“Would you slow down, please?” Harald called after Qaralana’s retreating form.
“Would you hurry up, please? It’s not bad enough that we had to walk all the way down here from Markarth, but then we’re going to have to walk back. It’s going to take hours, Harald.”
Harald sighed and tried to pick up his pace a bit in spite of his heavy armor. He was tired, confused, and more than a bit cranky; but mostly, he was confused.
He had been shocked to see the dark-haired Imperial man take such liberties with Qara right there in public in Riften. It wasn’t like her – at least he didn’t think it was, though he had no way to know exactly what might have happened to her in Falskaar. That tale was disturbing enough on its surface that he hadn’t wanted to pry further. And who knew what killing Paarthurnax might have done to her. She might be changed in ways he could never understand. She’d been friendly and normal enough the previous night, though, and excited to have him staying in her extra bedroom as her first real houseguest. But the kiss in the marketplace still shocked him, especially because she’d seemed to welcome the man’s attentions. Brynjolf’s declaration that the man was “no good” and that she should stay away had shocked him, too.
I’m inclined to agree with the staying away part. The man looked positively predatory leaning into her like that.
Dale, he thought, looking up at the cloud-wreathed outlines of Sky Haven Temple and wondering whether he might again need to exercise his influence on Delphine. The man’s name was Dale, according to Qara, and his very existence bothered Harald to no end. He didn’t understand it.
Other things were competing for space in his mind, too. Qara had gone back to the market to talk to her father before they left. She’d been frustrated, when she returned.
“Daddy isn’t acting like himself. I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know why Mama isn’t home, and he won’t tell me,” she’d said once they were settled in the cart and moving.
“You really thought you’d get any information out of him?”
She’d frowned at him. “Well, yes. He doesn’t always tell me everything but he doesn’t ignore me. Besides, I needed to at least find out whether he sent Chip’s message to Vilkas in Whiterun.”
Harald hadn’t understood that, either. “Vilkas? As in the Companions Vilkas?”
“Yes,” she almost snapped. “Vilkas of the Companions. Apparently Daddy knows him. At least he managed to send the message.”
Harald had decided to stop asking questions. He’d ridden the rest of the way mostly in silence, occasionally glancing at Qara, wondering why Chip was sending a message to the Companions, and wondering why he felt so confused.
By the time they approached the Karthspire entrance, though, he was distracted by other thoughts entirely. He was worried about the reports of piracy on the coast. He was worried about whatever was going on in the west. He was increasingly worried about his own father – because when had Ulfric ever complained of being tired, before? At least Dardeh was there to help. That would allow Roggi to focus fully on the matters at hand, and…
“Are you going to make it up here or not?” Qara called to him. He tsk’d, embarrassed to realize that he’d been so deep in thought that he’d stopped moving.
“Yes. Sorry, Qara. I’ll be right there. My mind was leagues away.” Like down in that Dwemer ruin in Markarth. Or on the other side of the mountains.
She gave him a grim smile as he caught up with her. “Worried about all the rumors of trouble? So am I,” she said quietly. “But right now we have something that we can do. Let’s take care of that first.”
Harald nodded, and smiled. She has changed, he thought. She’s a lot more determined and focused than she used to be.
She turned to lead the way into the Karthspire, and his smiled faded. Whether that’s a good thing or not is a good question.
They found Delphine outside, in the training area that peeked so alluringly through the mists when seen from the road below. She sheathed her blade and turned to stare at them as they approached. While she nodded at Harald it was Qara who had Delphine’s attention.
“We wanted to tell you in person, Delphine,” Qara said. “Uncle Dar and I went up to the Throat of the World and spoke to Paarthurnax.”
“Spoke? If you didn’t kill him, we have nothing to say to each other,” Delphine snapped, crossing her arms and glaring at them defiantly.
“Yes, I know,” Qara said. To Harald’s surprise, she didn’t respond with the fiery temper he knew she had barely beneath the surface. She just gave Delphine a soft smile.
“I won’t bore you with all of the reasons I decided to do what I did, but Paarthurnax is dead now. And so are his closest lieutenants.”
Harald watched Delphine closely, as she lowered her hands. Her face relaxed; while she didn’t actually smile, it seemed to him that an enormous weight carried over decades drained from Delphine’s expression, all at once. She took a deep breath and blew it out.
“I knew we could count on you! Glad to have you back on our side.”
This time Qara laughed, and her response was the Qara he knew and loved. “No you didn’t, Delphine. I didn’t know what either of us was going to decide until we got up there and talked to both him and Arngeir.” She grinned. “Arngeir was not, as you might imagine, very happy with us when we came back down. I don’t believe we’ll see him again.”
“It’s been a long time coming, but now it’s done. I suppose it’s time for the Blades to find a new purpose.”
Harald hadn’t been a part of the conversation but found himself asking a question now. “So you’re all that’s left of the Blades? You and Esbern?”
She gave him a withering look. “Yes. The Thalmor hunted us down, remember? A long time ago we used to protect the Septim emperors, and then the Dragonborn. But for the last forty years – or more – they’ve been determined to kill every last one of us. And the White-Gold Concordat gave them the means to operate with impunity throughout the Empire. Talos worship, you know.” She shook her head and paused for a moment, as if weighing the words she would use next. “They think they’re the rightful rulers of all Tamriel. They’ve been picking away at the Empire from all sides, slowly and carefully, for at least a century. Valenwood was first, then Elsweyr. Then there was the Great War, and they basically crushed us. So all these years, while the Blades were waiting for a Dragonborn to protect, our leaders became obsessed with taking on the Thalmor as we could, a little at a time.”
“Based on what I’ve heard,” Harald said slowly, “your leaders had good instincts.” Father’s been talking about the Thalmor all my life. Even more often now that Roggi’s moved into the castle. Father doesn’t think that the war just before Qara and I were born was really the most important concern. Maybe he’s right.
Delphine looked back at Qara and squared her shoulders.
“We have a good base here, Dragonborn,” she said. “And from here we can rebuild the Blades to protect you and follow whatever direction you give us.”
Qara laughed – a bright, carefree sound to Harald’s ear. It was hard to imagine that she’d had the weight of the world and the moons on her shoulders just a few weeks before.
“I don’t think I’ll need your protection, Delphine. I haven’t got any difficulty fending for myself. But nobody knows what might be coming next. If there’s any way I can help you rebuild, just let me know.”
Delphine pondered for a moment and nodded. “If you find anyone you think would make a good recruit, I can certainly take a look at them. Remember, though, being a Blade is a lifelong commitment. Their loyalty has to be with us once they’re in.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, by the way,” Delphine said, drawing her sword, clearly preparing to go back to her training, “I found something you might be able to use. It’s in the chest by the first bed, in our base. Take it.”
“Alright,” Qara said. “Thank you, Delphine. And for what it’s worth, thank you for insisting that we finish it. I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t. And I couldn’t have done it without Uncle Dardeh. He may not be Dragonborn anymore but you couldn’t possibly find a better warrior.” She looked past Delphine and smiled at Harald. “Let’s get going.”
They went back inside and descended to the Blades’ living space. Qara found the chest Delphine had mentioned, opened it, and gasped.
“What is it?” Harald asked.
“It’s armor! Look at this!” She pulled out a pile of black material. It shimmered like polished dragon scales, even moreso than her current outfit did. It even had a single gleaming pauldron and arm guard, reflecting power back to the observer. “Can you step outside?” she said excitedly. “I’m going to try it on.”
“Of course.” He wanted to look at the books and scrolls Esbern had piled up, anyway. Perhaps he could learn something.
He was deep into a book on enchanting when Qara cleared her throat. He swung around and fought to keep his expression neutral. The armor gleamed, its leather parts having a high polish and the protective gauntlet and pauldron shining as if it carried its own light.
And Qara looked beautiful in it.
Suddenly he was every bit as confused as he had been standing in the marketplace in Riften. His throat threatened to close up. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. He wanted to – but he had no facility with sweet words. Maybe the Nerevarine had been right to give him his ring, to help with that. But Qara didn’t deserve a false, honeyed speech like the one she’d probably gotten from the dark-haired Imperial.
“So?” she asked. “What do you think?”
Before he could stop himself, he growled. “It’s nice. You should keep it. But you look like you belong with that Dale fellow. All draped in black.”
Harald instantly regretted his words. Qara’s smile faded, and her expression hardened. When she spoke, he felt the power behind her voice once more.
“Maybe I do, Harald Stormcloak. At least he doesn’t treat me like I need protection. He’s just about the only one.” She turned and headed for the exit.
I’m so good at saying exactly the wrong thing!
“Qara, wait!” He scurried to catch up with her. “I didn’t mean…”
She turned to glare at him. “Maybe you noticed that my old armor is black, too. And so is my father’s, and my mother’s, and Chip’s. We all wear black. I surely don’t pick my clothing based on how I’ll look standing next to someone else.”
“I’m really sorry, Qara. I didn’t intend any disrespect.”
She sneered. “Of course not, Prince Harald. Now if I’m not mistaken, I need you to protect me on my way back to Markarth and put me safely on a carriage back to Riften.” Her voice positively dripped with sarcasm.
Harald decided saying nothing would be in his best interests. He simply nodded and followed along behind her. He didn’t like having his best friend annoyed with him, and if nothing else, the ‘Prince Harald’ remark showed that she was. By the time they’d made it back to the road, though, his mind was back to working on the issue Delphine had raised.
What was he going to do about the Thalmor?
First, he was going to find the bodies of Calcelmo’s research team – for he was certain, based on Calcelmo himself, that remains were all he would find. But then, what would he do about the Thalmor?
Coyle stood overlooking the harbor in Dawnstar, admiring the familiar ship moored there – a big galleon, its high stern overlooking the port city as it would overlook all obstacles in the Sea of Ghosts. It had been a long, long time. For such an old craft it looked to be in excellent repair, still.
Now the question will be whether any of the crew remembers me.
He’d told Brynjolf that he would investigate the resurgence of piracy, and watched the thoughts flickering through the old Nord’s eyes as he watched his pretty daughter heading north with the apparently simpleminded prince. Brynjolf had accepted his offer without question.
Somehow he trusts me. He looked me over pretty carefully, but he knows better than to ask for a lot of details. We both have our pasts, and things we’d prefer not to drag out into the open. But I’ll bet he thought I’d head to Solitude first.
The truth of the matter was that he was more concerned about Brynjolf than he was about the piracy, though both things were noteworthy. For reasons he didn’t really understand he cared about Brynjolf, and not just because he was Sayma’s husband, or the guy who ran the skooma operation. Brynjolf was clearly distressed and taking risks with his own health. As far as he could tell, that distress had started the moment Sayma recognized him as Coyle. He’d also overheard enough conversations that involved the words “Sayma,” “business,” and “Dawnstar” to know that’s where he should start looking for her, hoping to have a heart-to-heart with her about Brynjolf, and his own feelings on the matter, and about their future.
Well, I haven’t found her. I don’t have a clue where she is, but it doesn’t seem to be here. But this ship, I know. And I’m willing to bet I’ll learn something useful here.
The Dancing Draugr. It’s been a long time. A long damn time. I wonder who the captain is these days.
He walked down the boardwalk toward the ship, nodding to the few people who noticed his presence. He knew nobody would even think twice about seeing yet another man with the rolling stride of sea legs in a port town, especially if he acted like he belonged there. It was exciting, really. It had been a very long time since he’d been aboard the Draugr.
When he walked up the plank onto deck, though, he was struck by an overwhelming wave of nostalgia – both good and bad. It had been a good twenty years since the first time they’d docked in Dawnstar on their circuit of Tamriel’s ports. He remembered it: a beautiful, bright day full of sharp, cold sunlight, with the tang of cold salt air and the cries of gulls and bickering horkers in the distance. He’d stood there, smiling, happy to have a life again and to feel strong and reasonably healthy again. It might even have been the first time he’d mustered a real smile since Daron’s death – and in spite of what he had to do below deck to keep himself alive and the monster of addiction from clawing its way through his body again, that day had been a fine one.
He shook himself back into the present. Coyle had no time to waste on nostalgia; he needed to verify the status of this vessel in the here and now. The one crewman on deck lounged about up at the bow, watching the town and paying very little attention to the gangplank. Coyle smirked and stepped onto deck and toward the hatch, opening it and slipping quietly into the hold. Behind him, he knew, would be the crew’s quarters, and he had no interest in revisiting that area, ever. He immediately dropped into a crouch and made for the nearest shadows.
Let’s see what we have here.
Stacked barrels lined either side of the hold. Checking a few he found what he might have expected: salted meats, alchemy ingredients, cheeses and mead. Crates marked with the unmistakable East Empire Company logo filled the center, leaving just enough space on either side to maneuver through.
So it’s an honest cargo ship now? That’s unexpected. But I suppose, if the coin’s there…
The gate to the lower hold was locked but only with a simple lock, easy to pick open. The cargo included casks, kegs, sacks of vegetables, and dried goods. There was light coming from behind the crates to his right, so he slipped into the deep shadows on the left side of the EEC crates and timed his forward movements to match the slow, rhythmic creaking of the ship in the water and its lines pulling against the docks.
A lone crewman sat in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, staring blankly at the wooden floor before him. Coyle smirked again. He knew that stare. He could almost taste the substance that gave a person that stare.
Well there am I, twenty years ago. Poor sod.
Checking in with his own status he nodded. He was still good. It wasn’t time, yet.
Directly in front of him was a caged area and unless something major had changed, that would be where the most valuable cargo was stashed. The cage was locked, of course, and with a good lock to boot, far better than the one above. But it yielded to him eventually and the creaking of the vessel covered the sound of his breaking two or three lockpicks.
The cage was lined with deep shelves full of chests, and he didn’t hear anything sliding around inside them. Whatever was in there, there was a lot of it, packed tightly. He started opening the chests to get a sense of the cargo and as he went down the rows his frown deepened. Some of them held metal ingots – expensive metals, not your basic iron or steel. He saw lots of ebony and moonstone and, not surprisingly given that they were docked in Dawnstar, quicksilver. A few chests contained an utter embarrassment of jewels and jewelry. Any one of the pieces he picked up to examine could have fed the whole crew of this ship for weeks.
But the majority of the chests held weapons and armor. Arrows. Bows. Swords of all makes and sizes. Warhammers. Light armor, heavy, boots, helms, shields, and gauntlets.
Who are they arming? It’s got to be contraband or it wouldn’t be down here past crew and two locked gates. Someone’s gearing up for an assault somewhere. No idea who it might be. Well then. This is something Bryn’ll be interested in hearing, and his friend in high places, too.
He turned back, making sure the one sleepy crewman wasn’t looking anywhere near him, slipped past through the darkened aisle between stacked goods, and made his way back up onto the deck. There was one other place he had to look: the captain’s quarters, just behind him and through a thick wooden door.
The layout of the place hadn’t changed. It was just as he remembered it – with the desk, bookstands, washbasin and a ridiculously ornate chandelier overhead – just in front of him through a short, wide corridor. He hadn’t remembered the truly posh rug in the center of the room; but that was because the captain of his day had been a practical man who didn’t risk pricey things in a vessel that always had the potential to leak. To his left was a storage area. It had always been there, but Coyle was surprised to find it gated and bearing a lock he was certain he couldn’t break. The massive chest, strongboxes and crates behind the gate made him wonder what warranted even more security than the arms and armor he’d already found.
He crossed the room and looked around the other side of the entry. As he had recalled, this was the captain’s sleeping area and personal wardrobe and storage area. Above the bed was a strong ledge with even more crates and sacks.
Well, well. I wonder what all of this means. I’d best…
Before he could finish his thoughts, the sound of heavy footsteps just outside the door interrupted him. He looked around the enclosed space where he was now trapped and hissed. There was no place to go, except, maybe, up.
And so up he went, out of necessity, happy to have gotten so much experience evading traps lately in the course of his employment. It wasn’t effortless, and he was working hard to keep his breathing under control by the time the door opened; but he was at least mostly out of sight for now. At least he hoped that he was. One leg dangled partially over the edge, but he didn’t dare shift his position for fear of making noise so he just waited, and hoped.
The captain moved around the room, muttering to himself. He leaned over the desk, reading papers atop it, but to Coyle’s frustration he was facing away from him. Coyle thought the timbre of the muttering was vaguely familiar, but he didn’t hear it clearly enough to be sure.
But if it’s who I think it is…
Finally, there was a dry cough, and a chuckle. Without turning around, the captain spoke.
“It’s been a long damn time, Coyle Sendu. And what in Oblivion are you doing up there? Come down here so I can take a look at you.”
Gods damn it. And here I thought I was being so clever.
He sighed. “Well,” he said, the word sounding more like a groan as he maneuvered out of his hiding space and dropped onto the floor, “I saw the Draugr was in port and just couldn’t resist trying to figure out who sails her these days.”
“Is that so?” the man said, turning to face Coyle. “And she’s not the Draugr anymore. Too many associations. Now, she’s…”
“No, no, let me guess,” Coyle said, glad for an opportunity to collect his wits for a moment. “You named her the Pretty Sister. No, wait – it would have to be in Yoku just because you thought it would be cute and would make you sound like a Redguard. Let’s see, that would be Nukri Sanloa, right?”
The man grimaced. “She’s the Buoyant Barnacle now, wiseass.”
Coyle fought to allow himself only a small grin, though he wanted to burst out laughing. That is the stupidest name I’ve ever heard but he’s obviously the captain now, and I need to be careful with my words. He cleared his throat a couple of times and nodded.
“I see,” was all he could manage without laughing. “Well you’re ugly as ever, ain’t ya, Rolvar?”
To his credit, Rolvar didn’t even flinch. In fact, he laughed heartily and then absolutely leered at Coyle.
“I may well be,” he said. “Twenty years will take its toll on a man and I got my nose broke at least once more since I saw you last. You still look mighty fine, though, my friend.”
Coyle felt his hackles rise. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Brynjolf that he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, and the man before him had been the cause of a great many of those.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said quietly, in a tone that he knew would be a warning. “Besides, you know as well as I do that I look like an old man now, so don’t give me that bullshit, Rolvar.”
“Alright,” the Nord said, his tone becoming serious as well. “So why are you here?”
Coyle sighed. “Well I know better than to try to get much past you, so here’s the long and the short of it. I found myself a good position. That position relies on shipping and the boss has… how should I put it. Connections. We’ve heard rumblings about shipping getting disrupted, and the connections are antsy. They aren’t – well, they’re not the kind of connections you want to have being antsy. So I’m checking around to see what the facts might be.”
Rolvar grinned. “You’re just always such a stand-up sort of guy, aren’t you, Coyle?” he said, waving at the chair behind his desk and chuckling. “Not a devious bone in your body. Have a seat. It’ll take me a minute and I’m hungry, besides. Need anything?”
“Naw, I’m fine.” Coyle breathed deeply through his nose, trying to convince himself that was the case even though after so many hours he was now beginning to feel the vague itch of discontent that would have to be addressed before the shakes set in. He was alright for the short term, but it wouldn’t be much longer and he knew that Rolvar would be able to tell, unless he was very careful.
He knows me too well. I’m not devious, because I can’t lie to save my life. How anyone could be so bad at such a useful thing is beyond me.
So they sat there for some time, chatting. Or, more accurately, Rolvar chatted, bragged, and otherwise crowed about having worked his way up to captain and owner of the Barnacle. He ran a legitimate shipping business – that much had been obvious to Coyle from the moment he stepped onto deck – but he was also starting to accumulate wealth for “some folks out West,” he said.
“And why is that? What’s going on?” Coyle asked even though he thought he knew.
“I’m not sure what the big plan is, my friend,” Rolvar said. “I’m not high enough up in the riggings, so to speak. All I know is there’s something gathering out there and it needs a lot of coin. So we’re… well, how do I put it.”
Coyle rubbed his chin. “You’re accepting donations from your regular customers?”
Rolvar laughed. “That’s a good way to put it. You have a way with words, Coyle. That’s a good way to put it. Donations. That’s what they are, alright.”
My gods. Not only is he still as ugly as ever, he hasn’t gotten any brighter in twenty years, either. Well, Bryn will be happy to have this information and I’m pretty sure it’s King Ulfric who will be happy about it, too. I may not be a good liar but I do watch and keep my mouth shut.
“So who else is in on this, Rolvar?”
The Nord grinned. “I couldn’t tell you many of their names, seeing as how I don’t know ‘em. But there are at least a couple of ships docked in Solitude right now that you might want to take a look at if you’re interested in seeing the big picture.”
“Oh yeah?”
This revelation had Coyle’s interest truly piqued. He leaned forward in his chair to make certain he heard the details.
“Yeah. One of them is the Dainty Sload.”
Coyle’s left eyebrow rose. He had serious doubts about that ship being a part of anything serious. It had a history – according to the rumors someone had planted some Balmora Blue on the captain and the whole crew had gone down with him when the capital city’s authorities had moved in. Besides…
“That old tub is ancient. I’m a bit surprised it’s still floating.”
“Yeah, well, it is, and so is the Icerunner. Both of them are supposedly involved in this big setup.”
Coyle nodded slowly. He would definitely take a look, but he didn’t expect to see anything unusual about the Sload. “Large ships, though. That does sound a lot like something big wants supplying. Hmm. Thanks for the news, Rolvar.” He stood and stretched his back out a bit. It was definitely time to get moving.
Rolvar, with his oft-broken nose, his smarmy attitude and his penchant for giving things idiotic names, leered at him again. “No rush, Coyle. You know you can always hang around here for a bit if you like. I’m pretty sure from the looks of you that you could still haul a mean line.”
Gods, no.
“Sorry, ya ugly bastard. I’ve got to get moving.” Things to do, people to see … other peoples’ marriages to save. It’s a busy life.
“Alright. Suit yourself.”
He remembered, though. He remembered what it was like up in the air, hanging on by a finger, just watching the waves and the gulls and the horkers, breathing the sharp, cold air and feeling alive for the first time in years.
He thought of that as he pulled himself up through the hatch and took a moment – a simple moment for himself, standing near the wheel, while he reminisced. About why he’d even noticed that he felt alive, and the mistakes he and Daron had made that had led him to send Dagnell away, forever. They were bad mistakes. They’d created bad memories. And even so there were those moments – those few and special moments – when he’d thought maybe life was still worth living after all.
And now I have to save her damned husband so I can save her damned marriage, when all I ever wanted was to have her for my own.
Coyle, you’re an idiot.