with enough pelts and hangings to muffle sound and warm the place up. The hallway was divided into three sections by the truly enormous support pillars holding up the floor above. Chip looked at them in awe, imagining the huge size of trees large enough to have beams that big fashioned from them. Chip could see multiple beds in the room just in front of him, and a dining table laden with fruits and meat just down the hall in the middle section. Another opening across from the dining table had doors on either side, into which he couldn’t see.
There were quiet, deep voices drifting down the hallway from a room at its very end; but even with his hearing enhanced by his beast blood Chip couldn’t make out the words. He headed that way. They were definitely male voices, not belonging to a middle-aged woman named Lydia. He could at least ask the men about her, though.
He strolled slowly down the long hallway, taking note of the furnishings and listening for any other voices. The room at the far end beyond the second set of supports looked to him like a private study or office. He could see a long table holding a road map of the province; above it was a second map with the hold capitals marked. There were books scattered about and rich rugs on the floor. As he neared the open door he saw a small round table flanked by chairs in the corner, beside a set of closed doors. The two men he’d heard talking sat there, one of them very old and the other perhaps middle-aged. Both of them wore the same dark armor as that on the man Chip had seen upstairs.
Here we go. At least I have someone I can ask about things.
“But I still hear the call of the blood,” the younger man said, shaking his head. He was clearly a Nord, handsome and dark-haired; but at that moment he both looked and sounded distressed.
Chip froze. The call of the blood? Wait… He sniffed the air again and yes, there it was, the definite scent of wolf. It was unmistakable.
Maybe it’s just their armor? They like wolf-pelt padding, maybe?
It can’t be.
“We all do,” the older man answered. “It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.”
“You have my brother and me, obviously,” the younger man answered in tones that clearly revealed him to be Nord. “But I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.”
“Leave that to me,” the older man answered. His tone was soothing, and yet firm.
Chip took a few hesitant steps forward, tasting the air once more. His mind sent him back to Solstheim, to the moment he’d met Majni and the rest of the Frostmoon Crag clan.
I must be imagining things.
He took a couple of hesitant steps forward. The older man looked up at him; and while he didn’t smile, he did raise his eyebrows a bit as if questioning.
“Greetings, outsider,” he said, his voice gravelly but kind. “If you have some business here, speak it.”
Chip was struck dumb for a moment by the man’s energy. There was no doubt in his mind, now: this man was a werewolf. His scent was unmistakable. In fact, he might well be the alpha werewolf of this pack. The old man’s stare was piercing, calculating, and impossible to break away from. Surely, Chip thought, if I can tell that he is a werewolf he knows that I am one as well? He found himself flushing and hoped desperately that the dim lighting and his mellow skin tone were hiding the fact that he was flustered.
“I…uh…” Chip stammered for a moment. “I was told that I might be able to ask you – this group, I mean, the Companions – about someone named Lydia. She’s needed, at my uncles’ home, and…”
“And she’s not here,” the younger man said, sniffing, his tone of voice a sneer that wasn’t replicated on his face. Chip turned to look at him and had to work to keep himself from gasping in surprise. The man had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were icy, and radiated the clearest challenge Chip had ever encountered aside from that of Akar, Majni’s unsociable brother. He found himself bristling at it and wanting to growl.
This one is a werewolf as well, and he thinks he’s better than me. He doesn’t know he’s talking to Hircine’s champion.
“No?” Chip said coldly. “But you know who she is, in order to tell me that she’s not here.”
“Yes, of course,” the man said. “But she hasn’t spent much time here for years now. Right now she’s in High Rock, according to what I’ve heard.”
“That is what I had heard as well, at the inn,” Chip admitted. “But when everyone says ‘go and speak to the Companions’ it would be a fool who wouldn’t take the few steps up to Jorrvaskr to do just that.” He turned back to the older man and thought he saw a spark of interest in his eyes. An idea popped into his mind; and before he could stop himself or think better of it, he had blurted it out.
“My name is Chip. It’s Brynjolf, really – Brynjolf, son of Brynjolf of Riften – but everyone calls me Chip. I’d like to join the Companions.”
The younger man snorted, and the older glared at him before looking back up at Chip.
“Would you, now?” he asked, his gaze traveling the length of Chip’s appearance, appraisingly. It seemed to Chip as though that gaze lingered for a moment at his hands before returning to search Chip’s face again. “Yes. Perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.”
Yes, Chip thought. This old one knows what I am. He may even have recognized Hircine’s ring.
“Master!” the younger man snorted. “You’re not truly considering accepting him?” He sounded disgusted, or shocked, or some combination of both.
Or jealous. And I can’t imagine why.
Chip stared at the Nord as the old man spoke. “I am nobody’s master, Vilkas. And last I checked we still have some empty beds here in Jorrvaskr for those with fire in their hearts.”
Chip watched Vilkas’ face as the older wolf spoke, and saw him back down. It was for all the world like a lesser wolf being nipped at by the alpha, and willingly acknowledging its lower status.
“Apologies,” Vilkas said quietly. It was clear the apologies were meant for the old man and not for Chip, though; Vilkas never looked up at him. “But perhaps this isn’t the time,” he said, making his opinion clear. “I’ve never even heard of this outsider!” His brows nearly met in the center. Once again, Chip felt his hackles beginning to rise.
You’re older than I am, wolf. But are you stronger?
The old man put a quick end to the rising temperature of the exchange. “Hmm. Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes, men and women come to us to seek their fame.” He crossed his arms, and met Chip’s gaze once more with something close to a twinkle in his eyes. “It matters not. What matters is their heart.”
I’m being tested. That much is clear.
“And their arm,” Vilkas said sourly.
The old man cracked the slightest grin. “Of course. How are you in battle, boy?”
“I’m an archer, primarily,” Chip said without a moment of hesitation. “You won’t find many better. But in terms of swordfights? I can at least hold my own, I suppose.”
He nodded. “That may be so. This is Vilkas. He will test your arm.” He turned to Vilkas and addressed him in a tone that left no room for argument. “Vilkas, take him out to the yard and see what he can do.”
Vilkas met Chip’s gaze then; and a more disgusted look Chip had rarely seen. It wasn’t quite hostile, but Vilkas clearly resented his presence.
“Aye,” he said sourly. Only the actual sound was missing from the “…if I must” that hung in the air. Vilkas stood without looking at Chip, and moved briskly away, down the hall toward the exit.
Chip followed, his blood boiling. Oh I’ll show you what I can do alright.
He got to the top of the stairs just in time to see the doors to the outside closing behind Vilkas. Nobody else was in the mead hall at the moment, so he simply turned right and followed Vilkas out through the doors.
He’d never been in this space behind Jorrvaskr before. The doors opened onto a large, pleasant patio beneath a solid roof that extended from Jorrvaskr itself. Beyond that was the yard, a large paved area with practice dummies and glowing braziers. Vilkas was already there, working at one of the dummies. Chip stood watching for a moment, to get a sense of Vilkas’ form. It was clear that the man was an expert with his sword; his swings were controlled and precise, and he had a whirling attack that would add his sizeable mass to the force of the blow.
I’d best be on my own top form, too. He’s not going to take it easy on me.
Vilkas turned and sneered at him as he approached.
“The old man said to take a look at you,” Vilkas said, sounding resigned and maybe a bit defensive. “So. Let’s do this.”
“Alright,” Chip said warily. “What do you need?”
“Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don’t worry. I can take it.”
Chip nodded, and reached for his weapons; but at the last moment he decided that it would be far better to use the plain ebony dagger he had tucked in his boot rather than the shortblade he’d gotten from his mother. He had no real expectation that he would kill Vilkas, who was clearly much older and the more experienced of them, especially at swordplay. If the unexpected happened, though, the last thing he would need was to have the Companions after him for putting Vilkas’ soul into a gem.
“Daggers?” Vilkas snorted. “Not even going to use a proper sword?”
Chip grinned. This one is a real jerk, isn’t he? Just what I need, another enemy.
He shrugged. “This is what I fight with. As I told the old man…”
“Kodlak,” Vilkas interrupted. “Kodlak Whitemane. Show some respect.”
Well it’s not like he introduced himself.
Chip nodded. “Sure. As I told Kodlak, I’m an archer. But when I need to fight close in, I use these.” He raised the daggers and took a step toward Vilkas. “Like this.” Vilkas grinned and drew his sword as Chip darted forward, performing his usual flurry of double attacks.
He wasn’t the strongest man ever, not in this form; but he was quick. This proved to be his advantage once more, as Vilkas never had a chance to do anything but raise his shield and block the blows with it. He pushed Chip back, solidly, and sheathed his sword.
“Not bad,” Vilkas said grudgingly. “Next time won’t be so easy.”
Chip chuckled. “Alright then,” he replied, sheathing his daggers. Vilkas wasn’t expecting that, and now he’s trying to cover his embarrassment. Good enough.
“You might just make it,” Vilkas continued, nodding. “But for now you’re still a whelp to us, New Blood.”
Chip laughed. “Whelp! I haven’t been called that for awhile.” He thought he saw the tiniest glimmer of amusement in Vilkas’ eyes. Maybe he wasn’t going to be an adversary after all.
“So you do what we tell you,” Vilkas told him. “Here’s my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful. It’s probably worth more than you are.”
Chip took the sword and tried to swallow the sarcastic comment that wanted to burst from his mouth. It was only a few paces to the foot of the stairway leading up to the Skyforge; Vilkas could have made the trip in thirty seconds. This was obviously his way of showing his own dominance, of reinforcing to Chip that he was, in fact, the lowest-ranking wolf in the pack.
How did I get myself into this, anyway? I’m supposed to be on my way to help Uncle Dar.
“Eorlund’s still around?” was what he said instead. “I’ve heard about him my whole life. He must be ancient.”
Vilkas snorted. “He’s gotten as much older as your da has since you were born, whelp.”
Chip felt his eyebrows rising in surprise.
“Don’t look so surprised. We do jobs in the Rift, too. Everyone knows Brynjolf. You take after him.”
Vilkas left then, ending the conversation without any fanfare and leaving Chip scratching his head. How old is this guy, anyway? He doesn’t look old enough to have known of Da for more than seventeen years.
Shaking his head, he examined Vilkas’ well-worn sword. It wasn’t anything special to the casual glance, but there was something about the metal itself that made him suspect it functioned as well or better than much finer-looking blades. After all, Skyforge steel was renowned, and so was Eorlund.
As he reached the staircase up to the smithy it dawned on him. His father hadn’t aged in a way that would tell a stranger he was sixty or more, and it was because he’d been a vampire. Probably all of these people he’d met, the ones he suspected were werewolves, didn’t age much either because they, too, were supernatural.
Damn. Does that mean I’m going to be a baby face for the rest of eternity? That’s lousy. Girls don’t usually go for the fellows who are really young. They want a little experience. Maybe I’ll grow a beard or something. Seems to work well enough for Harald. It’s not like I have a lack of hair or the means to grow it.
The stairs were situated at the edge of the steep hillside on which the Skyforge lay. They ascended at a sharp angle and turned halfway up, ending at a metal gate that Chip pushed open. And there it was, nestled into the side of the mountain: the forge that, according to legend, had been the reason Whiterun had been founded in the first place back so many eons ago. These days it was surrounded by solid walls and the rest of the trappings of a smithy, but the fire itself had always been here, so they said. Standing before the forge was an old man in traditional, open Nordic armor, his hair white and shoulder-length. But although he was an old man he had huge arms; and he stood straight and tall, not hunched like many other old men. That had to be Eorlund. He turned at Chip’s approach, and Chip couldn’t help but admire the solid form that the old man’s armor revealed.
“What brings you here?” Eorlund asked him.
Chip handed the steel sword to Eorlund. “Vilkas sent me, with his sword. He’d like it sharpened up.”
Eorlund nodded, reaching out to take the weapon. “I’m guessing you’re the newcomer, then.”
“Just doing what I was told.”
Eorlund smirked. “That attitude would get you far if you were some stuffy merchant or a Jarl’s footstool. Around here, you’ll want to learn to live your own life. Remember, nobody rules anybody in the Companions.”
Chip thought of how clearly he’d been put in his place by the older wolf, to say nothing of how easily Kodlak had asserted his own dominance. Then he tasted the air. Eorlund was not a wolf. There wasn’t a hint of lycanthropy about him, only the scent of a man who’d been working metal in the blistering heat of the best forge in Skyrim.
“Sorry. But someone has to be in charge, don’t they? I mean it’s not just some rabble in there.”
Eorlund shrugged. “Well I don’t know how they’ve managed it, but they have. No leader since Ysgramor. Kodlak is the Harbinger, and he’s sort of an advisor for the whole group; but every man is his own, every woman her own.”
Not from what I saw.
“What about you?” he asked Eorlund. “Are you a Companion?”
“Not exactly a Companion myself, no. But none of them know how to work a forge properly, and I’m honored to serve them.” He turned to the side and picked up a shield that was leaning against the stones of the forge. “I have a favor to ask, newcomer.”
Chip grinned. “It’s Chip. I’m Chip Brynjolfsson, and it’s an honor to meet the legendary Eorlund Gray-Mane.”
Eorlund laughed. “Legendary, is it? Well, at any rate, I have a favor to ask. I’ve been working on this shield for Aela.”
“Aela?”
“She’s one of the Companions. I’d be much obliged if you’d get this to her. It would save me a trip. I need to get back to my wife soon.”
Chip grinned. “Sure, I’d be happy to. But didn’t you just tell me not to be a servant?”
One corner of Eorlund’s mouth rose into a smirk. “This isn’t a command, just decency. Help out an old blacksmith? I need to get back to my work.”
“Of course. I’ll do it right now.”
Eorlund nodded and, without fanfare, turned and began pumping the bellows again. Chip smiled at his back and headed for the stairs.
I like him. No nonsense.
He returned to Jorrvaskr and looked. He’d seen one woman – the one involved in the fistfight – but it almost seemed as though there had to be more. There was a solitary man dressed in common clothing walking around inside; when Chip asked him where to find someone named Aela, he said “downstairs. Red hair,” and headed for the door.
Hmm. Maybe he’s not supposed to be here. Doesn’t matter. Downstairs it is.
Kodlak and Vilkas were both seated at the dining table in the long hallway downstairs. Chip glanced at Vilkas, thinking he might ask about Aela’s whereabouts, but Vilkas glared at him and then looked away.
Ok then. That’s how it’s going to be. Well I do have the ability to ask people’s names, thanks anyway, tightass.
He continued down the hallway and turned left, where he’d seen the doors earlier. There were quiet voices coming from that direction; and, as he sampled the air, he determined that the voices were coming from werewolves. He stopped just outside the door on the left side of the corridor and smiled at the sight.
There was a woman standing inside the room. She wore armor made in the ancient Nord fashion, open and revealing, its cloth components died in the same green as the war paint slashed across her face. Her legs were mostly bare, tucked into supple leather boots that ended just below the knee. Her outfit was something that wouldn’t hinder her movements in a hunt, Chip noted appreciatively. She had reddish hair, if not the vibrant red of Chip’s. He tried to judge her age, but couldn’t.
She’s probably Da’s age. And she’s definitely a much stronger werewolf than I am, if that’s the case. Why am I even thinking about this? That’s ridiculous.
As he stepped through the doorway he spotted the man she’d been talking to – the one he’d encountered upstairs, earlier, when he’d first come into Jorrvaskr. He glanced at Chip and nodded, but said nothing.
“Excuse me. Are you Aela?” Chip asked.
“Aye. If you wish to hunt with me your feet need to be quick, and your eyes quicker.” Her own eyes took stock of Chip, and he appreciated her attention a great deal.
Chip grinned. “I’m a decent hunter. But I’m here to deliver your shield.”
“Ah, good! I’ve been waiting for this.” She peered at him. “Are you new here?”
“I told you,” the man snorted. “This is the whelp that Vilkas mentioned.”
Oh, so Vilkas said something about me, eh? Probably wasn’t good.
“Ah yes,” Aela said, smirking. “I heard you gave him quite the thrashing.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that…” Chip murmured.
“Don’t let Vilkas catch you saying that,” the man interrupted. He and Aela shared a grin.
Aela turned to Chip again and studied him. “Do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?”
Chip opened his mouth to say something smart, and then shook his head. “Only if I was in a high spot and using my bow. In that case, I could. At close range? Only if I got the drop on him. And that’s not the way I fight unless it’s the only way to save my hide.”
She chuckled. She and the man swapped a glance again; and Chip saw her nod to him just slightly. “I see. Let’s have Farkas show you where you’ll be resting your head.”
Chip started to protest that he already owned a home and didn’t need a place to stay, but the man yelled “Farkas!” and cut him off. A moment later a very deep voice from behind Chip said “Did you call me?”
Aela muttered under her breath. “Ysgramor himself wouldn’t have the patience to deal with all the rabble around here.” She looked toward the door. “Of course we did, Ice-Brains. Show this new blood where the rest of the whelps sleep.”
Chip turned toward the door to see who Farkas was, and had to fight to keep his mouth from falling open. The same icy-blue eyes he’d glared at out in the training yard were looking back at him now, but from a slightly different face. This man was also a beefy, substantial Nord with dark hair, but his expression was open and friendly.
“New blood?” he said. He stared blankly at Chip for a moment; and then it seemed as though understanding registered in his mind with an almost audible click. He broke into a smile. “Oh. Hello, I’m Farkas.”
“Are you…” Chip tried to say.
“Vilkas’ twin brother? Yeah. I’ve got the muscles and he’s got the brains. Come. Follow me.” He started back down toward the main hallway and turned right. Down the hall, Vilkas was still engaged in his meal. Kodlak, though, had left. Farkas never stopped talking.
“Skjor and Aela like to tease me,” he rumbled, “but they’re good people. They challenge us to be our best.”
Chip was a few steps behind him and was trying to formulate a question, but Farkas interrupted once again. “Nice to have a new face around. It gets boring here sometimes. I hope we keep you. This can be a rough life.”
Chip started to snicker, and felt rather than saw Vilkas’ glare. For a man who supposedly didn’t have brains, Farkas did seem to enjoy talking. He was sure that it was true that these warriors could have a challenging life, but judging from the sumptuous appointments of this mead hall he thought it couldn’t come close to being as rough as the life those hunters in Hircine’s realm had lived.
They turned right, toward the room full of bunks he’d seen before. “The quarters are up here. Just pick a bed and fall in it when you’re tired. Tilma will keep the place clean. She always has.”
Farkas turned to face him again and nodded.
“Alright. So here you are. Come to me or Aela if you’re looking for work. Once you’ve made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas may have things for you to do. Welcome to the Companions.”
Chip’s head spun as he realized what those words implied. Farkas was pleasant enough. He, like his brother and Aela, felt much older than him, but didn’t look it. He could see himself becoming friends with Farkas. Here they were – a clan of werewolves right here in Skyrim, people that his father knew as well, people who could, maybe, help him deal with his condition and learn how to live up to his best potential. He hadn’t come here to Jorrvaskr intending to become a pack member. In spite of that, though, it seemed that he had joined the Companions. It was oddly exciting. He didn’t necessarily want to stay here in Jorrvaskr, but he…
He stopped in mid-thought, perplexed at himself.
…No, he’d come here to…
“Oh!” he said. “Farkas. I actually came here looking for someone, and everyone told me to ask all of you.”
“Oh yeah?” Farkas said, his eyebrows arching. “Who are you looking for?”
“Do you know someone named Lydia?”
Farkas’ face broke into a wide grin, and he uttered a deep chuckle. “Oh yeah. I sure do. I haven’t seen her for a long time, though, but yeah I know Lydia. She was just the finest piece of…”
“FARKAS!” Vilkas’ disgusted outburst from behind them nearly made Chip burst out laughing. “That’s not appropriate.” Chip didn’t turn around, but the long-suffering sigh from Vilkas’ direction made him grin in spite of himself.
Farkas grinned back at him, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t help it. The girls seem to like me. Lydia is a girl. You know?” He raised his hands in a mock-helpless motion.
“Well, I’m pretty young yet, Farkas,” he said, trying not to snicker. “Not a lot of experience, I’m afraid. But I see what you’re saying. So Lydia’s not been around for awhile.”
“No. It’s a shame, too. She was nice. Don’t look at me like that, Vilkas. It’s not my fault she picked me instead of you. Besides. It was a long time ago. She moved up in the world after me.” He grinned at Chip again.
“Hmm.” Chip rubbed his chin. “Apparently I knew her when I was just a small fry, but I really wouldn’t know her if I fell over her in the street. I was supposed to get her to go visit my uncle Dardeh. He’s not been well lately, and Da said if anyone could get him shaped up, it would be…”
“Lydia.” Both of the twins said her name at the same time. All three of them laughed.
I guess Vilkas has a sense of humor after all.
“Oh well,” Chip said. “I guess I can go see him myself.”
Farkas leaned against the wall. “Oh I know Dar. He used to live here in Whiterun, back in the day. Before the war got settled. He’s your uncle? Huh. I’m sorry to hear he’s sick. By the way, if you’re looking for something to do, we’ve got some trouble right here in Whiterun Hold. Nothing we can’t handle, but if you’d like to do it…”
Chip blinked. It had been an abrupt change of topic, one he hadn’t been prepared for. He was beginning to get the impression, though, that this was how Farkas’ mind worked: one thing at a time, straightforward, with no frills or subtlety. He chuckled and then nodded at Farkas.
“Ok, what do you need done?”
“Bloodsuckers,” Farkas said flatly. “Vampires. Take every precaution. One bite and you could end up as one of them. But it’s out the way you’re heading if you’re going to Mammoth Manor. Right on your way. Just do what must be done.”
Chip just nodded slowly. So we’re going to pretend that you can’t tell I’m a werewolf? Or is your sense of smell impaired somehow?
“Sure, Farkas, I can do that. I’ll…”
Suddenly, the air split with the sound of something like thunder. Shields on the wall rattled and bottles arranged on the tables clinked against each other. Chip cringed involuntarily. He’d heard sounds like that before, from Dardeh, but nowhere near as loud, or as overwhelming.
As the vibrations lessened, he rose back up to stand straight. “What in Oblivion was that?”
He looked around and saw that Vilkas looked almost as startled as he felt himself. Farkas, though, just chuckled.
“Huh. I know what that was. That was the Greybeards. I was standing right beside Dardeh when they called him like that. What was it, twenty years or more ago? They only yell like that when they’re calling a new Dragonborn, as far as I know.”
The hair on Chip’s neck rose.
“What?”
“Yeah.” Farkas’ brow furrowed. “Gee, I hope that doesn’t mean anything bad has happened.”
No. It can’t be.
“Farkas, I have to go. Right now. I’ll get to the vampires as soon as I can. But if they’re calling a new Dragonborn that means… I have to go!”
He turned and bolted, through the doors, up the stairs, and out of Jorrvaskr into the daylight. He’d never run so fast through a city before. He’d never come so close to colliding with city guards either. He dodged and rolled and ran, and as soon as he’d cleared the gates of Whiterun he headed west, just as fast as he could go.
