The Dwemer ruins through which Olvir led Qaralana didn’t look different in any respect from the ones she’d just come from. They were empty. They were in reasonably good condition, too, and there were no dead bodies or dismantled automatons about. Olvir’s footsteps echoed through the halls as he ran ahead; Qara trudged along after him, slowly, trying to make sense of what had just happened to her.
How is it that I’m here? And where is here? I’ve never heard of a place called Amber Creek, though that doesn’t necessarily mean much; there are lots of places in the world I’ve never been to or heard of. But a portal? A portal from Skyrim to… to where?
“Are ye comin’?” Olvir called from the next room. “We need to get movin’ if we’re going to save Mecaius. Oh, and ye might want to shade yer eyes. It’s a mighty fine day outside and it’ll be bright for ye if ye’ve been in these dark halls for any amount of time.”
She hurried to catch up to him. The last thing she wanted or needed was to get lost, especially since he was the only person who might give her a hint of what to do next.
“I’m coming. Thanks for the warning, by the way.”
He nodded, and then turned to push open the metal doors. Qara followed suit, squinting.
It was, in fact, a fine day on the other side of the doors. The sun blinded her for just a moment before she gasped at the sight before her.
It was spectacular. There was a gated wall ahead of her – the type of protective wall one would see around a city made of stone, not wood. It had probably been built by the Dwemer, and the gate and its canopy had been kept up by men over the eons since. Aside from that, it looked like the most beautiful parts of the Rift. The trees were vivid yellows and oranges; the sky was almost impossibly blue, and as it was in the Rift the grasses were tall and golden.
This has to be part of the Rift. It just has to be. This man is just pulling my leg. I’ve come out in a different part of the hold; somewhere up in a valley in the mountains, maybe. These Dwemer ruins are all over the place.
Olvir turned and gave her an exasperated look, waving her forward and pointing to her right rather than through the gate. As they ran that way she saw the cave opening, a dark patch underneath the edge of the craggy mountains into which both it and the Dwemer city had been carved. It seemed a horrible shame, to her, to be leaving the gorgeous sun of this beautiful day.
But I did promise to help, and I owe him for letting me out. And he is wearing what looks an awful lot like a guard’s uniform, which probably means he’s really strong himself and has an in with the local authorities. I guess there’s nothing for it. Besides, I wouldn’t be much of a person if I just walked away from a promise. I’m not some common…
She stopped her thought in mid-sentence. She’d been about to think “not some common thief.” She had, in fact, been trained as a thief – trained by the best, even. But even if she were a common thief, it wouldn’t matter. When she thought about it, she’d never known her father to renege on a promise or to tell a falsehood. He was a master at evasion, of telling just enough of the truth to seed the impression he wanted in someone else’s mind – but she’d never once caught him in a lie. Even his Falmer-Blood Elixir wasn’t an outright lie. He always told people to imagine the marvelous things it could do, suggested absurd things it might do for them – and their minds supplied the rest. And it was the ‘genuine article’ – it was genuinely made by his own hands out of goats’ blood and a splash of wine. Not quite the complete truth, but not a lie, either.
I’d be dishonoring him and Mama if I didn’t do what I said I would do. Even if they’re not here to see me do it.
She picked up her pace and caught up with Olvir just as he disappeared into the darkened cavern. It was surprisingly well-lit just inside: there were torches along the walls, and an opening to the sky not far in allowed a shaft of brilliant sunlight to flood the first turn in the tunnels.
Beyond that turn were sturdy, well-constructed wooden ramps and stairways down a steep shaft into what she gathered was a mine, judging by the sounds. Qara dropped into her usual stealth approach, but when she saw Olvir just bull ahead she sighed, straightened up, and followed.
“Huh?” she heard from around the next bend.
“What do we have here?” the strange voice called just as Olvir called back to her.
“Bandits!”
A sturdy man with a nasty-looking greatsword took a huge swing at Olvir. As she had guessed, though, Olvir was rugged. He raised his shield and took the brunt of that massive blow without staggering; then he took his own swipe at the bandit. Qara took advantage of the moment to slip past both of them, and then laid into the bandit with her daggers. Between the two of them, the bandit went down fairly easily.
“Ok, why don’t I…” Qara started to say. Olvir took off running down the tunnel.
Qara sighed. “Scout ahead. Ok, I guess not.”
Olvir was not in any sense light on his feet, which meant that the next adversary in the tunnel heard him coming well in advance. “Hello?” he called out just as Olvir rounded the corner to face him.
“Yer goin’ te pay now!” Olvir yelled, shield-bashing the man and putting him off-balance for a moment.
As she had done before, Qara slipped past both of the men and started dancing at the foe with her knives. The man was winding up for a massive horizontal strike, though; she barely ducked under the greatsword as the bandit growled and swung at Olvir.
She had to admire Olvir. He was ready with his shield and deftly blocked the blow. “You’re not getting me that easily,” he yelled, once more attacking with his own sword.
The bandit swung again; and while Olvir blocked the blow, and taunted “you won’t be doin’ that again!” Qara could see that his arm was tiring. She couldn’t seem to get a good opening to step in with her blades.
“Slow down!” she mentally shrieked at the bandit.
“FO – KRAH!”
The enormous sound erupted from her and filled the tunnel, painfully. Olvir cried out and staggered backward against the wall of the space. But the bandit found himself covered in a layer of numbing frost.
By Satakal’s tail, I did it again. That was Frost Breath!
It did, in fact, slow the bandit. It would have slowed anyone, the extreme cold numbing muscles and chilling the blood. The bandit tried his best to raise his greatsword again, but his icy arms couldn’t quite hoist the heavy piece of steel over his head. Qara stepped in and finished the man off with her blades.
They were getting closer to the sounds of pickaxe on rock and hammer on anvil; and as they rounded another corner with Olvir in the lead Qara was able to see why. Just beyond them was a large cave with openings to the sky and a stream running through its center. It held a full forge, chests, tables… and foes.
“It’s a shame you chose to come here,” shouted the mage across the water from them. He followed that up with an ice spike cast at Olvir.
“Found ye!” Olvir yelled back, blocking the ice with his shield and leaping across the water to take on the mage. Qara was so focused on them that she didn’t see the open space directly in front of her; and she fell face-first into the very cold water. She heard Olvir running past to engage the rest as she scrambled to find a way out of the water.
As it happened, the way out was back the way they’d come in, and brought her up onto the drier portion of the cave just behind the mage. He was facing away from her, deeper into the cave, preparing another spell. Qara crept up behind him.
“Fighting for Falskaar? You’re not even a Nord!” the man sneered.
Who is he taunting? Olvir? Isn’t he a Nord? Me? I’m only half-Nord but…
Wait.
Falskaar?
Her thoughts stopped short as the mage cast another ice spike deep into the cavern. She sprinted ahead, dropped into a roll, and came up behind him with both knives flying. The mage dropped dead onto what she could now see was only a bridge of dirt over the stream. She didn’t have time to bask in her success, though; because now an archer, across a dirt bridge and next to an alchemy table, was taking direct aim at her.
“You’ll regret coming back,” the man sneered. He was a good shot, too; the arrow would likely have killed her if she hadn’t been so quick. As it was, her dodge to the side did nothing more than allow the long tail of her leather helmet to catch it, rather than her chest doing so. She headed up the dirt ramp but stopped in dismay as a heavily-built man in an expensive-looking fur cloak ran in to stand beside the archer. He had a greatsword. She was suddenly reminded of what her uncle Roggi had accomplished with just a single swipe of his, and realized that she had to get away.
Once more she Shouted. Frost enveloped the man with the greatsword, but as she turned to flee the archer drew a one-handed blade and swiped at her with it. She felt the steel cut into her side and yelped, even as she jumped toward the exit.
“It’s pathetic that you’re even trying,” the bandit behind her said.
Maybe, but I intend to get out of this alive.
And with that, and knowing how hard it was to maneuver in the dark in the water, she leapt over the side of the dirt bridge and swam for the farthest corner she could find. As soon as her feet found purchase she started healing herself. She heard the bandits and Olvir taunting each other but in her determination to live she couldn’t make out who was saying what.
The battle went on in a blur of Shouting, slicing, leaping, healing, and even a few arrow shots. Qara found the other bridge across the water, this one a cleverly-designed stone span, and hid beneath it when she was closest to defeat; but as soon as she could stand without gasping she ran back into the battle.
Just when she was about to give up, Qara ran up a slope, believing she was headed for the tunnel they’d entered from. Instead, she found herself in a dead-end cul-de-sac facing two intriguing chests. Rather than delight at her discovery she felt horror, for just behind her was the sound of the bandit chieftain running up the slope with his greatsword high.
He uttered a huge howl and began the downward swing that, for a moment, Qara feared might be the last thing she would ever see. She reached up to block with her left-hand blade, knowing how pathetic the gesture would be; and in fact the greatsword was only partially slowed by the block. It came down, but weakly, and sliced into her bicep. She grunted with the pain, determined not to give the bandit the satisfaction of hearing the scream that wanted to erupt.
Then it occurred to her. She was hurt, but still very much alive. The bandit was badly wounded, himself; that was why he hadn’t simply removed her arm at the shoulder. She marshaled every bit of strength she had left and attacked with her right-hand blade.
“Damn,” the bandit moaned, falling. She watched him bleed into the floor from her blow and from all the others he’d taken on his way to reach her.
She immediately began using every shred of healing magic she could manage, feeling the wound in her arm close and the bleeding stop. She was going to be in pain for some time, but she was alive and wasn’t going to bleed out the way the man at her feet had just done. She took a moment to clear the coins and potions out of the two chests. Then it occurred to her that it was desperately quiet in the cavern outside the cul-de-sac.
“Olvir? Olvir, are you ok?”
“Out here, Traveler. We need to move.”
Qara breathed a sigh of relief. As irritated as she’d been with the man she absolutely needed him to get to where they were going. Wherever that might be. As she reentered the cavern he was putting the final touches on binding his own wounds. He waved and then headed for a tunnel on the far side of the cave.
“Mecaius!” she heard him cry as she followed him through the narrow opening.
On the far side was another cave, this one smaller. In the center of it, though, was a large cage, and in that a young man who looked a bit worse for wear.
“Thank the divines!” Mecaius said weakly. “Get me out of here? The switch to open the cave is on the wall over there. I have important news for Agnar.”
“What is it?” Olvir said, reaching across to pull the chain on the wall. “Are you alright?”
“The bandits,” Mecaius breathed as the cage door swung open. “They’re working for Yngvarr.”
Qara stood back, watching the obviously-shaken young man and trying to make sense of everything she’d heard. She didn’t know anyone named Yngvarr. It was a Nord name, for certain, but an old one. And what had that archer said? It was…
“I overheard them talking,” Mecaius continued. “They’re searching for… something. That’s why they kidnapped me.”
“What are they searching for?” Olvir asked. “What could ye possibly know?”
“They wanted to know about some key, and when they found I didn’t know anything they were enraged. They threw me in here and were deciding what to do with me when you two showed up. Thank the divines for that!”
“Agnar must know about this,” Olvir said. “I’ll have our friend here tell him. You go home and get some rest.”
Mecaius wiped a hand across his bow. “Thank you for saving me. I’ll see you in Amber Creek.” He trotted toward the exit, slowly at first but picking up speed as he went.
“So wait just a second,” Qara started to protest. Olvir turned to her and shook his head.
“Go to Amber Creek, to the southeast of here. I’d go but I have a patrol to keep.”
“Oh, the one that almost had you leave me behind at the portal?” She couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“Yes, that patrol,” Olvir smirked. “I made a vow and I intend to keep it. Besides, it sounds like there’s trouble about and Mecaius is rattled and needs to rest. Once you’re in Amber Creek find the Jarl, Agnar, in the main house. Tell him that the bandits are working for Yngvarr. He’ll understand. It’s imperative that he knows.” He beckoned for her to follow him back out through the cavern. “He may even have a reward for you for delivering such important information.”
“Well I don’t really care about that. I just want to get home so my family won’t worry about me.”
“Just go tell Agnar. If you’ll follow me, I’ll unlock the gate for ye.”
So that gate I saw when we came out of the Dwemer city is locked. A good defense. And it’s a good thing I didn’t antagonize Olvir here any further. He’s clearly devoted to his duties, and he’s just really strong. I wouldn’t want to cross him.
By the time her eyes stopped watering after they emerged again into the brilliant sunlight, Mecaius was nowhere to be seen and Olvir was waiting – impatiently, by the looks – at the gate. Qara trotted up to where he stood.
“Sorry to make you wait,” she said. “I wanted to ask…”
But Olvir ignored her, turning away to throw a huge, rusty-looking lever at his feet. The gate made an alarming creaking sound and then slowly swung open. Beyond it, Qara saw a landscape that was strange and yet familiar at the same time. Mountains ringed the horizon; tall pines and brilliant deciduous trees filled her view. Birds chirped, an elk stood gazing at her placidly and, somewhere ahead of her, she could hear water.
“Welcome to Falskaar,” Olvir told her as he took up position beside the gate.
That was when it hit her.
They really did say Falskaar.
I wasn’t just imagining it. They said Falskaar.
She could clearly hear her father’s voice, kidding around with Delvin one day while they were training her in lock picking. “Not bad for a reprobate thief from Falskaar, eh?” he chuckled, proud of her achievements. It had been long enough ago that she’d begun to think she’d dreamt the part about Falskaar; but here she was.
She started running down the only path she saw, assuming that it had to be the path to Amber Creek. It was paved, sort of, in much the same way the main trails were paved with old Imperial cobblestones back home. But the paving wasn’t nearly as wide as what she was used to, and there were places where the cobbles were nearly obscured by grass growing up through the gaps between them. There wasn’t a lot of traffic here.
So it’s not a hugely populated area. At least not this part of it. That’s something to bear in mind.
Small population could be either good or bad. She knew that the big skirmishes in the Rebellion had been around Windhelm, and Whiterun, and of course the decisive battle in Solitude; but there had been plenty of equally brutal battles in smaller towns or near out-of-the-way ruins and the remnants of old Imperial fortresses. Sometimes the smaller places were more dangerous, because the locals knew them inside and out, and attacking forces or even defenders from friendly but larger places did not.
So who knows what this business means with Yngvarr and all, that Mecaius and Olvir are talking about? Maybe they’re in trouble.
The trail through the countryside started to slope downward. Qara began to catch glimpses of clear blue water through the trees. It was a relief to see it; she’d been thinking about water ever since jokingly telling Olvir there was none in the Dwemer ruin. It was true, too; a person could survive for quite a while without much to eat, but without water it was certain death. She hadn’t been thirsty before, but she certainly was now.
The trail curved around a corner and dipped down to where the water flowed noisily over a shallow ford. It wasn’t just a “creek.” It was a substantial, if shallow, river; and its water, when she knelt to scoop some up in her hand, was cool, sweet, and refreshing. She jumped across via the boulders just upstream of the ford and found that the roadway on the opposite bank widened, and led to an intersection. The sign reading “Amber Creek” pointed to her left.
A deer came out of the tall grass and began running down the path in front of her, keeping to the roadway as though it was guiding the way toward the town. It wasn’t until they’d come within sight of rooftops that the deer finally veered off to the right, heading away from people.
Qaralana slowed as she passed through the fence at the edge of town, nodding to the guard standing there. There was a sawmill on her left, noisily dropping logs down onto the guide channel to be split by the mill’s blade. Just beyond it she could see a smithy. On her right was an inn, by the looks; and both beyond it and on the street behind it were other buildings, whether homes or businesses she couldn’t tell.
It reminds me of Shor’s Stone. A little bigger, but not too much. It’s much smaller than Whiterun or Windhelm, and not as big as Riften… I’d say it’s about the same size as Falkreath, maybe. Big enough to be a hold’s capital but probably not very important in the grand scheme of things.
Not that I know what the grand scheme of things is, around here. This is definitely not any part of Skyrim that I’ve ever heard about.
From near the smithy, a voice called out.
“Rangarr!”
He’d only spoken in exhausted, hushed tones before, but it was definitely Mecaius crying out in happy relief. Olvir had said Mecaius was the smith’s apprentice. Looking that way, Qara saw the slight figure of the young man, and a much more substantial, dark-haired man bent over the forge above.
“Wha—“ the man said. “By the divines! Mecaius? Is that you?” His voice was heavily accented, but not like Olvir’s, or her father’s. He sounded like some of the old Nords she’d met when they traveled in from Solstheim or other secluded northern areas. They tended to speak with long, broad vowels and rolled rs, and this man sounded like that. He dropped his hammer and rushed down the stairs toward the younger man.
“I was being held in Brittlerun Cave. But the guard and someone else found me and got me out!” He gestured toward Qara as she approached.
Rangarr didn’t look at her but his face wore a grin of delight that lit up the entire area. “Well by all means, go inside! Have a drink and get some rest.”
Mecaius smiled. “Actually, I think I’d like to stay out here and do some work with you. If that’s alright.”
“Of course!” Rangarr said, walking back up the steps toward his forge. “Grab a hammer. It’s great to have you back.”
Qara followed the man up the steps and smiled as Mecaius walked past. She turned to Rangarr and cleared her throat.
“Um, I hate to bother you but…”
“Yes?”
“I’m not from around here. At all, really. What can you tell me about Amber Creek?”
“It’s named after the small stream it was built next to. The stream was, at the time, full of a rich mineral called amber. However, over the years the amber was all mined out. The creek slowly expanded, and over time became a large river like it is today. That amber fueled the growth of the town. Since then, we’ve adapted to make gold through other means. For some, trade; for others, farming.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Then there are those who make gold through their craft. Like me with my smithing.”
Qara had been enjoying listening to the man’s mellow voice, but it suddenly came back to her why she was there in the first place. “Oh! Um, can you tell me where the Jarl’s house is? I’m supposed to deliver a message.” Although why Mecaius couldn’t deliver it is a really good question. He got here before I did, and the Jarl probably knows him.
“Yes, of course. It’s the big house just next door, up on a rise. You’ll see the banners hung outside.”
“Thank you so much!” she said. “Perhaps I’ll have a chance to talk to you more later on.”
“No, thank you for helping to rescue Mecaius. I have no children of my own but he is like a son to me. It’s important for a craftsman to be able to pass on his knowledge; and so I am teaching him what I know.”
“Well, I’m glad we could help him, in that case.” Qara smiled at him and then scampered off.
As Rangarr had said, the Jarl’s longhouse was next door to the smithy. The home was made up of at least two wings, one on either side of the great hall, and the roof over it had many peaks, making the place look downright regal. It wasn’t quite as large as Mistveil Keep in Riften but it was clearly a Jarl’s palace.
She entered quietly. Growing up in and around the Thieves’ Guild she’d learned to be very careful around official places, because it was far too easy to get into trouble in them. But the atmosphere of this very large, very comfortable longhouse put her at ease instantly; it was warm, and cozy. The walls were lined with hunting trophies, attractive green banners hung from the ceiling, and a well-appointed table sat at the end of a large firepit. A friendly-looking, dark-haired Nord man was talking to a small boy at the far end of the great hall.
“…when you are older, my son. For now just enjoy being young.”
The man had a very similar accent to that of the smith, and they were both very clearly Nord. Qara wondered how long this population had been separated from the Nords who settled in Skyrim, whose accents had flattened out over time as they intermingled with Imperials and others.
The youngster pouted. “If you say so.”
“Do not fret, Wilhard. You will grow up to be a great warrior. I am sure of it.”
So this man is the dad. I wonder if he’s also the Jarl?
The boy smiled, and straightened. “But only if I keep practicing. I’ll go do that now!” He ran past Qara with a smile as bright as the sun.
There’s something really special about getting support from your dad.
Even if he’s a pigheaded, stubborn Nord thief.
For a moment that thought had her feeling emotional. It wasn’t a complete certainty that she’d ever see Brynjolf again.
But no. That’s not right. If his stories were the truth, somehow he made it to Skyrim when he was a little boy. If he could do that, I can surely get home as a grown woman.
The large man turned to her. She couldn’t help but smile; he had a warm, open, friendly face that made her want to trust him.
“Are you Jarl Agnar?”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“We found the smith’s apprentice – Mecaius – being held in a cave next to the old Dwemer ruin. He wanted to be sure that you know the bandits who took him are working for someone named Yngvarr.”
He might have been ready to discount anything she said because she was a girl. That happened frequently enough; she didn’t like it, but she was used to it. But as soon as she uttered that name, Jarl Agnar’s attention was firmly riveted on her. His eyes opened wide and his brow creased.
“What? What led him to believe that? Such a statement cannot be taken lightly!”
“He told us that he overheard the men talking. They’d had orders from Yngvarr to capture him because they’re looking for something. A key, I think he said.”
Agnar frowned and shook his head. “This… this is bad news. This could very well be the start of another war. Thank you for bringing me this information. Please, accept this token of my appreciation.”
Qara shook her head. “No, really, you don’t have to…” But the Jarl had already pressed a small coin purse into her hand, with a look that said he would take no arguments.
“I hate to ask more of you,” he said. “You have already saved one of my people. But I have no choice.” He put his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor for a moment, then sighed and met her gaze again. Even though he’d only just met her, he spoke as though she’d been a trusted member of his hold for years.
“Long ago, when there was war between my family and the Unnvaldrs, there was a group of monks that served as our wise men and court wizards. They have since retired to a simpler life, but their roots are still there. They may know what Yngvarr is up to. Please, go to Bailun Priory in the southwest and talk to Brother Thorlough. See if he knows anything.”
“Brother Thorlough. Alright, I will do that,” Qara found herself saying. Then, as the Jarl walked past her, she realized what she’d just done.
What am I thinking? I need to get home! I have to tell Jalamar that nobody is going to attack Riften, I need to tell Chip about this place and… and what if Dale stops by the house and I’m not there?
But still…
She headed out the door of the longhouse and looked around. Southwest would be… She turned around several times, trying to judge direction by the angle of the sun.
That way?
She started trotting down the road toward what she assumed was the west and then stopped, once more stunned by how beautiful the place was. Somehow she’d managed to get herself into the midst of its issues, just the same way she’d decided to help Jalamar against everyone’s advice. Somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. She would just trust that she would find her way home once she’d delivered this message for the Jarl of Amber Creek.
She started to run.