Qaralana climbed up out of the pool and sprinted upslope, through the driving rain, in the direction she hoped would lead her to the road. She scanned the area on one side and then the other, hoping she wouldn’t trip and fall, not certain whether the dampness on her cheeks was from the rain or from tears.
They killed him. They blew up Borvald. Just to find a key! Why?
It wasn’t as though she’d known the Jarl. They’d only been in each other’s company for a short time. But he’d stayed behind so that she could live.
For that matter, Goran stayed behind so I could live. And he’s dead too.
It simply wasn’t fair. She wept, not only from grief that so many had died, but from anger that they died for no good reason. The Heart of the Gods? She had no idea what that was. It was probably some kind of legend. Or a large piece of rock.
I’m tempted to find it and cram it down Yngvarr’s throat. Except maybe that’s what he wants.
Yngvarr wanted the Heart. But it was clear that he wanted more than just that. He wanted revenge for old family grievances; and he wanted domination over the rest of Falskaar.
I just really need to help stop him.
Or maybe I’m just really mad.
She was angry, but she was also still suffering from the shock of having Borvald go from silence to war to destruction in so little time. Her ears were still ringing. She was grateful that there was only one road to follow, for she was still disoriented.
She saw no signs of bandits once she reached the road; they were likely all involved in the attack and were either dead or busy looting the city. She was drenched and cold, though: wet through and through between the leap into the pond and the deluge outside. It made the sun that emerged as she made it to the top of the cliff all that much more welcome. She was getting warmer, if only at the level of her skin.
Qara approached Borvaldur Manor with a heavy heart. While he wasn’t the Jarl of Borvald – or maybe he was now, by default – Jarl Agnar’s ancestors had founded the city. She didn’t want to be the bearer of this news.
She found the Jarl by himself, standing near the fire, looking as worried as any man she’d ever seen. He glanced at her as she approached, and the frown on his face deepened.
“Have you spoken to Valfred yet?”
“Yes. I met with Jarl Valfred and…” She swallowed. “I am very sorry to bring this news, Jarl Agnar. Yngvarr’s men attacked Borvald. They were stockpiling barrels of oil in a cave directly under the city. The whole thing exploded just as I was making my escape. The city… is destroyed.”
Agnar’s eyes went huge and round for a moment. “What? That son of a… Did you talk to Valfred before the attack?”
She nodded. “Yes, he was with me until the end. We found out from one of Yngvarr’s hired bandits that they’re after something called the Heart of the Gods.”
Agnar’s face went white. “He… he’s found the Heart?” He shook his head. “We’ve been searching for it for hundreds of years.”
“I don’t know whether he’s found it yet, but… What exactly is the Heart of the Gods? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“The legend is called Olav’s Journey. When our people first came to Solstheim it was covered in ice and snow, and we were dying. Olav met an avatar of Shor named Ahkrinviing, who tore out its heart and gave it to Olav.”
Qara felt a chill run up her back. I wish Harald was here to hear this. Stories of Shor always make him excited.
“Olav used the Heart, watched over by five guardians, to transform the southern half of Falskaar into the warm, habitable region it is today. Afterward, the guardians sealed the Heart in a chamber somewhere in the mountains. It takes five keys to get in.”
Five! That’s impressive. You only need two to get into the vault in the Cistern!
“Oh… that’s…” Qara started to say, remembering the Orc they’d met under the mountain.
“The keys are of Leadership, Wealth, Wisdom, Strength, and Shelter. If Yngvarr attacked Borvald, it was undoubtedly to get one of those keys.”
“I’m… pretty sure he got it,” Qara said quietly. “We found a room, on our way out, and there was an Orc. He said something about the Key being his and Yngvarr ruling over all of us.”
Agnar sighed. “Please, have a seat at the table there, and I’ll call the others. We need to discuss this.”
“Of course.”
Qara made her way to the end of the great hall and took a seat. She was impressed. This had been almost the worst news she could have given Agnar; and yet he’d remained calm and had been very patient in giving her the background information she needed to make sense of everything. The Hjorgunnar brothers clearly respected him very much, and not just because he was their sovereign. Now she had a better idea why.
He rose from his bench and called into the next room. “Please, everyone come in here and have a seat. We have a problem.”
“What’s wrong, Agnar?” Svegard asked as everyone settled around the table.
“Yngvarr has attacked Borvald.”
“What?” Ulgar exploded.
“Why are we sitting here, then?” Svegard said angrily. “We must go help defend Borvald!”
Qara shook her head, but didn’t speak. We can’t defend it, Svegard. It’s gone.
“Gentlemen,” Agnar said quietly, “it is too late. He has too many men. We would simply be marching to our deaths. Borvald… is lost.”
“Lost,” she murmured, staring blankly at the table in front of her. “Overrun, sacked, burned. The catacombs, and anything above them, exploded. I don’t know how much of the city went with them.”
Ulgar pounded the table. “That son of a bitch! Our ancestors built that town six hundred years ago! He has destroyed a part of our history!”
“Ugh!” Brother Thorlough shouted. “It’s just like you to go on about stupid buildings! What about those living in the city?”
“They’re gone too,” Qara said flatly. And what exactly is wrong with grieving the loss of the city as well, Brother Thorlough? You surely weren’t there to help protect it, for all your huffing and puffing earlier.
“Stupid buildings?” Ulgar yelled.
“Certainly! Many innocent people died today!” Brother Thorlough shouted back at him.
Qara tsk’d. Thorlough had good reason to be distressed, but the way he was taking it out on others rubbed her the wrong way.
“Please!” Agnar said. “We must not do this!” His voice was quiet but authoritative, and all of the others silenced themselves at his statement. “Yngvarr has destroyed part of our heritage.”
Brother Thorlough seemed to back down a bit. “Why would he do such a thing?” he moaned.
“It seems that he is trying to obtain the Heart of the Gods.”
There was a stunned silence for a moment, and then Ulgar spoke. “Divines save us.”
“He attacked the city to get the Key of Shelter, and he’s likely trying to find the other keys as well,” Agnar continued.
“We have to get the keys before he does,” Thorlough said quietly. “If Yngvarr gets his hands on the Heart of the Gods he’ll be immortal. We must stop him!”
Immortal? What?
“I thought the heart was just a myth. A legend,” Ulgar said.
“So did I,” Agnar admitted. “But if he attacked Borvald just to get the key it must be real. The keys have purpose, after all.”
Svegard frowned. “Where can we get the other ones, then?”
Agnar rose from his seat. It was then that Qaralana noticed that Agnar’s wife had slipped into the room. He turned to her.
“Some are more obvious than others. Jalma, come here.”
“What is it, Agnar?” she asked softly, approaching him.
“Your necklace, please.”
She reached up behind her neck and unfastened the clasp, handing the necklace to her husband. “You don’t mean…”
“Yes, my dear. Thank you.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a peck on the cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table once more. He looked down at the necklace, and then back up at them.
“It was passed down through each generation of Borvaldur women so that it would remain safe.”
“So then, we have one key,” Svegard chirped in a way that might have been optimistic – or might have been sarcastic.
“Great.” That was his brother. “But. What about the others?”
“Well,” Agnar said, “Yngvarr got the key of Shelter from Borvald. The key of Wealth was held in Staalgarde, so count that one out. We have the key of Leadership.”
“So then all we need are the keys of Wisdom and Strength,” Svegard said.
“Exactly. The question is: where are they?”
“I think I may know where they are,” Brother Thorlough answered. All of them turned to stare at him. “The Key of Wisdom would be held by the court wizards. It should be in our old monastery, Kalrun. The Key of Strength was held by the Hjorgunnars. It was most likely locked in the crypts of Hjorgunnar Manor when they left.”
Well there. Good for you, Thorlough, you were finally of some real use.
Qaralana knew that it was small of her to have such a poor opinion of the monk but she couldn’t put his refusal to come when called out of her mind. Nobody else had refused to help, not even she – and she wasn’t even from Falskaar.
“Well what are we waiting for?” Ulgar cried, happily, she thought.
“Let’s get those keys!” Svegard agreed.
“Very well. We’ll split up, to save time. Thorlough, you come with me to Kalrun Monastery. You brothers, go to Hjorgunnar Manor. We’ll meet back here when we have the keys,” Agnar said.
Qara wondered whether she was going to be allowed to sit this out. Perhaps she wasn’t needed any longer, and could make her way down to the docks to return to Skyrim. It would be a relief; and yet she had a feeling of disappointment, somehow, to have come through the harrowing experience she’d just survived and suddenly be cast aside.
As everyone rose from the table, Jarl Agnar approached her. “You must make a choice,” he said quietly. “Help Ulgar and Svegar get the Key of Strength from Hjorgunnar Manor, or help me and Brother Thorlough get the Key of Wisdom from Kalrun Monastery. Either way, we need your help.”
She smiled at him, her brief sense of disappointment dropping away. “I hope you won’t mind but I think I’ll go with the brothers.” Because there’s no way in Oblivion I’m helping Thorlough. Forgive me, but he and I don’t think the same way at all.
“Good. Now go! We must beat Yngvarr to those keys!”
The brothers left for Hjorgunnar Manor. Qara told them to go on ahead, and that she would be along shortly; she needed a refill of water.
The old man was still there, in the inn; he was sitting closer to the front this time but didn’t look any happier. Qara paid for her refill and thanked the innkeeper. Then she took the seat closest to him.
“Haven’t been home yet, have you,” she said in a matter-of-fact way.
His frown got deeper. I guess that sour look is just his natural expression. Now he’s annoyed. Wonderful.
“And what business is it of yours, young lass?”
There was something about the way he said “lass” that had Qara breaking out into a smile in spite of herself. It made no sense, and she had places to be. But the brothers hadn’t been moving at much more than a saunter, so she knew she could catch up to them easily enough.
“I don’t know. I don’t like to see people arguing. It reminds me of my Mama and Papa.”
“Hmph. They don’t like each other?”
Qara shook her head. “Oh, no. They love each other. A lot. But they’re both stubborn, and… well. I just think you should go talk to your lady. She seemed very nice. And she was just worried.”
He tsk’d. “I’ll consider it. Yer a lot like my Misty. Stubborn. And persistent.”
She laughed. “Yes, sir. Now if you’ll forgive me, I need to go. The Jarl’s sent me off on another task.”
He waved her away. Just before she reached the door she looked back. And she thought she saw a hint of a smile on the old man’s face.
It was beautiful outside, a warm late afternoon, hurrying toward sundown. Qara settled into the ground-covering gait she could keep up for hours and ran east to find the brothers. She was a bit worried that they would be annoyed with her for taking time to rest before leaving; but she also knew she would catch up with them eventually.
The first crossroads held a sign indicating that Hjorgunnar Manor was to the south. It also held an arrow reading “Bailun Priory.” She stopped for a moment, utterly puzzled. The priory had been to the southwest of Amber Creek, not the southeast. It made no sense – at least until she came to another fork in the road with a branch taking off to the west.
I guess if you were coming from the east and didn’t want to go into Amber Creek to get to the Priory this might be how you’d do it.
It wasn’t too long afterward that she saw them darting off the side of the road ahead of her, weapons held high. In fact, Ulgar was so battle-ready that he positively glowed with power. She’d seen Harald do this, on occasion. He’d told her it was the spirit of Shor.
I always thought that was just Harald being fanciful. Maybe there’s something more to it.
The brothers were fighting a large frostbite spider; it wasn’t a difficult foe for two hardy Nord men. Just as well, since she was a few seconds too late to help them. She frowned as she examined the carcass, though.
Everything I’ve done today has made me think of home. I wonder if everything’s alright. Maybe they’re all worried about me. Maybe they’re afraid I’ve died.
She looked ahead at the brothers, proceeding at a pace not much faster than an amble. She wanted to help these people, truly she did. But they’d said it was a desperate race to get the keys, and they were barely strolling. If they weren’t going to take it seriously, maybe it wasn’t really serious, and she was just worrying her family for nothing.
All I need to do is head to the docks and talk to Wulf.
She watched their backs receding, and then shook her head. I’d be dishonoring Daddy if I said one thing and did another. He always follows through, no matter what. If he says he’s going to do a thing, he does it. I can’t just quit. Besides, I’m doing it in part to honor Jarl Valfred.
She caught up to them just as Svegard snorted. “I wish Ulgar would stop hunting with his greatsword. It ruins the meat.”
She couldn’t help but laugh.
The southern route they were on eventually turned west. They kept walking, slowly, for what Qaralana felt was an eternity. She chafed under the yoke of their pace, wanting to run ahead, biting her tongue to keep from asking them exactly what they were waiting for. It wasn’t until well after sunset that they neared a huge structure with at least one outbuilding – a stable – and an elegant stone and iron fence across the front of the property, snugged up against the base of the mountains.
“Um…” Qara said. Then she sighed. First, I have to stop doing that. Second, if this is Hjorgunnar Manor and they are Hjorgunnars, it’s stupid for me to ask whether this is their property. Of course it is. But I wonder why they live in a little cabin out in the woods if they could have this? Maybe it’s to be nearer Jarl Agnar?
Svegard gave her a knowing look, but didn’t raise the issue. “Are you ready to get the Key of Strength?”
“Oh boy, am I ever,” she muttered. “I mean, yes. Of course. Let’s go.”
“Alright. Ulgar and I believe the key is an old amulet our great grandfather had during the war a hundred years ago. It would be somewhere near his tomb, in the lower crypts of the manor. Let’s go.”
Svegard pushed open the ornate entry door; Ulgar held it for her as she entered. She gasped. It was an enormous mansion; the great hall they’d just entered was dark and dusty, but with huge, lofted ceilings and of solid construction with stone walls and beautiful wooden floors. And it was completely empty save for some embers in the fire pits, as far as she could tell in the dark.
“By the gods, it’s been looted!” Svegard shouted.
“Not just looted,” she said. “Cleared out completely, it looks like.”
Ulgar growled. “Damn bandits. When we finish with Yngvarr, I’m going hunting.”
Svegard chuckled. “That sounds like fun. I’m in.”
They passed through more nearly-empty rooms, these of more modest construction but still lovely. Nearly-empty in that there were still some overturned braziers and very dusty barrels left behind, as well as some brittle old books tossed roughly onto equally-dusty shelves. The only thing remotely of any value that Qara saw was a partial set of glazed dishes – a bowl, a cup and a plate.
And those aren’t worth much. If I were planning a heist I wouldn’t even look twice at them. The bandits were thorough.
A small room at the rear of the mansion had a few pieces of furniture in it: a handsome wooden table and chair, a sideboard, and a set of shelves. A tall wardrobe drew Qara’s attention. There was one just like it in her parents’ home. When they were small, she and Chip had discovered that the back of the wardrobe could be opened, revealing a ladder down to what was one of the most amazing storehouses of wealth and treasure she’d ever seen. As far as she knew, neither of her parents had ever seen them go down there.
But they must know we figured it out. I think that must be where the Guild hides most of its valuables. Daddy has told me the story of how the vault in the Cistern got robbed. Having the treasure hidden in our house in a very out-of-the-way location was a smart thing.
She shook her head, realizing that she was daydreaming about home again as Svegard pushed the noisy false panel aside.
“Ah, here we are,” Svegard said.
“Just where Papa said it was,” Ulgar agreed.
Unlike the cabinet at home, this one opened onto a wide, well-constructed stone staircase leading down into the family crypt. It reminded Qara of the Hall of the Dead in Riften, or perhaps that of Solitude or Markarth. Banks of coffin-filled niches lined the walls. But some of those coffins had been pulled onto the floors, opened, and left at odd angles. It was worse as they moved into another part of the crypt.
Ulgar groaned. “Even the coffins have been searched.”
“When you’re a looter you have no morals.”
Qara frowned. It was an argument she heard often in veiled references to her family’s occupation; and she knew different. I suppose I haven’t exactly grown up in the most normal of families, but one of our family friends is the High King. So what does that say about morals?
“Watch out for draugr,” Svegard continued. “They may have risen in malcontent.”
Their path through the crypt continued deeper, and toward the mountains, Qara thought. The last of the neatly-arranged wooden niches gave way to a room with a roughly excavated stone floor. At the far side of the space was an arched opening pierced into a wall of stone, ornately carved in a style Qara recognized instantly.
“A barrow,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t know about this!” Svegard exclaimed.
“They built the house on top of Nordic ruins!” his brother agreed.
“I…hope our kinsmen don’t mind us dropping in for a visit,” Svegard said quietly, easing himself around the blind corner to the right. The passage wound down and forward; but to Qara’s surprise there were no chambers, or antechambers, or the burial niches and sacrificial tables common to Nordic ruins.
Qaralana had a strange feeling about what they were encountering. There’d been something bothering her all the way down, a sense of wrongness, and it was just now dawning on her what exactly was causing that sensation. She was opening her mouth to say something when Svegard beat her to it.
“Why are so many of these torches lit?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe someone was camped out in here and left them all when they left.”
Or maybe they haven’t left yet. This is a very long way to go for not much reward, and nobody would have dragged things down here to camp when there’s a nice house and a dry crypt so much closer to the surface.
She drew her daggers. Something wasn’t right.
They rounded a corner and took three steps down into a short hallway. A door at its end opened, beyond which Qara could just make out a chamber with some of what she’d expected to see in a barrow. But none of them had a chance to investigate it, because a Bosmer brandishing a nasty spiked club burst out of the room.
“Ha! Found you!” he yelled.
Behind him, in the shadows, was a mage. Before either of the brothers could more than raise their weapons, he cast an ice spike that flew past Svegard to skewer Ulgar. He grunted loudly. Svegard yelled, “We’ve got trouble!”
Yeah, we do.
Qara was used to making herself inconspicuous, and she did so again, her black armor helping her squeeze past Ulgar on his left. The bandit with the club didn’t even notice her, and the mage seemed focused entirely on Ulgar. In fact, he fired off another ice spike just as she reached him and began a series of strikes on him.
The mage was tough; but like many mages he wore very light armor and simple clothing. Her blades pierced it easily. He stepped back into the corner, hissing, and fired another ice spike. This one took her clean through her left shoulder.
Her vision blurred for a moment as she fought not to scream. She could hear the other two focused on the second bandit, and she didn’t want to distract them by crying out in pain. Instead, she uttered her own hiss and stepped ahead, doing what she could to keep pressing the attack on the mage. He was being worn down, even by the blades that she now struggled to thrust forward with arms half-frozen and bleeding.
“Is that all you’ve got?” the man sneered.
“Not… quite…” she forced out through a clenched jaw, stepping into his preparation of another spell and finishing him off.
Behind her she heard Ulgar cry out. “Get over here!” She swung around, blades still at the ready, just in time to see the brothers strike the remaining bandit almost simultaneously.
“They got here before we did,” Ulgar said as the bandit fell.
Qara had a hard time to keep from snorting out loud as she healed her wounds. Perhaps if we’d been keeping a pace a little more robust than a waddle, we would have gotten here first. But who am I to say?
Now I’m just getting cranky. But I pretty much soloed that mage, and it took two big Nords to kill a Bosmer with a club. You’d think I might get at least a look to see if I’m alive.
“Let’s go,” Svegard called as he started for the next passage. “We have to get that key.”
She stood in the burial room for a moment longer, shaking her head. Why was she becoming so irritated with these people, after all?
It’s the whole business about family and tradition. I have my own family. We have our own traditions. But they’re back on Skyrim, not here. It wasn’t my choice to come here, no matter what Olvir said back at the portal. I could have left as soon as I discovered the docks, but I didn’t. I came back to help them, and now I’m risking my life.
And they didn’t even check to see whether I was ok.
She started to follow them through to the next area and stopped again, shaking her head at herself. She tsk’d.
I’m Dragonborn, for whatever that’s worth. I still haven’t decided what I think about all of it. What I am sure of, though, is that Uncle Dar did all sorts of things he didn’t want to do, in order to help people. Because they were the right things to do. At least that’s what everyone has always said. I ought to be able to do the same.
I just wish I knew everything was alright at home.
They’d moved out of the burial chamber into another series of narrow tunnels that wound deeper into the mountain. All three of them ran forward, as silently as they could manage, until another door opened before them.
This time Qara’s attempt to slip into the room unnoticed failed magnificently. She had her blades at the ready. But the bandit with the greatsword had his ready as well. He was in the middle of a huge horizontal slash that she nearly stepped directly into. At the last second she leapt at least partially out of the way, her training with Roggi and his practice greatsword serving her well – or at least well enough. Still, she took a tremendous blow. She would have shrieked in pain, but the man was winding up for another attempt; instead of shrieking, she Shouted.
“FO – KRAH!”
The man staggered backwards, giving her a chance to cast some healing on herself. She was still gasping with the pain, and she could still feel blood trickling down inside her armor, but she was alive and that was good enough. She ran toward what she thought was a niche, trying to buy just a few more moments; but from just around a corner she heard a voice.
“What do we have here?”
Suddenly Svegard was being set on by two bandits, while Qara and Ulgar had the third between them. She darted in and slashed him, then scuttled back out of the way of Ulgar’s tremendous blow. He went down and once again the odds were in their favor.
“Get over here, Ulgar!” Svegard howled, still trying to survive against two armed men.
The bandit who had joined late wielded a pole weapon, massive and metal-tipped, and was doing an admirable job with it. Even when he didn’t do actual harm to either of the Hjorgunnars he pushed them back with it, or unbalanced them. Ulgar swiped at him and got his attention while Qara circled around behind him and started worrying him with shallow cuts, trying to find an opening for a deeper stab. She heard Svegard take the third bandit down, behind her, but didn’t want to risk looking to see whether the battle was truly done.
The man with the pole was stubborn and wouldn’t fall. Qara Shouted at him – another cloud of frost wreathed another bandit, slowing him just enough that Ulgar was able to finish him off.
“There are more up ahead,” she said to the brothers as they made for the next passage.
They were well ahead of her, crashing through the double doors and into a large chamber before she even reached the end of the corridor.
“We’ve got trouble,” Svegard yelled; and trouble they had. Qara couldn’t see far into the room but she could see a mage on its far side, casting lightning all the way across the chamber to strike her. She pushed through the doorway, willing her muscles to work even though the electric shock wanted to shut them down. Swerving from side to side, she managed to dodge the next round of lightning until she was close enough to Shout once more.
“FO- KRAH!”
The Shout worked as expected; the mage stumbled backward. Even the bandit standing behind her went down on one knee, covered in frost. But Qara couldn’t move the way she was used to moving. She whirled into her usual dagger attack, but her legs didn’t carry her far enough and she completely missed the mage. She tried again; this time the mage struck back with a dagger, tagging her in the arm. She gritted her teeth to try once more, and stepped straight into another blast of lighting.
“Die,” the mage growled at her.
I might. I might die right now if I can’t…
From somewhere deep within her she found just enough reserve to push forward one more time, make one more attack. Slash, slash, whirl, slash, slash, retreat: and the mage fell dead.
Qara didn’t have time to cast much healing, for the second bandit here in this wide hallway was an archer, and a fairly good one. One arrow grazed her arm. Another whizzed by an ear, barely missing her. And now yet another man was stepping out of the room at the end of this place. She glanced at him, and ducked as another arrow came her way, and then stepped back gratefully as the two Hjorgunnars rushed in to finish the archer.
The man who had walked in last went down on his knees as Ulgar walked past him toward a pedestal at the back.
“Please, don’t kill me!” he begged them.
“Where’s the Key?” Svegard growled.
“Some of the others took it for Yngvarr,” the man said, groveling at their feet. “They were heading to Bearclaw Cave.”
“Of course they got it first,” Qara muttered.
“If you hurry, you may still find them there!” the man said hopefully.
“Thank you,” Ulgar growled. “May your journey to Sovngarde be swift.”
The man looked up from the floor, startled as the meaning of what he’d just been told registered. “What? No! Wait!”
Ulgar’s sword finished the conversation.
Svegard looked at Qara. “Alright. Let me show you where Bearclaw Cave is on your map. It’s just east of here but it’s down in the valley. We’ll meet you there. We have to hurry.”
Qaralana nodded, and watched the brothers leave by way of a side door. She, on the other hand, slumped down onto the floor, her back resting against the wall, while her muscles slowly stopped twitching. She was exhausted, and had nearly died several times. The Key would have to wait long enough for a small meal and a drink of water.