Svegard put out an arm to stop Agnar from getting too far away from them.
“Ah!” a deep voice called out, somewhere just downhill from them. It was a pleasant greeting, but false to Qaralana’s ear, with a sarcastic undertone that made her want to grind her teeth. “Agnar! What are you doing here?”
She could barely see more than a few body lengths away, but Qara recognized Yngvarr’s voice. She also heard Chip. He was making a sound, as close to a growl as she’d ever heard a human make. It alternated with a similar but even lower tone from the other side of their group. Her focus on the growls was broken, though, as round shields, white with black anvils, appeared out of the deep night. Qara fought to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want to show Yngvarr how dismayed she was.
Oh this is bad. Yngvarr must have intended to trap us at the gates! He waited for us to wipe the mercenaries out before coming in with his elite guard. All of those men and women were nothing more than shields and decoys to him.
You have no honor at all, Yngvarr.
Over the next few moments more and more soldiers appeared, deliberately and completely blocking the road, their weapons raised and ready. Qara felt a sense of panic building in her core and tried to talk herself out of it.
We’ll have the higher ground if we can get back inside the fort. Isn’t that what Uncle Roggi always said? If you have to fight, take the high ground.
Yngvarr was mounted on a horse so black she could only vaguely make out its shape in the night. It didn’t matter, though. Yngvarr’s sarcastic voice was easy to pinpoint.
“Oh, of course,” he said. “Flocking to help the people.”
She heard him turning from side to side on his saddle. “Hmm. I don’t see Kolgrim anywhere.” He tsk’d. “He was about as competent as a chicken fighting a pack of wolves.”
The low rumbling behind her was getting more intense. Qara wanted to turn around and tell her brother to calm down, but she didn’t dare take her attention off these men in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she caught Ulgar and Svegard exchanging angry looks. Thorlough, standing silently between them, glared daggers at Yngvarr. Ulgar made a disgusted noise; but before he could speak, Agnar cut him off.
“This is between you and me, Yngvarr,” he said, firmly but calmly. “Let my family and friends go.”
Yngvarr chuckled as he dismounted. “Oh, but it really isn’t. You asked for help from Thorlough and the Hjorgunnars. You got them involved, Agnar. If they die in this war, it’s all on you.”
That was too much for Svegard. “Don’t listen to him, Agnar,” he said, barely able to keep his voice from shaking with anger.
Yngvarr snorted. “Does he really still have you two wrapped around his finger? How long are you going to let him pull your strings, hmm?”
Qara fumed. They’re his housecarls. Of course they would come to his aid! Yngvarr is just trying to get us to be careless.
Then he turned to face Qara, and sneered. “And what about your ‘friends’ here, the prophetic Traveler and her companion? They aren’t even Nord, yet they fight for you.”
The panic that had been setting up like tinder in her gut suddenly flared into anger. It built quickly until she felt herself needing to hold back the flames that wanted to burst into Yngvarr’s face, to take him down, show him what a miserable excuse for a leader he really was. Suddenly she felt the memory of Dardeh’s words as if he was there, speaking in her ear. Yngvarr might well be a lesser being, but she wasn’t a dragon. Her dragon blood could kill the people around her. It could kill her. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself in the face of Yngvarr’s obvious goading.
I can’t Shout at him, not with this many of his men facing us. I’d be putting everyone else at risk. I have to remain…
“Qara’s as much a Nord as I am,” Chip spat from behind her.
Yngvarr smirked. “Yes, look at this half-breed Nord, acting like this is his homeland or something. Go back to Skyrim where you belong.”
Qara nearly lost her focus at that. But somehow she managed to speak calmly. I can’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he’s angered me this much.
“Our father is from here,” Qara said quietly. “So are our grandparents. Our mother may be Redguard, but we’re Nord as well.”
Yngvarr was unimpressed. “Fools,” he said, turning his attention back to Agnar. “Tell you what. I’ll let your friends and family go. If you give me the keys.”
“No!” Thorlough shouted, breaking what had been a steely silence.
“Don’t do it, Agnar,” Jalma begged him.
Yngvarr ignored both of them, continuing his conversation with Agnar as though nobody else had spoken. “You, on the other hand, I will not let go.” His voice became harsher. “You orchestrated all this. You have caused me far too much trouble.”
Agnar had been standing as still as a rock. He swayed slightly, as if about to step forward, but Ulgar growled.
“Don’t, Agnar. He won’t really let us go.”
“He is not a man of his word,” Svegard added.
“Please,” Agnar said, raising a hand to silence them. “I have no choice. You can kill me, Yngvarr, but it will only be your undoing. My people will keep fighting in my stead, in my memory. And do you know why? It’s because as their leader, I serve them. A king is only as strong as his loyalty toward his people.”
Qara heard Chip snort. She knew they were both thinking about King Ulfric, and the wildly different opinions people had about him. Some believed he’d fought for their freedom. Others thought he was just a racist Thalmor toady in spite of his brave words. She’d never known which was closer to the truth in spite of growing up around him. Agnar was different. As far as Qara could tell, he was exactly what he said he was.
“You lie to your people and trick them into doing things that are not in their best interest,” Agnar continued. “You are not a king. You are not worthy of the throne of Falskaar. I help my people when they need me, and let them rule themselves when they don’t. But above all I defend them. I fought for them, and they will do the same for me.”
“There has to be another way!” Thorlough exclaimed.
Yngvarr sneered at him. “Oh, trust me. There is no other way.” He held out his hand for the keys. Agnar handed them over; but he never averted his gaze, never sighed in disappointment, never exhibited anything that could be mistaken for weakness.
Yngvarr chuckled, turning back to his mount. “Thank you, Agnar. I’ll be going now. Goodbye.”
Something about the way he said ‘goodbye’ made Qaralana’s hackles rise. Before she could react, though, Yngvarr looked at his men and smiled.
“Kill all of them.”
As Yngvarr rode away down the slope, laughing, Svegard shouted after him. “You bastard!”
“We had a deal!” Agnar added.
“No you didn’t. We told you not to do it,” Chip said flatly. Qara could hear him readying his blades.
Ulgar, on the other hand, snickered. “This is going to be fun.”
The Unnvaldrs attacked, the line they had formed crashing like a wave over the rocky shoreline. They made directly for Agnar.
Get away from him! she screamed internally.
“FUS- RO DAH!”
The anger that had been building inside her burst forth in a powerful blast, sending the men nearest to Agnar flying. It was enough to give him a moment to mount his own offensive attack instead of being caught just defending himself.
The men who had been on the outside of the line converged toward the center, toward Agnar. But Svegard, Ulgar, and Chip rushed forward, pushed Agnar behind them, and began attacking the soldiers as hard as they could. Qara swung around to the outside of the mass, stabbing and slashing whenever she could find an opening, grateful that their distinctive white shields and closed-face helms made the enemy easy to identify.
An arrow whizzed past her, striking the ground just in front of her feet. She whirled, spotting the archer a few paces away, using a thick tree as cover between shots. The night was still heavy enough that he didn’t see Qara, in her dark armor, sprinting toward him. She finished the man with a few well-placed slashes and then ran back into the chaos.
“A little help, Ulgar!” Svegard called out to his brother.
“You’re a disgrace to your own kind!” Chip howled.
Qara spotted Jalma, off to the side and down on one knee, holding Wilhard back. There were no adversaries near them, though, so Qara looked for Agnar. He was surrounded by Unnvaldrs, with Ulgar, Svegard, and Chip defending him. She reached the group just as Agnar and one of the soldiers exchanged blows. Agnar grunted and stumbled backward in pain but did his best to rise.
Qara screamed her own anger and barreled full speed into Agnar’s opponent. She felt somehow detached from her body, as though it was moving on its own to shred the man to pieces. Another arrow came from the trees; she flew toward its source to find a second archer waiting to be stopped. She felt the fires of anger building in her again; dimly, she heard Dardeh cautioning her. It’s an awful feeling, knowing you killed someone but not remembering how. She fought to bring herself back to reality, to remember that she was not a dragon, not invincible, even as she slashed and pounded on the archer. Once he fell, Qara looked up and saw Thorlough, running from Agnar to Jalma and back again, casting a spell.
He’s healing them. Good.
She could only see a couple more of the Unnvaldrs left standing. One of them raised a two-handed weapon in what was clearly meant to take out Thorlough and his magic. Before Qara could react, though, she heard a familiar voice.
“This is what you want, eh?” Chip sprinted toward the man and brought his blade down in a massive blow that killed him outright.
It went silent. Qara looked around and realized that they’d somehow taken out all the Unnvaldrs. Every one of them looked battered and bloody, with the exception of Wilhard, who’d been kept well out of the way. Still, nobody among their group was dead, or lost, though all of them panted from the exertion.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Svegard said, the first of them to catch his breath.
Agnar spoke, for the first time since the battle began. “Head back to Amber Creek. We haven’t got much time. Yngvarr has all five keys and probably knows where the Heart Chamber is. We will formulate a plan to gather all our troops as we go.”
Qara watched silently as Agnar headed down the sloping roadway, the rest of his retinue trailing behind. She heard the quiet rustling of Chip’s armor as he moved to stand beside her.
“I suppose we should head back, too,” he said.
“Yeah. That was terrible. I almost lost control.”
He sighed. “I know. Me too. It was way too close for comfort, both numbers and proximity. You have no idea how much I wanted to just rip some of those people apart with my teeth and claws.”
“Especially Yngvarr,” she said, grinding her teeth together.
“Especially Yngvarr,” he agreed. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Brunulvr plodded wearily up the steps of the lodge he shared with Gulmist. He’d spent the time since Agnar had left – how long, he wasn’t sure – helping the town’s remaining guards to clear the streets of corpses and take the deceased Amber Creek guards to be prepared for burial. They’d set a bonfire to dispose of the dead invaders, and he’d kept watch on it until there was nothing left but smoldering ash. Brunulvr was fairly certain that Agnar would have wanted the Unnvaldrs and their hired mercenaries to be treated more respectfully; but Agnar wasn’t there, and he’d left Brunulvr in charge. Brunulvr had no such sentimentality in him. They had attacked his Jarl, and his town.
They’d have given us no respect, so they’ll hae none of mine.
He and the guards had come up with a workable plan to keep a sentry at each of the town’s entrances, and a schedule for rotating people on and off duty. He’d taken one of the shifts himself, though he’d found himself yawning by the end of it. He didn’t really expect Yngvarr’s men back in Amber Creek. Yngvarr was after something else, and it wasn’t here.
At least once or twice during this long, tiring process he’d uttered a bitter blast of sarcastic laughter, wondering why a man who could heft a stiffening body up over one shoulder without thinking about it was considered too old and weak to protect his King. He couldn’t blame Agnar for making assumptions, though. He was eighty winters old, after all – an old white-hair with deep lines on his face. He’d known the Hjorgunnars back when they still lived in their mansion. He’d been married, had a child and lost him by the time Yngvarr was a babe in arms.
And that stung.
He could still see Gulmist standing on their porch, practically inconsolable about losing her child, and most definitely angry at him. He’d been practically frantic himself, wondering where Brynjolf had gone and certain they’d never see him again, but he hadn’t wanted to tell her that for fear of making her grief even worse. She’d blamed him. It had been years before they’d grown back together.
She was right. T’was mah fault. The poor lad was feart o’me. Wi’ guid reason. I dinnae ken mah own strength.
All he’d wanted was to convince his son that thieving wasn’t a way to live. They were, by and large, very simple people here on Falskaar – living off the land, but knowing and respecting their very long history and their good fortune to have had Shor himself make the land warm and fruitful. They were honest people, who worked together and shared with each other to make their respective lives complete.
But of course, as with any other place in the world, there were those who wanted what wasn’t theirs and would take it by force or by stealth. Brunulvr couldn’t abide either. Yngvarr and his family were examples of the former. As to the latter – well, from the time Brynjolf could walk he’d demonstrated a winning personality and dexterous hands, and had seemed fascinated with seeing just how much he could get away with.
I tried tae tell him right from wrong, but the laddie couldna help his nature. Any more’n I can help mah own.
And so the stern talkings-to had become firm swats on the behind. Sometimes he’d found himself grabbing Brynjolf by the upper arms and shaking him. And finally the day came when he’d caught his son red-handed, trying to steal a coin purse from the current blacksmith’s father. He’d dragged the boy out behind their home and roared at him, red-faced, frustrated beyond belief that his demands as a father weren’t being adhered to and that his son was growing up to be a…
A damn fool. That’s what I called th’ laddie. A cocksure, impulsive, worthless thievin’ brat.
He sighed. And then I struck ‘im. Hard. I dinnae mean for it tae be so hard. I dinnae ken mah own strength.
He remembered what the boy had looked like, bleeding from his badly broken nose and cowering there on the ground before him. He’d been glaring through the red haze of his own anger but he remembered the sound of Brynjolf’s young voice wailing. “Please don’t hit me again, Da! I’m sorry!”
Brynjolf had disappeared. They had searched every inch of Falskaar but nobody had ever seen him since that awful day. People had assumed, after a time, that the boy had died somehow, maybe being swept over the falls or reaching a bad end on the cliffs at the shore. It had been like a slow death for Brunulvr, too, watching what had once been a bright light in Gulmist’s eyes fade. He and Gulmist loved each other dearly, but it had never been quite the same since that day. There had always been a distance between them – sometimes greater, sometimes narrower – that never quite completely closed. They quarreled a lot. People had grown used to that, and spoke of them with affection as the old couple who always argued.
He brought his hands down over his face, wiping off the dust and wishing he could wipe the guilt and effects of that day away so easily. Nobody really knew how strong he still was – or how strong she was, for that matter – in spite of their age. But he wanted a few more years with her: happy ones, if he could just figure out how to get them.
And here these children had come, the older of them so clearly Brynjolf’s son that nobody could ever have imagined otherwise. His sister was Brynjolf’s, as well; but it was the boy who had nearly snatched his breath from his body. He was a man who had seen fairly much everything there was to be seen in life but still, he’d felt his legs threatening to betray him.
How did she call him? Chip. But his name is Brynjolf. Just like his Da.
Brynny’s alive. He would be sixty winters auld now. How’m I go’n tae tell her?
He stepped inside the warm, fragrant house and stopped for a moment, watching his wife bent over her alchemy station, grinding herbs. It was hard not to smile. She was a beautiful thing, still, even if she was wrinkled, even if her hair had long since gone white instead of staying the vivid auburn that their son had inherited – and their grandchildren, so it would seem.
“Finally decided to come home, did you?” she said without looking up.
“Aye. Agnar went off with his men tae find his wife and lad. Yngvarr’s been up to nae guid again. Agnar left me tae wash up the streets. T’were a bloody mess out there.”
She harrumphed, still not looking at him. “That boy’s always had a chip on his shoulder about one thing or another. Shame his sire couldn’t have lived longer, to keep him in line. He’s been nothing but trouble since the day he was born, Yngvarr has.”
“Aye.” Brunulvr ran a hand through his hair. She’d given him the perfect opening, and yet somehow he was afraid to use it. Finally he decided to just take a deep breath and say what he needed to say.
“Speakin’ o’ Chips,” he started.
She turned her head toward him just slightly, but without taking her eyes off the mixture she was working with. “What are you talking about, you old fool?”
It took everything he had to force his breath out from between his teeth.
“He’s alive, Misty.”
He watched his wife’s brow furrow. Surely she had to know who he was referring to. There was nobody else he would have talked about quite that way.
“What? Who’s alive? What are you on about?”
“Brynny,” he said, his voice small and hesitant. “Ah’ve just met his lad and lassie, Misty. The sister names him Chip, but his real name is Brynjolf. After his Da.”
Gulmist was silent, frozen, for several long moments. “Surely that’s just a coincidence, Brunulvr. Our Brynny couldn’t be the only one in the world.”
“That’s true. But both of these bairns hae locks like flame. Like yers was, lang ago. And the lad…” He shook his head, not knowing how to describe how alike the young man was to the boy they’d lost so many years before. “Their ma is Redguard, they said. Their da – is ours.”
She put down her mortar slowly, and straightened up, turning to stare at him. “The girl. She has red hair too, you said? About this long?” She raised her hands to just under her chin. “Dark skin? And black armor with…” Her brows furrowed again. “A red belt, I think it was?”
“Aye. That she has.”
“I met her! I met her in Svea’s shop!” Gulmist’s hands flew to her mouth. Brunulvr could see them shaking.
“We have grandchildren, Brunulvr? Truly?”
He nodded. “I ken it to be the truth. There’s nobody else the lad’s da could be.”
“So our boy is alive.”
“Aye.” He counted on his fingers, the decades that had passed since they’d last seen their son. In spite of himself, he started to grin. “Our lad. They’ll be calling him an auld man himself, after so lang a time.”
“By Shor’s bones, Brunulvr,” she said, her voice dissolving into tears. “My boy. My beautiful babe. To think he might still live, after all this time!”
She ran to Brunulvr and threw himself against his chest, breaking into tears and sobbing as though her heart would break. Her heart had broken, he knew; over and over again, and for so many decades that he’d truly needed to count them out on his fingers. Gulmist was a strong and stoic woman – had needed to be, in order to stay married to him for such a long lifetime – but this was the one thing that had the power still to make her weep. He held her close, stroking her back and the beautiful fall of white hair that was the first thing Qaralana had mentioned, describing her to him.
“Tis a’right, Misty,” he murmured. “Tis a’right. They’ll be comin’ back with Agnar, Shor willing, and they ken to come find us here. No need to weep, lass. Tis a’right.”
Gulmist looked up at Brunulvr, wiping her eyes roughly. Through her sniffles, she managed to say “Thank you, love. Thank you. I can’t believe I finally have some hope of seeing him once more before I’m gone.”
And Brunulvr found himself on the receiving end of a tender kiss. He returned it, happy in spite of the tears threatening to spill from his own eyes.
He couldn’t help but wonder whether Brynjolf would see them. It was quite possible that he’d long ago ruined their chances of that, forever.
Qaralana knocked cautiously. The lodge was in a nice spot, situated on one of Amber Creek’s side streets and well away from everything else.
“Qara, are you sure now is the time? We have to get out to Staalgarde,” Chip asked, somewhat nervously to her ear.
She glared at him. “Of course it is. Have you thought about what happens if you get killed in this battle? Our grandmother will have never seen you. For all we know, she wouldn’t believe Brunulvr that you even exist. They didn’t seem to have the happiest relationship I’ve ever known, when I met her before.”
“I suppose,” he grumbled. “I don’t know, Qara. It’s weird to think that we have grandparents. Especially grandparents that much older than us.”
“Chip,” Qara said, stomping her foot on the porch. “Stop. You know how old Daddy is, right? That makes Brunulvr only twenty winters or so older than him, which is perfectly normal. It’s not their fault Daddy waited so long to have us, and it doesn’t mean they’re not our grandparents. Now stop cowering like a…”
“Like a puppy in the corner?” Chip said sourly.
“Exactly.”
“Come in, grandchildren,” a deep voice called from within.
“He heard us,” Chip muttered.
“What? How could he have heard us? Really, big brother, you’re making this worse. Let’s just go in, say hello, let them know what’s happening and be on our way.”
Qara opened the door and stepped in. Brunulvr and Gulmist stood in the corner of the room, near the fireplace and a small table in the corner, looking at each other.
“Welcome,” Brunulvr grunted.
“Hello, Gulmist,” Qara said quietly. “Or should I say, Grandmama?”
Gulmist turned and stared at her for a moment as if in disbelief, and then smiled. “I wouldn’t have imagined it when we first met in the store. But you do have the red hair, like I did as a young woman.”
“And this is my brother,” Qara said, stepping to one side so that Gulmist could see Chip.
She watched as the older woman froze in place and then gasped as she stared at Chip. After a moment she reached up to brush away fat tears that had started falling from her eyes.
“Your name is…?” she asked quietly.
Chip was returning the old woman’s intent stare, clearly weighing what he was going to say next. Finally, he sighed, and shrugged.
“Well, I’m sure Brunulvr has told you.”
“Granddaddy,” Qara interjected. We can at least behave properly, brother.
Chip glanced at her. “Sorry. It’s going to take me a few moments to get used to all this.”
“It’s a’right, laddie,” Brunulvr said quietly.
Chip returned his attention to Gulmist. “Like I said. I’ve been called Chip ever since I can remember. You know. A chip off the old block.”
Gulmist nodded.
“But my real name is Brynjolf. I was named after my Da. He’s the old block.”
Gulmist gasped, the tears once again running down her cheeks. She took a step closer to Chip and reached out to touch his face.
“It’s true. I couldn’t believe it was true when this old bear back here told me.” She swallowed hard. “You look just like him.” Her eyes moved back and forth, up and down, as she took in every detail of Chip’s appearance. “Tell me your father is still alive, Chip. I need to hear it from you.”
Chip snorted. “Alive, well, in far better shape than most people his age.” He shot an apologetic look at Brunulvr. “Sorry. No offense is meant.”
Brunulvr grunted.
“He’s still an old con man, runs a business out of Riften.” Chip’s stern expression softened and he gave Gulmist the smallest smile. “He’s a good da. He takes care of all of us, even now; his real family, the people who are as close as family, and the folks who work for him. That’s why he’s the best.”
Gulmist couldn’t contain the sob that burst from her. “Thank you, grandson,” she said through her tears. “You can’t imagine what a gift it is to hear that.”
Brunulvr harrumphed. “Still a con man, ye say. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. He started out a thievin’ git as a lad and…” He trailed off as Gulmist glared at him through her tears. “And the laddie couldna help his nature,” he finished quietly.
Gulmist looked at Qara then, and spoke to her. “You didn’t just come through that gate to help Agnar,” she said. “I know it. Shor brought you to me so that I would know my son is still alive.”
Chip chuckled. “We need to get Harald out here to talk to these people,” he said, glancing at Qara.
Yes. I don’t know how I feel about Shor, but I know Harald does. And I suspect it wasn’t a coincidence that he was away when I went to get him.
I miss Harald.
She was about to say something to that effect when Brunulvr cleared his throat. “Now then. I dinnae mean tae mak’ light o’ this but there’s a war on.”
Qara nodded. “Agnar sent Ulgar Hjorgunnar off before we came to find you. We’re supposed to meet Ulgar at the mouth of the valley, near Staalgarde. But it’ll take a while for him to round up some of Agnar’s soldiers and get out there. We had a little time, and that’s why we came here, but…” She gave Gulmist an apologetic look. “I’m sorry that we have to run off like this, but if someone doesn’t stop Yngvarr nothing else will matter.”
Gulmist sniffled, wiped her eyes again and smiled. “I won’t lie. I want you both to stay here, so that we can talk. There are two or three lifetimes to catch up with. I want you to stay here and be safe. But protecting our king and our home is much more important right now. Go. You’ve both made my life much happier just by being here and telling me about my Brynny. Go do what you must.”
“Thanks,” Chip said, giving both of them a small smile. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be back. And we’ll come talk more then.”
Qara heard a low rumble from the corner and looked at Brunulvr in surprise. He had a sour look on his face, and his arms were crossed as if he was trying to hold himself together.
I wonder what that’s all about. Were they arguing about the war again? Agnar told him to stay here in charge of Amber Creek!
Qara shook the thought off, though, and smiled at her grandparents as well. On a whim, she stepped across the room to give her grandmother a quick hug. “Really, don’t worry,” she said. “We’re both good at what we do. Chip’s an amazing archer and I’m…”
“Really good with blades,” Chip finished with a grin. “As long as we can keep her from stepping in front of someone with a bow, like a complete dope.”
Qara turned and gave Chip a playful swat. “I’m gonna get you for that.”
“You’ll have to catch me first,” Chip said, waving at their grandparents and darting for the door.
“Arrrgh!” Qara cried. “He’s absolutely insufferable!” Then she looked at her grandparents and giggled. “Just like our daddy.”
She headed for the door as well. “We’ll be back in no time. Don’t worry about us.”
A fair amount of time passed as the brother and sister ran east once more, back across the river and down the mountainside to make the long trek to the Emerald Valley at the foot of Staalgarde Hold. They didn’t talk much as they went, choosing instead to focus on the journey and their own mental preparations for what lay ahead. Qara, at least, thought about her home as well, and about the strange circumstances that had brought her to Falskaar in the first place.
Behind them, back in Amber Creek, a large force had gathered. Leading them as they began moving out of town were Svegard Hjorgunnar, Housecarl to the Jarl; Brother Thorlough of the Bailun Priory; and Agnar Borvaldur – Jarl of Amber Hold and King of Falskaar.
Later still, and well behind all of the others, a lone figure dashed down the road and into the misty forests.
