Her scarred face now another reason to avoid contact with others, Kara crossed the road that connected Windhelm and Riften. She crept into the mountains, more comfortable in the snows. She walked a route that took her halfway between Kynesgrove and the orc stronghold of Narzulbur. She grinned momentarily. If anyone in Skyrim could take her in with such a face, it was the orcs. Still, she moved on.
Kara cut deep into the mountains, up a steep hill that ascended behind a dragon mound. Thankfully, there were no more dragons in sight. She came close to the border with Morrowind as she skirted the bandits at Traitor's Post, descending again towards the shore. It was well past noon when she reached the Sea of Ghosts. She wandered along its frosty edge, wondering she was going to have to swim out to the wreck.
Fortunately, there was a small rowboat perched on the shore, trembling on the verge of being swept out to sea. She folded herself into it and rowed the short distance, expecting shouts from a lookout at any moment. Reaching the shore of the small icy island, she advanced up the hill to the wreck.
The figurehead stretched into the sky, cresting the top of the hill and visible from a long distance. Kara drew her sword and moved towards the carved statue, its features unreadable through long weathering. She stepped around a pair of bear traps and found herself with a clear view of the wreck that had once been the Winter War.
The large vessel had hit the ice and snapped in two, the gap between the two halves spanned by a makeshift bridge of boards wrenched from elsewhere on the ship. The front half, onto which Kara stepped, was empty of life. Only ruined barrels and crates dotted the deck. But the rear half of the ship sported a roasting spit next to the cabin, with a lone figure in studded armour turning meat over a struggling fire.
A Nord woman, Kara saw, like herself. The bandit reared up upon seeing Kara, drawing an iron sword and yelling for her comrades. Instead of treading the slippery boards to cross the gap, Kara leapt it at a run, landing with a crunch directly in front of the bandit. Her sword cut through her foe's armour like it wasn't there. The bandit fell, but Kara could hear sets of feet running up the stairs below. She took a position by the side of the cabin door.
When it opened and a small Bosmer in furs came out, Kara swung and severed his head in one clean swipe. An arrow took her in the gut. She grunted and entered the cabin, finding a Nord man with a dark beard and a bow, fumbling for another arrow. Kara made the distance to him before he could get a proper grip. She made a last-second decision and changed the angle of her strike, cutting off the bandit's left leg instead of his head. He screamed and fell to the floor, his blood creating a widening pool around him.
"Don't go anywhere," Kara told him. She pulled the arrow from her gut with a grunt, then descended the stairs. She searched all the obvious places on both halves of the wreck. No more bandits, but more importantly, no Masque. She returned to the main cabin and found the bandit still staring in disbelief at his severed limb, letting out short gasping breaths.
"Where's the Masque?" she demanded, standing over him. It wouldn't do well to fail Vile on her first assignment.
The Nord spat blood. "That fucking elf took it!" he said. He groaned. "Took the last fucking rowboat, left us out here." He spoke through grinding teeth, his beard turning a dark shade of red.
Kara reprimanded herself. She should have checked for tracks around the rowboat when she'd come over. She should have also known the task wouldn't be as simple as Vile had made it sound.
"The thing's cursed!" said the bandit. He tried to spit at her but could only manage to bubble the blood on his lips. "And so are you!"
"That's exactly why I'm looking for it," said Kara. She drove her sword through his skull.
She found the tracks back on the mainland. They headed up the hill and east. It seemed this elf, whoever he was, had decided to head for Morrowind with his cursed cargo. Kara followed in his footsteps, scanning the snowed countryside for any other signs of life. She doubted the elf knew there was someone on his trail. She could only guess how much of a head start he had, but she hoped she could catch him before he crossed the border.
Kara slogged on through the snow, quickening her pace. She reached the road that would lead her through Dunmeth Pass and into Morrowind. The tracks continued on, and so did Kara.
She reached Refugees' Rest in good time. She expected to find herself in a fight—trolls or bears usually took to inhabiting the ruins. However, two frost trolls lay dead on the road, their white fur showing evidence of both blade and magic. Lightning, to be precise. Kara adjusted her assumptions about her quarry. She'd thought of him as just another common bandit, low in skill and without effective arms. But he was clearly a spellsword, and a reasonably capable one.
Kara was reminded of her old friend Antario, who'd also fought with sword and lightning. The chances of him being the one escaping (attempting to escape, she reminded herself) into Morrowind with the Masque of Clavicus Vile were, unfortunately, too low to even be considered. A bandit was her quarry. A competent one, but a bandit nonetheless.
She paused for a moment at the graveyard that lay behind the ruins. She stood in silence, wondering who the dead might have been, what they had run from, what they had hoped for. Snow began to fall and she cursed, returning to the road with redoubled speed. The new falls would cover her foe's tracks if she wasn't quick enough.
Night fell as she trekked through Dunmeth Pass. The tracks vanished completely. Kara was forced to halt, her sight becoming useless in the rising dark. Both Masser and Secunda were hidden by clouds and the falling snow. She regretted not asking Vile for night vision. She went without a fire, huddled against a rock wall, feeling the chill of the winds that rattled and swished through the pass. She didn't sleep.
At first light the snows were even thicker. All her strength and speed proved unhelpful against the thick white blanket. Still, she continued on, realising that it was unlikely she'd catch the bandit before he entered Morrowind. Or that she'd ever be warm again. There was a dull aches to her extremities that she didn't want to examine.
Gradually, the ground began to descend. The white snow gave way to grey ash. The road worsened, became little more than a track. Kara found herself in the land of the Dunmer. The years had not been kind to Morrowind, she knew. As if the eruption of Red Mountain was not enough, the Argonian invasion still dragged on, forcing the capital to relocate north to Blacklight. It was there Kara guessed her quarry was heading, it being the closest city to the Skyrim border.
Without the thick snows slowing her progress, Kara was able to increase her speed dramatically. She shook herself free of the last of the snow and broke into a run, not stopping to look for tracks, merely following the path, hoping to catch the bandit before he reached Blacklight. She doubted the town's authorities would understand her bargain with Vile and let her cut down the bandit and make off with his valuables.
The city was a blur on the horizon when Kara sighted her quarry. Closing the distance between them, she saw him to be a Dunmer, no doubt thinking he was heading for home. He scurried along as fast as his dented iron armour would let him, clutching a sack to his chest.
Kara drew her sword as she ran, letting out a yell to announce her presence. She might be doing Vile's dirty work, but she would do it on her terms. The Dunmer swivelled to see the huge Nord bearing down on him, flicking his eyes back towards the city to evaluate his chances. They weren't good. He dropped the sack and drew a slightly bent Dwemer sword, his left hand preparing a spell. Kara's charge did not falter. His face came into her view: narrow, with a dirty black ponytail of hair swishing with his movement, the smatterings of a beard emerging from his chin.
He loosed a bolt of lightning that cannoned into Kara's chest and sent her sprawling on her back in the ash. Her flesh tingled and she cursed. Vile hadn't seen fit to give her any special defence against magic. She rose and rushed at the Dunmer, beginning a lazy horizontal slash. Her foe ducked, coming up and burying his sword in her gut. She roared and cut his forearm off.
He fell back, clutching the stump, staring up at her with wide red eyes. His sword still jutted from her middle as he frantically tried to prepare a healing spell with his remaining hand. The glowing light in his hand faded in and out as his pain made it impossible for him to concentrate.
Kara dropped her own sword and withdrew the Dwemer blade from within her. The pain overtook her vision for a moment and she dropped to her knees. When she got back to herself, the Dunmer was watching on, speechless. She reached for his sack and rummaged through it. The Masque of Clavicus Vile was inside, stained with blood and ash. She held it by one of its horns and gazed into its hideous visage. Vile would no doubt grant it to another champion in some part of Tamriel, a reward for services rendered.
"What in Azura's name are you?" asked the Dunmer. His spell failed again and he clamped his hand over the stump. Blood spilled from between his fingers and dripped in red globs to the ash.
Kara spat her own blood. "Azura's got nothing to do with it," she said. She still held the Dwemer sword in her hand. She looked at it and the Dunmer. She looked down the road to the east, the way they'd both been heading. Blacklight was visible, perhaps two hours' travel by Kara's reckoning.
"Unlucky," she said. The Dunmer managed to nod in agreement. "Any last words?" she asked him, raising his sword. She didn't know why she said that. There was nothing he could possibly say to make her let him live. She doubted he'd make it to Blacklight in his condition even if she did.
The Dunmer stared at her, at his own sword, at the Masque, at his severed limb.
"You . . . you wanted the Masque," he stammered.
Kara nodded, already regretting saying anything but unable to stay silent. "Needed," she said.
A short laugh escaped the Dunmer's lips. "I would've . . . I would've given it to you," he said. "If you'd asked. I just . . . just wanted to get home." His eyes turned towards the horizon, straining with the effort. His gaze fixed on Red Mountain, the huge spire dominating the landscape, still spewing ash into the sky. The sky of his homeland.
"I'm sorry," said Kara, and drove his own sword into his chest. She left it and him there and turned back to the west, intending to return to Skyrim. In her path sat Barbas, the hound of Clavicus Vile, his shaggy fur thick with ash. She tossed the Masque to him and he caught it by a horn between his jaws. He spoke as if there was no obstruction to his mouth.
"Our master wishes for you to return to Skyrim," the dog said. "The affairs of Morrowind are not for you."
Kara supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. Of course Vile would have different agents, operating in different regions.
"The month of Morning Star is not yet done," continued Barbas. "Our master has another task for you." Kara resented his use of the collective pronoun, but before she could protest, the dog said, "I will find you once you have returned to Skyrim."
He turned and vanished into the ash with Masque. Kara stared down at the dead Dunmer, his eyes still fixed on Red Mountain. She picked up her sword and stepped slowly down the road to the west, backtracking towards the Velothi range. Morrowind held no allure for her. It might have been the bandit's home, but Skyrim was hers.