He was glad that they’d waited the night before starting west. He’d needed the rest, and time to think. Why was he here, after all? He’d thought long and hard about it as he and Ulkarin passed the evening over a few tankards.
They’re going to be so angry with me. Mother will throw an entire fit once I get home. For that matter, I expect the others to be angry as well. Probably Roggi more than Dardeh or Father, but all of them will be decidedly upset.
He grimaced picturing Roggi’s reaction. The sharp-edged anger he never looked forward to seeing was always there, just beneath the surface. It seemed, much of the time, that only Dardeh’s relatively calm presence kept him from exploding. When the two of them were in the same place as Ulfric, the tension in the air was thicker than one of the slabs of ice floating off the northern coast. And yet his father depended on both of them as though his life hung in the balance.
Maybe that’s it. Father’s life does hang in the balance because he’s High King. And that’s why I need to find out anything I can about the situation here in the West. Whatever is happening feels like it’s pressing closer to fruition. If I can return to Windhelm with any sort of solid information, maybe I’ll be able to make Father’s final years easier.
He frowned at himself for having that thought. Whatever had prompted him to think about Ulfric approaching his end also silently pointed at him with grim determination. Once Ulfric was no more it was going to be up to him, Harald Stormcloak, to keep Skyrim intact and secure while the situations around them settled. That was at the root of his need to be here, really.
I just don’t want to think about it.
They’d left the inn and headed across the bridge that held the Divide when Ulkarin looked around, tsk’d, and spoke up.
“Never feel safe up here, could only imagine how much time this bridge has left with all the flood and rain. Wouldn’t want to be on it when it falls.”
Harald gave him a sharp glance, startled at the statement.
“I’m surprised to hear that. I’ll admit that I wondered about the weight of a church that big standing on a man-made construction. But you seemed more or less stationed in that church in spite of it.”
“Yeah, well that’s where people go, and that’s how I make a living. I still hope I’m well away when the inevitable happens.”
“The flooding made it worse?”
Ulkarin nodded. “I worry that it’s closer to the end than to the beginning, if you catch my meaning. Parts out here have barely survived it. You’ll see soon enough.”
It was hard to imagine the area struggling, as sunny and beautiful a day as it was as they left the Divide. Harald could hear frogs discussing their morning business alongside the river, and birds chirping as they leapt from shrub to tree and then back into the lush grass. He stopped several times to pick unfamiliar mushrooms and lilies of a greenish hue.
“I wouldn’t eat the green ones, if I were you,” Ulkarin said quietly. “They’re called Kinsroot. Poison.”
Harald nodded. “I don’t usually eat the things I pick unless I’m sure they’re safe. But I do know a couple of really talented alchemists who will be happy for a sample if I can get some home to them.” He could almost hear Roggi muttering about what sort of nasty concoction he could brew up with these. Strange as it was, Harald recognized that an Inquisitor had need of a wide tool set, not just those metal objects neatly wrapped up in a leather pouch.
From this vantage he could see more buildings across the river, including a round tower, Imperial make as far as he could tell, with a beacon atop it. That signal would surely have been visible to troops far and wide in bygone years, even through the mists. For all he knew, it might still. It was clear enough at the moment, though, that he could see people watching them from a hillside across the very full, very fast river.
“Water’s really high,” he said, just as though Ulkarin couldn’t see for himself that the banks were just a bit shy of overflowing.
“Oh just wait,” Ulkarin said in a flat tone that gave nothing away.
A few minutes later, Harald saw what he’d meant. Not only was the water high, but it had pooled in a low spot and run over, flooding the roadway to a depth of several inches. The ancient cobbles had been washed away on either side of the newly-formed stream toward the south. Harald took a couple of tentative steps forward and decided it was safe enough to cross, but he wouldn’t have wanted to approach it at night.
He smelled the flames before he saw their source. Not too far beyond the flooded section of road, a branch took off to the south toward a couple of precarious-looking towers with a huge bonfire between them. More troubling, though, were the burning carriage and charred remnants of a cabin on the side of the road.
“Dragon fire, maybe?” he asked, pointing toward the smoldering ruin.
Ulkarin shook his head. “Redguards,” he sneered. “Damned mercenary pirates from Dragonstar. They came in up through the bay into the river and found a place to dock on the other side of the hills, there. And they’ve been raiding ever since. Can’t seem to stomp them out.”
“Huh,” Harald said. None of the Redguards he knew personally were especially dangerous. Nor, as far as he knew, were they pirates.
“Yeah,” Ulkarin responded. “That’s called the Bog, and you’ll see why if you go there. It’s what we could see in the distance from Sabbat. If you don’t have to go there, I’d suggest avoiding it.”
“Good to know, thanks,” Harald said. So there was one thing to take home to Ulfric: Redguard mercenaries were raiding. He wasn’t certain how important a piece of information it was, but it wasn’t really his place to judge.
Just behind them in the intersection was a road sign, from which an arrow had been torn off and tossed to the ground. Raven Spring, it said. Merosa had mentioned people stuck in the past regarding Arnima’s name – but he’d been so busy trying to outlast her flood of words that it hadn’t really made much of an impression on him.
“Huh,” he said again.
“A man of many words, I see,” Ulkarin said with a wry grin. “Yes, Raven Spring. Whoever changed the signs left the old ones out on purpose, I wager.”
The flooding got worse as they traveled to the northwest. They sloshed through rivulets of varying depths as they went, Harald grimacing as his boots got progressively more full of cold water. The trees to either side of the road seemed on the verge of death, if not dead already. Many were bare of leaves and turning black; the evergreens clung sadly to a scant few needles.
A stone bridge covered in moss and a few tenacious weeds spanned the full river, somehow appearing more sound than the big bridge in the Divide. Once across it, though, Harald stared around in dismay. The village on its far side sat in a slight depression and the river, as close to topping its banks as it was, had flowed in without yet receding. The whole place was so bleak that when Ulkarin spoke Harald wasn’t surprised.
“Forlorn,” he said.
“Yes. It certainly is.”
Ulkarin chuckled. “It’s the name of the hamlet, yer Highness. And its description, as well.”
Harald snorted. “Your Highness, am I?”
“Hey, if I can be Tiny, you can be Yer Highness. I figured you were highborn all along. But yes, this is Forlorn. Fitting.”
Harald was surprised that Ulkarin had determined that he was highborn. So had Loke, the merchant. He had to wonder what about him gave such a strong impression. He was about to fire off another smart remark when they came across two men speaking by the side of the road. The one who was obviously a farmer had a voice that carried, and it caught Harald’s attention.
“Sir, a moment if you will?”
The other man was dressed in armor with a face-covering helmet. Even without being able to see his expression Harald could hear the disdain in his attitude.
“Spit it out.”
“The taxes, sir. They are too great for what we produce. Could you be so merciful as to have the Lord hear of this? We will not slacken if his lordship is generous.”
The soldier snorted. “That coin is going to a better cause, for the Realm and the gods-appointed Lord, so that this land doesn’t descend into chaos. Are you so selfish as to forgo our welfare just for another loaf of bread?”
Harald frowned. Generally speaking, feeding oneself tended to take precedence over any other needs aside from basic shelter. He had no patience with those who thought otherwise – and, sadly, a great many of those in positions of power were exactly that kind of person.
Merosa, for one. I don’t like her.
He kept moving, not wanting to make it too obvious that he’d been listening. As they passed the pair he heard the farmer’s response.
“Sir, forgive me, but the people starve and anger simmers. There are whispers of dissent from those most in need. We cannot face more disorder in these trying times!”
Well that’s clever of him. Put his reply in terms of the good of the realm, just from a different angle. And disorder is exactly what there will be. Starving townsfolk will eventually revolt once hunger gets severe enough.
Ulkarin cleared his throat and spoke up. “Never fancied field work myself. Too dull. But when you haven’t the courage to take up the sword, what else can you do except take up the rake?”
Harald glared at him. “Not everyone’s cut out to be a warrior, Tiny. Besides which, how do you suppose you would eat if some folk didn’t take up the rake? Your food doesn’t just magically create itself. And besides, some people farm because they love it. They love working the land.”
Ulkarin grunted.
He looked around, aghast at the scene before them. This little settlement was awash. The few structures that hadn’t been sorely damaged by the flooding sat atop tiny knolls barely above the water line. The buildings that had survived wore slick coatings of algae and mold, and he could only imagine what it was like to try to live in them. There was a general store, the entrance of which was well above the flood, but there were no townsfolk chattering on its doorstep. A smith hammered away at his anvil on the other side of the road – or rather, Harald thought, the stream.
“And how could you not feel desperation if you’re one of those people and this is what your fields are facing? Awful. I heard people talk about this flooding but this is beyond anything I might have imagined.”
Ulkarin sighed and nodded. “Yes, it’s bad. I’ll try to keep that in mind, yer Highness.”
“Do so. At least while you’re working with me.” He turned and made certain that he had Ulkarin’s full attention. “So, yes. You’re right. I’m highborn. That’s why I could afford to hire you. I didn’t ask to be highborn any more than that man asked to be a farmer, and I don’t think I’m better than anyone else. I’m sorry if I come across a little strongly but it bothers me when people don’t at least try to see an issue from a different angle. That’s more or less why I’m here in the first place.”
“Understood.”
Harald turned and continued sloshing carefully down the slick road, not wanting to leave its surface in case the water turned deeper by surprise. He couldn’t help a small grin. Qara had told him often enough that he took himself too seriously, and once again he’d proven her right.
But I also can’t help being the heir to a kingdom. I have to be serious about it. And I have to look at all sides of an issue to understand it. Just as father said. It depends on who you ask.
At least, he thought as he splashed down the roadway, the water is clean. I’ve certainly seen water that I wouldn’t want anywhere near my skin.
At last they reached another sturdy bridge, beyond which was a walled town. He turned to look at Ulkarin, questioning.
“Yes, it’s Arnima. Formerly Raven Spring. I haven’t been here in awhile so I don’t know what to expect, but I’d wager they’ve suffered from the flooding as well.”
“Alright then. Who was it we’re supposed to see?”
Ulkarin grinned. “Well I wouldn’t rightly know, officially, since my bad legs had me pinned to the wall when you were talking to Merosa.”
“Come on, Tiny,” Harald said with a snort.
“I might have overheard a thing or two, though, and I’m pretty sure the name I heard was Jackos. He might have heard rumors. Something along those lines.”
“Right. That was it. Leader of the town guard or some such thing. I’m sure he’ll be easy enough to find.”
“Yup. Just look for the men training.”
While the gate through which they stepped reminded him of Riften the interior of the city most certainly did not. The roadway was made of long, flat, narrow stones wedged up against each other. They were different enough from the rounded cobblestones in Skyrim that their oddness set his teeth on edge, and the sound of the guards taunting a merchant didn’t go far to relieve that feeling.
“You can’t keep it all, that’s my earnings for the season!” the merchant protested. “Listen. I can treat you lads to a round at the inn if you’ll just let me take back… half my stuff! A good compromise, right boys?”
The guard farthest from Harald didn’t seem to be having it. “It’s always Evermore. Never us that you care about. Why is that, merchant? Gold more important than blood, huh? And… nah, we’re keeping the whole lot of it.”
The other man, clapped his hands and laughed. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a good drink! Could probably buy a whole fortnight’s worth of rum on your behalf, merchant. Those ponces at Evermore will have to wait for their next batch of fancy jewelry.”
Harald shot the merchant a glance, hoping it was clear that he was sorry. It was definitely clear that the guards had already made up their minds, and nothing he said was likely to change them. He was, after all, a nobody here in Arnima and he had no desire to draw special attention to himself.
The sound of voices drew him further into the town, in the general direction of the castle adorning its highest point. Before it was a large open plaza with a wooden platform; Harald thought he recognized the structure atop it as a scaffold, and the objects at its edges a pillory and an executioner’s block. The voice that called out confirmed his fears.
“Let this serve as a warning for those that dare steal from the nobility. Should have kept your hands to yourself, Harny!”
Harny, a scruffy man with his hands bound before him, snorted and spat sideways. “Your lord is mad! You sons of bitches are doing me a favor. At least I won’t suffer in this shithole any longer.”
The guard growled. “Silence, criminal! You’ll die as you lived.” And with that he pushed Harny down to his knees and atop the headsman’s block. The only good in the whole affair, as far as Harald could see, was that the man didn’t have to linger for his punishment to be over. Harny’s head dropped down from the platform to bounce and roll along the stones toward Harald.
Barely containing a shudder, he turned and trotted back toward Ulkarin, who pointed past a large church toward a group of men training. Harald took a deep breath, trying to get the sight of the execution out of his mind and glad to have something else on which to focus. It wasn’t as though public executions were unknown in Skyrim – Dardeh had told him about one that happened on the very day that the great dragon Alduin had returned – but there hadn’t been many at all during Harald’s lifetime and he wished he hadn’t seen this one.
In order to get to the training grounds they had to pass completely around the church and across a wide ditch brimming with quick-flowing water, proof that not even the cities had been immune to the recent flooding. In fact, there was a section of old stone pillar caught in the water at a wild angle, having been toppled and dragged downstream. Harald noted the scour marks up the banks of the ditch and wondered whether the solid wall around the yard served not only as definition, but as protection against the flood. At least the wooden bridge spanning the ditch looked sturdy enough.
The training yard was muddy and well-trodden, with bits of paving stones peeking out through the sod here and there. To one side, a battle mage practiced flame spells on a straw dummy that likely wouldn’t last long; to the other, a soldier hacked at another dummy, leaving deep gashes in its straw. One man, though, leaned against the nearby barracks building watching the proceedings, his arms crossed.
“Him?” he murmured.
“I’d assume so,” Ulkarin replied.
He waited a moment, observing as the man sighed, picked up an axe that had also been leaning against the barracks, and started splitting firewood as though he was resigned to the need to do it himself. Harald almost felt bad for him. It was, after all, a menial task and one would have thought it beneath a leader. Even as that thought occurred to him, he heard Ulkarin snort.
“Someone’s got to do the work, yer Highness, same way someone’s got to grow the food. Might as well be Jackos. Nothing ever came from leaning against a wall.”
Harald laughed, thinking of how they’d met. “And you would know that as well as anyone, wouldn’t you?”
Ulkarin grinned back at him. “Why do you think my legs were hurting? You don’t get much exercise in a church, most oftentimes. Unless it’s getting up and down off yer knees, I suppose.”
Harald chuckled and picked his way between the soldiers, toward Jackos. I like Tiny, he thought. The man’s a good sport and gives as good as he takes. And he was right to point out my unintentional hypocrisy.
Harald reached the man just as he took a solid swing at the firewood.
“You’re Jackos?”
“Yeah. Get to the point,” he said as the wood splintered.
“I gather that Arnima has fallen on hard times? At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
Jackos rested the head of his axe on the block and leaned against it as he looked Harald up and down.
“Hmm. I see most everyone who passes between there and Evermore because most everyone stops here. Never seen you before, so I’ll hazard a guess that you’re new. And oh, man. The sheer state this town must be in for a newcomer to first remark on its poverty.”
Harald shook his head. “It’s more the aftermath of the flooding that I see. There’s poverty in every city, if you look beyond the gates.” He paused for a second and tsk’d. “Though I haven’t exactly been greeted by public executions everywhere. I suppose that serves as evidence of hard times.”
Jackos sighed. “Indeed. Well, if you’re willing to stay a while longer, then you’ll come to witness that some of us still retain our civility. Don’t judge a book by its cover, they say. Wish that were completely true.”
Harald cleared his throat and dropped his voice. “In any event, I was sent by someone on the bridge. She wanted to know if you needed help.”
“Oho,” he chuckled. “Got ourselves a spy? Could find yourself at the end of a rope, if you’re lucky.”
“I gathered as much,” Harald said dryly. “I hope to avoid that.”
“Yet I know who you mean. When you return, tell her that a helping hand is more than welcome. She’ll get the gist.”
Why is it, Harald wondered, that people have such a very hard time just telling each other what they want and need? This kind of coy dancing around the point is more trouble than it’s worth if the recipient of the hint doesn’t understand it the way it was intended. People are absurd.
On the other hand, I couldn’t quite tell Qara what I was thinking, could I? I guess I shouldn’t judge.
Jackos seemed to pick up on the fact that Harald’s attention was drifting, and he cleared his throat. “Before I forget myself as someone of meager authority, take this letter back to her as well. The seal is meant to keep prying fingers out,” he added, drawing the words out to emphasize them, “so she’ll know if you start sticking your nose in.”
Harald nodded, slipping the sealed note into a pouch where, with any luck, it wouldn’t get wet. “Fingers, nose, eyes – I’ll keep them away from your note. Anything else?”
Jackos snorted. “What, wanna take me to dinner? Listen, just make sure you get back to her safely. If you ever feel your safety compromised, make sure to leave no trace of that letter. Else all the blood that follows will be on your hands, not mine.”
“I get it,” Harald said quietly as he fumbled with the pouch’s fasteners. “The letter’s more important than I am.” When he looked back up and saw the expression on Jackos’ face he shook his head. “No, really. I’m serious. I understand how it is. I’ve seen…” I’ve seen how things work in high places and I know that a message sent with this degree of urgency is vitally important. “Don’t worry about it. I know the drill. I’ll see it delivered safely or my friend here will eat it instead.”
“Hey!” Ulkarin protested. “I’ve got no taste for sealing wax.”
“So help keep it safe on the way back. After all, I’m paying you to watch my scrawny backside, yes?”
There was a loaded pause followed by a snicker. “I wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that. Hard to tell whether the part in question is scrawny or not under that armor.”
“Same to you. Now let’s get moving.”
Ulkarin turned to go, but Harald had another thought. “Wait a second, Tiny. I have another question.” He tapped Jackos on the shoulder.
“Get back to me when you’ve done what I asked of you,” the man snarled.
“Oh, I will, rest assured. But I need to know something. The man at the gate, being executed, said ‘your lord is mad’ or some such. And our mutual friend on the bridge mentioned something to that effect as well. So why haven’t you done anything about Mortifayne yet?”
Jackos winced. “Keep your voice down, idiot!” He looked around and, having reassured himself that there was nobody near, spoke quietly. “Got your blinders on? ‘Plans’ – and there have been plans – have a tendency to be outed upon leaving your lips, here. There are ears all around town, eager to earn an extra septim for themselves by gettin’ on the lord’s good side.”
“I understand.”
“Besides, our hands are ultimately tied through forces beyond Mortifayne. The royalty in this province have more fear of uppity peasants than mad tyrants. We don’t want to be setting any precedents with our unruliness.”
That squared with what Merosa had told Harald. At great length. And in the most pompous possible way.
“And so,” Jackos continued, “our only ally is time, waiting for the lord to pass on for a more just ruler to reign. Though, knowing the Reach, it’s a hope based in fantasy.”
Good grief, that’s horrible – waiting for him to die?
Harald’s train of thought stopped dead as something occurred to him.
Though if I think about it, I’d imagine that’s how a lot of folks speak about Father and me, not knowing more than our names and the stories told of him. I guess that’s why I’m here, when you come right down to it. I don’t want people to think of Father that way. And if I can’t change their minds, maybe I can at least show that I’ll be that “more just” ruler.
What a fantasy, indeed.
“We shouldn’t talk about this further,” Jackos said. “a man has to be cautious if he wants to keep his head.”
“So I’ve seen. Let me ask you this: have you got any other work I could do, aside from simply serving as a courier?”
“An eager helper? Or a plotting saboteur? If the latter, then I must warn you that there are no second chances in this town. First sign of you turning cloak and we’ll have you in the dungeons.”
Ulkarin picked that moment to chime in. “Not a saboteur. The lad’s got no guile about him at all.”
Harald felt one of his eyebrows rise at that. Apparently, Ulkarin hadn’t felt Harald’s ring working its subtle influence on him, or on Jackos. “Thanks, Tiny,” he said snidely, hoping to keep up the appearance of no guile.
“No problem.”
“He’s right, though,” Harald said to Jackos. “I’m no secret agent and paranoia isn’t going to win you any friends.”
“What would you suggest? Confront our foes with daisies and smiles? They’d cleave your smug face in two.” He heaved a huge sigh while Harald considered the possibility that his expression might, in fact, be smug. “Yet, there’s some truth in your words, and I won’t help this town’s welfare if I’m stubborn. So, if you’re sincere in your desire to help out, then we have a job at hand that you might be suited for.”
“Tell me, and I’ll make the attempt,” Harald said, wondering what in Oblivion he was doing. He could almost hear the adults back in Windhelm screaming at him for a fool.
Jackos gave him a grim smile and equally-grim chuckle. “Oh, no, friend. Not ‘attempt,’ but ‘do.’ This isn’t a job that you can just half-arse and then make your peace with the land. You’ll have to stick it through, else Mara’s gonna be receiving another soul.”
“Ah,” Harald said, nodding. “I see. That kind of job.”
“You had to ask,” Ulkarin offered.
“Yes, I did.”
“If you haven’t noticed,” Jackos said, “we civilized folk in our civilized settlements are but an enclave to all the scum just a stone’s throw from our gates. Our closest neighbors happen to be folk rejected by the Kingdom.”
That sounded familiar. He’d certainly run across enough groups of such people in Skyrim. “Bandits?”
“Exiles. Same thing, just different legal repercussions if they ever return. The punishment here, for example, is death. Mortifayne decreed it so. Even the Exiles’ extended families receive the same treatment if they’re caught.”
“Lord.”
“Indeed,” Ulkarin said.
“So what exactly do you need me to do?”
“Us,” Ulkarin added helpfully.
“Yes. Us. What’s the job?”
“Well, we need a scout to look for any contraband smuggling, or corruption within our ranks by people wanting to get in on the deal. The Exiles don’t pose the same threat as all the other villains in the Reach but they sure break cohesion here in the Kingdom.” He shook his head. “There’s always been a problem with our guard. Doped up and turning a blind eye to their duties. Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish between our own and those rats who supply them.”
“It’s the same everywhere,” Harald murmured. It was, too. It was especially embarrassing when your best friend’s father was responsible for some of it. “Just tell me where you need me to go.”
Jackos’ expression lightened. “Just what I like to hear, some conviction in your work. Here, give me your map. I’ll dot the area that our scouts use as a vantage point. You can gander at the whole camp but make sure you’re discreet. The Exiles may be dumb but they ain’t blind. Oh, and I need to brief you on our alarms. If you hear the horns blowing then turn tail and get back here in haste. We’re on watch for any attacks on our walls and for good reason – had a Witchman raid not long ago and if another comes I want all bodies at the gate to deal with them.”
Ulkarin sighed. “So in no particular order of importance: go spy on the Exiles, run back here if we hear the horns, help defend the city and then in our spare time go deliver a message on pains of death. Got it.”
“That’s about the size of it, I think,” Harald said, grinning. “Let’s get going. It’s going to be a long day.”