Harald very seldom took an instant dislike to anyone, though he was wary by nature and a bit cynical from experience. Growing up in a palace had exposed him to all manner of folk, most wanting something from his father. Only a few ever set his teeth on edge immediately. Merosa, Governor of the Divide, was one of those few. He looked at her and then thought of his mother, Queen Frina: tall and elegant, while still being a strong and capable warrior with a down-to-earth attitude.
Merosa, you don’t measure up.
Merosa stood there rubbing her chin and examining him with an air of distaste. While it was true that his armor was scuffed and dirty from travel and from the fight at the watchtower, her attitude irked him to no end. She nodded as if to herself.
“Hmm. Are you interested in some coin? We need someone to talk to us.”
“Talk to you? What do you need done?” Harald was reasonably sure he knew what she meant; she’d just told the priest that they had nobody to spy on Mortifayne. By playing stupid, though, he hoped he might learn more about the situation.
“To the east of this bridge lies the town of Arnima; formerly Raven Spring, lest you run into a resident whose mind is stuck in bygone years. There you will find Jackos, who trains the scout detachment – he’s the only man that I somewhat trust, not completely beholden to his lord. Ask him about rumors. Tell him that I sent you. He should understand your intent. We’ve conducted affairs before; a simple nod from him will be more than enough. You don’t need to know more than that.”
Don’t I? I see.
Harald again bit his tongue against the sarcastic remark he wanted to make. “I understand. You have my silence.”
She nodded, as though that had never been in question. “Now off you go, earn a small fortune for yourself. I heard Evermore has many an opportunity to entertain your proclivities in exchange for coin, of which you will have an abundance upon your return.”
Harald gritted his teeth. The way she’d made unfounded assumptions about him reminded him of a comment Dardeh had made to him once. “People see my skin and assume I was raised as a Redguard,” he’d growled.
I think I understand that more, now. I dearly want to correct this woman’s misapprehensions about me but that would be more than foolhardy.
“Before I go,” he said instead of indulging his annoyance, “who are these Witchmen who attacked the watchtower?”
“I’m no expert, nor historian, but accounts state that this new incarnation of the Witchmen appeared nearly two decades back, just after the incident at Munstor.”
“I’m from the east of Skyrim,” he said flatly. “What happened in Munstor?”
She sighed. “You haven’t heard of that either? I feel like I’ll be going over the history of every blade of grass in The Reach.” She somehow managed to look disgusted and self-important at the same time.
Harald thought about how any of the adults in his extended “family” might react to Merosa and decided that he shouldn’t emulate any of them. Each one had far too short a fuse. Only Brynjolf had the ability to stroke a person’s ego while simultaneously wanting to murder them – and sometimes even he failed at that.
“Indulge my curiosity,” he said, smiling a tremendously fake smile. He hoped that the Nerevarine’s ring might help him persuade her that it was genuine.
“Of course. I digress. Munstor was an abandoned fort far to the north that has since succumbed to its frozen locale. Peasants, serfs and other seditious souls had made a great exodus under the cover of night, all leaving their fields, abandoning the lords they were sworn to serve. Of course, when all your labor – thus wealth – absconds in but a moment, there will be tremors.”
Shor help me or she will hear the sound of my eyes rolling back into my head.
“Of course. A lord can’t be without his serfs.”
She gave him a smug nod. “So the lords sent men to trail these wayward workers all the way to Munstor. What they found was a bizarre affair – both Witchmen and peasants forming a decadent commune, many becoming layabouts who engaged in petty pleasures, shirking the labor that had made them.”
“Odd, indeed. I wouldn’t have thought Witchmen likely to live together with anyone else.”
She smirked. “I see you’re not one for absorbing the finer details of a conversation – this was before they had all turned feral. Not to say they weren’t savage before, but that former identity was ultimately harmless, unlike those you see now. The lords eschewed violence at first, instead attempting to subvert the commune by freeing their scum and exiles with the condition that they go live in Munstor. The hope was that the delusional dreamers of that town would abandon their futile desire for equality once the more extreme personalities had entered their midst.”
Finer details, indeed. In short: the lords sent their prisoners north to Munstor, hoping they’d be too disruptive and the commune would fall apart.
It’s actually a fairly clever idea, though misguided. Why would people who’d formerly been little better off than slaves give up their freedom? The Dunmer and Argonians in Windhelm certainly haven’t.
“Let me guess. They did not.”
“To our utter astonishment, they didn’t.”
Harald smirked. Your astonishment is exactly why you’re only the governor of a literal backwater. But I shouldn’t judge. That would make me no better than you. Besides, I’m here to gather information.
Merosa shook her head and tsk’d. “These scum that would haunt our societies were either subsumed into the mix in Munstor or blocked from entry, leading many to reevaluate the true intent of these radical escapees. We had originally thought they were just pacifists who’d allow any and all into their ranks, which should have spelled doom for them. Eventually the lords discovered the beneficiaries within Munstor: a gathering of hagravens. Then, as crumbs of discontent were found among our militia, fear gripped the nobility that these ideas could spread to every serf.
“Panic stricken, many lords conspired, finally pushing for the siege that would be that commune’s undoing. Nobility, not just from Evermore but from all over High Rock, sent aid when they heard how severe the crisis was. So the lords’ strength was honed into one mighty blow. The walls fell, and what mercy we would have spared upon those misguided serfs was instead replaced with conviction to stamp out a chaotic ideology.”
Harald blinked. “Wait – let me make sure I understand. You killed the serfs?”
Merosa laughed. “I? No, they however did. To the last man, woman and child. A Pyrrhic victory in the truest sense. Evermore had lost half its serf class yet the lords were elated that revolution was averted. Exceptionally harsh measures were put in place for anyone that even uttered the commune’s name, or who dared to evoke the same rebellious sentiments. And so that concludes the tale of Munstor.”
Twenty years ago, and a shortfall of labor for all these years since. No wonder guards are interrupting shipments. The area needs goods, and the guards can then supply them at exaggerated prices after they’ve stolen them from Loke and others like him.
Harald stroked his chin in thought. “Well that’s tragic for all involved, but how did that create the ‘new’ Witchmen?”
Merosa chuckled. “Almost lost myself in another tale, maybe because that question isn’t as easily answered. Bear with me, as what follows can drift into conjecture. Rumors from the nobility in that siege reported seeing figures – neither part of the Kingdom’s militia nor the defendants’ – watching the slaughter unfold in the town. Scouts were dispatched to see who the strange party was, and upon their return they displayed strange idols, with the scouts claiming them as gifts from those shady silhouettes. Neither their names nor identities were ever disclosed. Most of the nobility discarded these charms immediately, except for that wretched Mortifayne, who was enamored of the hideous amulet that still rings his filthy neck.”
Aha. Finally we get to the crux of the matter. No wonder she needs a spy.
“Hmm. So you think that there’s a connection between the people who watched the battle and the Witchmen. What do you think they want?”
“If I could tell you then we’d already be half way to a solution by now, but that’s where my knowledge ends. I hope you enjoyed the tale. It’s always a guilty pleasure to recite when the lowborn are acting up.”
Harald gritted his teeth again. “I’ll take my leave then.”
He turned away from Merosa, grateful for his freedom. It had been beyond distasteful to listen to her unmerited and long-winded claims of superiority, and yet he knew much more than he had just a few minutes earlier. It was to be expected, though.
Father’s like that, too, if I am honest about it. How many times have I listened to his tales of training with the Greybeards? The difference is that he actually is an important man. This Merosa really isn’t, except to the tiny population of this tiny little place. Well, at least I know where to go and who to contact now.
I think.
Sighing, he turned back to Merosa. “Is there anything in particular that I should be looking out for on the roads? I’d hate to have your errand fail just because I was unprepared. As I told you, I’m from the far side of Skyrim.”
“Yes. I assumed that you’re new to the Reach and haven’t become acquainted with anything further than this bridge. Just beyond the southern gate of this settlement lies Sabbat, a town recently ravaged by a mage that we’re still sniffing out. Our search has been impeded by the risen dead that malcontent left in his wake.”
“A necromancer, then? Wouldn’t the waves of undead stop if you got the mage?”
“It’s a possibility, yet I’m not staking any more men on a mere possibility. We’re but a fledgling town when it comes to arms; our guard exists for our immediate defense, not to be thrown at a failed excursion.”
Harald nodded and turned toward the exit a second time. Her answer had reinforced the opinion he’d already formed of her and her town. They were small in size, small in defense, and small-minded. She was right about one thing, though: she couldn’t toss men at this problem in Sabbat. The guards hadn’t even been able to withstand the attack of one Witchman Briarheart, four to one. There was no way they’d succeed against a necromancer.
And what am I thinking? Could I, by myself? Even with Shouts?
As if his thoughts had been written across his chest, a voice spoke up.
“Stranger, fancy an extra blade to accompany you through the menagerie that is the Reach?”
It was the large man in dark armor he’d seen on his way in, slouched against the wall. As Harald approached, the man stood tall and moved between Harald and the door. With each step closer to the man Harald was more impressed with the size of him. Harald was tall, like his father Ulfric; but the top of his head rose only to the level of this huge man’s nose.
I might not be able to take on the necromancer by myself, but with someone this big helping it’s a real possibility.
He grinned as the odds of success became greater.
What a tiny man you are, my friend.
The man cleared his throat and sighed. “I get that a lot. Yes, I’m tall. My name is Ulkarin. And you haven’t answered my question.”
Harald felt himself flushing and was once again grateful to be in a dimly-lit place. I can’t believe I said that out loud.
“Greetings, Ulkarin. I mean no disrespect. But isn’t it a bit low to be selling your sword arm in a temple?”
Ulkarin merely chuckled. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I do spare a little prayer to our Mum for every unfortunate bastard that meets my axe.” He gave Harald a wry grin. “Besides, haven’t you just done the same thing? I ain’t deaf.”
Harald laughed aloud. “Got me on that one. I guess I’ve been more or less a sellsword myself for the last while. Not that I ever intended to be so. I’ve been doing things to help people who ended up paying me anyway. I agreed to help Merosa in order to help the people here. At least that’s my hope.”
Ulkarin smirked. “Always a spin, eh? Look, I ain’t gonna knock ya for earning a little extra coin. Not many other options to do so around the Reach. If you’re ever feeling down and you need a rough pauldron to cry on, I’m your man.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I’ve got a little problem with my legs, though. You see, they can’t move unless I rub ‘em with some coin. 500 septims, to be exact. So what do you say? Help a poor old codger to move?”
Harald looked Ulkarin over again. Not only was the man huge, his armor was likely better than Harald’s own, and the battleaxe strapped to his back looked to be deadly sharp. If nothing else – and Harald felt a bit ashamed for even thinking so – he could step behind Ulkarin in a pinch and use him as an effective shield.
No point in feeling guilty about that thought, though. It’s what Father would do – send Galmar and company in just ahead of him.
The money wasn’t even an issue, though he didn’t want to advertise that to anyone here until he had a better feel for the place. Ulkarin knew the lay of the land as a native.
Yes. This is a good idea.
“Well, we can’t have you stuck in here indefinitely, can we? My name’s Harald, and I’m from Windhelm, in the east of Skyrim. Consider yourself hired, Tiny.” When Ulkarin snorted at the nickname, Harald grinned and pulled out a hefty coin purse. “Here, take it. I’m sure it’ll help your legs. You know the place, I don’t, and I think I’ll be happy of your company.”
Ulkarin took the coin purse, bouncing it in his hand. One eyebrow rose; he knew the weight of five hundred coins, and he knew this coin purse was heavier. Then he grinned.
“Gold makes me a happy man. For this much I’ll be content to be called Tiny. Now let’s go bash some skulls before I bore my ass off!”
As they left the church and walked down to the road, Harald slung his shield across his back and looked around once more. The end of the bridge was only a few minutes’ walk south, and then the road moved down a slope and took a sharp right.
“So where is this Sabbat place?” he asked.
“Not too far beyond the turn there we’ll reach a gate. After that we’ll have another turn to the south and you’ll see what’s left of the town.”
They moved down the slope toward the turn; Harald, though, ran straight ahead for a bit, wanting to see why it made that turn. It soon became very obvious. There was a gaping ravine before him, both wide and deep, the mountains on all sides tall, sharp-sided, and intimidating. He could imagine what it must have looked like during the flooding he’d heard of, the water rushing along, tearing the ravine even wider as it went. At this moment, though, it looked reasonably calm, only the mist rising up from the depths hinting at what he knew must have been a catastrophe.
Below them and to the left, hugging the wall of the canyon, was a suspended wooden walkway. If he squinted, Harald could see a door at the end of it.
He pointed down toward it. “A mine?”
Ulkarin nodded. “Hug Rock Mine, so named because of its placement I suppose. I don’t know that there’s any mining going on there since the big flood.”
“OK. No sense in worrying about that, then. I just wanted to get a sense of the place.”
Not far beyond the road’s curve was a patch of mostly level land where two men, a chicken and several goats busied themselves scratching at a small farm plot and eating grass, respectively. It seemed a very open and mostly undefended place, and yet in this terrain a farmer would have to take advantage of any level place he could find.
Harald approached one of the farmers.
“Something you need?” the man said, looking at him suspiciously.
“I’m trying to learn about this place,” Harald said. “I can see that you’re a busy man, but do you have a moment?”
“Aye,” the farmer said. “Get on with it, then.”
Harald nodded. “I’ve heard rumors of undead wandering the area of Sabbat. Have you noticed any such thing?”
The man snorted. “Not a rumor. Of course I noticed. Hard not to. But what can I do? Just hope and pray that the guards keep them at bay until they move? If I have to start moving the livestock around who knows if they’ll survive this winter in another place? Besides, who would feed the town? So we do the best we can.”
Harald felt the stirrings of unease in the pit of his stomach. So it wasn’t just Merosa being dramatic; there were actual undead at hand. He thanked the man, slipping a couple of gold coins into his hand before shaking the farmer’s. The man’s eyebrows rose, and he glanced appreciatively at the coins and nodded. The man has his pride, Harald thought, and good for him. He does important work, after all.
They continued on down the road. Harald couldn’t help but notice that while there was in fact a gated fence there was a large opening at its left end, perhaps washed away in the flooding. He was pondering how difficult it would be to help someone reinforce the defenses when the guards atop the fortification started yelling.
“Ugh. What’s that stench? Best be on your guard!” Ulkarin whispered, readying his battleaxe.
As Harald drew his own weapons and increased his speed he saw the source of the odor. On the far side of the gate were two walking dead, nearly skeletal but with oddly-colored skin and glowing eyes.
“I see you, scum!” The first of the two guards had a sword and shield at the ready, but swapped out his weapons to grab a bow instead. The second guard began firing arrows down at the nearer zombie.
“You flipping grotty bugger!”
One of the undead made a beeline for Harald. Once again, he was startled by his enemy’s speed and had no time to really think or prepare. While he could have tried to block the creature, he remembered the awful poison of the Witchman. Instead, instinctively, he Shouted.
“IIZ!”
Qara knew all three words of this Shout. Harald’s father had a much stronger Voice than he did. But weak as the Shout was, it was still enough. The undead man, frozen solid, tipped over onto its side. Both Harald and Ulkarin laid into it.
“Time to kiss my blade!” Ulkarin shouted, chopping down in a powerful blow that made Harald happy he’d stepped aside. In just a moment, the undead was dead once more, and Harald darted under the watchtower, through the gate, and onto the road beyond it where the second undead corpse stood.
This time Harald took on the red-eyed creature alone. He knew what to expect, and led off with a bash from his solid, spiked shield. The corpse raised its war axe and aimed what would likely have been a lethal blow if not for the fact that Harald blocked well this time. The axe tangled itself in the spikes for just a moment, giving Harald enough time to land a solid slash with his sword, then a second. The corpse’s second blow glanced off Harald’s shield, but it wasn’t a clean enough block to stagger the creature. Still, it was enough that Harald had a chance to slash three more times before an arrow from above and behind him finished the undead man off.
Ulkarin came up beside him and looked down, then grinned at Harald. “Going places, wrecking faces.”
Harald couldn’t help but laugh. “OK, Tiny. By the way, you’re really good. Thanks for coming with me.”
He chuckled. “Brother, I don’t do this for entertainment. I do it for the gold.”
Harald nodded. “So you have to be good. I understand.” He was about to suggest that they continue on their way when the voices of the two guards drifted down from their perch on the watchtower.
“Redguard thieves, bloodthirsty Orcs and now even the dead come for us?” the first guard said.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find the bastard who did this and we’ll feed him to the dogs. The souls of Sabbat won’t be at peace until we do.”
“This realm just keeps getting bleaker by the day. Why do you think the gods have stopped answering our prayers?”
There was a long pause before the other guard answered.
“What makes you think they were ever listening?”
Harald shuddered. He played the short battle back in his mind and then remembered the feeling of increased strength he’d had after killing the Witchman. At that, he dropped to his knees once again and gave a silent prayer.
Praise be to Shor, god of my ancestors, for the strength I’ve been given to continue these battles.
As he rose to his feet once more, Ulkarin grinned at him. “Prayer?”
Harald grinned back. “To Shor. I, uh… kind of come from a long line of what were Atmorans, once.”
“Thought you looked like one of them.”
The two men trotted down the slope past the Divide’s gate and turned back to the south. It was only a few minutes later when the rooftops of Sabbat, or what had once been Sabbat, came into view. Harald slowed to a stop and stared, mouth open in astonishment. It was as bleak a sight as he had ever encountered, with broken farms and dwellings that looked burned, in some cases, and flood-damaged in others. Steam – or smoke, he couldn’t tell which – rose from the midst of the town. A thick post, probably once having held a lantern or perhaps a sign now long gone, had been pushed into an odd angle. The bones of a red-roofed tower lay drunkenly sprawled just beyond, along with more ruined buildings.
“What in Oblivion happened here? Merosa said it had been ‘ravaged’ but I wasn’t expecting anything like this!”
Ulkarin, following along behind Harald, tsk’d loudly. “Part of it was the flood, of course, but as to the rest: we could see the smoke from atop that old bridge, and the smell it carried toward most who were watching the tragedy was… Well, let’s just say I’m not too keen on meeting the mage that holds this type of power.”
It had been ravaged, all right, reduced to not much more than piles of rubble. And in the midst of it all, shuffling about aimlessly, were more of the undead. Aimless, at least, until they caught sight of Harald and Ulkarin.
The first of them rushed forward with an iron war axe held high. Harald took the corpse down without too much trouble, but not before it managed to slice him in the hip in the one unguarded moment between a shield block and a slash. It wasn’t a bad injury, but Harald wanted to heal it immediately. He didn’t have a chance.
Rapid shuffling noises behind him and the whizzing of arrows past his head had him turning to find two more undead far too near for comfort and closing fast. He managed to dodge backward in time to avoid the first blow from the nearer of the pair. This one was a dark, almost moldy green color; more importantly it was swinging a very sharp sword. Harald stepped just out of its reach as Ulkarin’s arrow struck it; it staggered to a stop and the second corpse rushed forward, swinging wildly with a common wood axe. The spiked shield stopped that blow; but again, just as he lowered the shield enough to strike with his sword Harald took a solid blow.
Damn it. I can’t quite get the timing right and I don’t want to die here. I need Ulkarin in front of me, not behind!
The first corpse was moving on him again, and again Harald called on the one thing he had that others didn’t.
“IIZ!”
That corpse fell to the ground just as the green one moved in for another attack. Harald stepped back once more as he heard Ulkarin’s bow releasing another arrow, letting the projectile do the heavy work for a moment. Then he stepped in and attacked with his sword, finally downing the creature with a heavy backswing. He grunted. None of his wounds were life-threatening but there were several of them, and he was truly beginning to hurt. Healing would have to wait for a moment, though, as Ulkarin’s next arrow shattered the ice that had been holding the pale corpse to the ground. The creature rose to attack Harald, but it was still moving slowly. Harald sliced once and stepped back; another arrow staggered the corpse and Harald’s next blow dropped it.
“That was easier than expected,” Ulkarin said, coming up to stand beside Harald.
“Speak for yourself, Tiny!” Harald snapped, rifling through his supplies for a healing potion. He gave Ulkarin a sour look. “By the way, you’re better with that axe than with a bow.”
Ulkarin raised one eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Harald sighed. “Sorry. Truth be told I’m just angry with myself. I learned the shield techniques from one of the best and I still can’t seem to time it properly. That should have been easier than expected.”
“I get it,” Ulkarin said. “No worries. Let’s keep moving.”
They did just that, pressing forward into the center of the destruction. Wooden bridges spanned thick gashes in the ground, probably the upper end of the huge ravine he’d seen earlier. Harald was involved with searching a wrecked farmhouse when he heard Ulkarin.
“Time’s up for you, mate!”
The metallic clank that followed told Harald that Ulkarin had, in fact, switched to his battleaxe. He ran to assist, and found Ulkarin and an undead down in the gully. How many others might be hidden in the deep gash, he couldn’t tell, but he’d arrived just in time to watch Ulkarin nearly sever the corpse in half.
The sound of feet crunching on sand behind him sent Harald leaping down off the bridge into the gully, buying a few precious moments before whirling to meet the oncoming corpse. Ulkarin had his axe at the ready but the corpse moved fast and was focused on Harald. This time, he managed to block two of three blows from his opponent; the spikes did their damage as he bashed with his shield, and his third sword strike ended it at last. He stood, panting for a moment, before crossing the bridge to meet Ulkarin.
“Better with the axe?” the huge man asked.
Harald grinned. “Better with the axe. Now let’s see what else we might find in here.”
They took their time searching every place they could reach in the ruined town. Aside from some partially-burned clothing and a couple of beds that had somehow survived the flames, everything was a wreck. Even the well was damaged, the wooden structure above its cap scorched and tilted.
“What I don’t understand,” Harald mused aloud, “is the fire. Necromancy explains the undead, but what set the fire? It makes no sense. Unless lightning struck it?”
“No, friend. It was on one of our rare fine days that the catastrophe began. Let’s keep looking.”
“Hmm.”
It seemed a prudent thing to Harald that they make sure the deep gully was in fact cleared out. He found the shallowest end of it and jumped in, checking carefully with weapons at the ready as he followed its course around buildings and under bridges. It seemed that they had indeed put down all the undead, but as Harald approached the end of the gully he saw a huge scorched area with an odd structure in its center.
“Wait,” he murmured. “What’s this?”
A circle of stone lay in the scorched grass, with five short, stubby pillars of stone arranged around it. Harald knelt down to examine it more closely and saw pieces of soul gems, large and small, scattered in it and around the slopes next to it. The scorch marks seemed to emanate from it, largely back down the gully, back toward the town.
“Alright,” he said as he rose to his feet, “I don’t know what it was, exactly, but whatever happened to set that fire started here. It looks like some kind of explosion. And somehow it also created those undead, I’d wager. I don’t know what kind of spell did this but I’m guessing it has something to do with that necromancer they were talking about. Any ideas where he could be?”
Ulkarin sighed. “There’s only one place I can think of that’s obvious, and we passed it on our way here.”
Harald clambered up out of the gully and headed along the path between the gully and the ravine they’d passed on the way in. He stopped once he could see into the ravine and looked back at Ulkarin.
“Hug Rock Mine?”
“Hug Rock Mine.” Ulkarin nodded.
“Let’s go.”