Skyrim is the property of Bethesda Softworks. Before I go on, I'd like to single out the review of Chapter 1 by BassTheatre96. That is an amazing review. It is polite, it is comprehensive, it offers solutions to the elements he/she didn't care for. Seriously reviewers, I hope you treat ever author that well. It's what I started posting here to get. Thanks again. That being said, those of you like Chris who just like discussing the story of have the occasional question; don't feel that I'm trying to discourage you. The fact that you think enough of my stories to want to talk about them is something I find deeply flattering. Anyway, the plot thickens.
"Men in uniform are sexy Love," Aela teased me three quarters of an hour later. I had finally finished putting on all the pieces of the lorica segmentata issued to me. It was a heavy banded armor over a chain and leather tunic fresh from the Castle Dour blacksmith. It was so new it shined like justice and the broad, kite-shaped shield that went with it did the same.
It was just Aela and I now. Lydia departed for Labyrinthian shortly after I took the Martial Oath with a pack mule bearing chests of gold and a laundry list of jobs for the Companions. Supply caravans needed escorts, convicts needed to be subdued, and messages needed delivering. These were the mainstay jobs of the Companions in peacetime. I hoped that sticking to such tasks would make us safe to employ once the war was over.
"As soon as we retake Jorrvaskr, it's going on a mannequin for display," I muttered back. To be fair, I thought the banded armor of the heavy infantry gave its wearer a broad-shouldered and narrow-wasted profile. Combined with a brilliant polish and red leather backing, the effect was not unpleasing to the eye. For a person accustomed at most to the weight of dragon scale, chain, or leather however, it was not pleasant to wear. Throughout the Civil War or any other time I was to be in service to the Empire, I made a habit of retaining only the dragon-stamped bracers and angular greaves as a sign of rank and belonging.
"Good, you're here. Battles are won by trained and disciplined soldiers. Wars are won by talented and exceptional individuals," Tullius philosophized as we came in. "Ordinarily, you would be sent to one of the forward camps to join a century as a private soldier. But I think you'll be more useful elsewhere. I'm making you a quaestor, you'll be reporting directly to me or Legate Rikke.
"We have a delicate problem," Tullius went on. An aide placed a sword on the table before us.
At first glance I thought it was one of the moonstone blades the Thalmor issued to soldiers working for their Justiciars. Closer inspection proved it to be a more basic weapon. It lacked the stately tapering of that more charismatic blade and the winged embellishments on the cross guard and pommel were absent as well. Cheap knockoff though it was, the captured sword was still forged moonstone: resistant to corrosion, light like tin, and flexible like fine steel.
"We took this one and others from a few prisoners after a skirmish in the Reach. The rebels have been getting their hands on weapons like these for the past few weeks now. Our spies in Markarth haven't been able to find anything, so I'm sending you to watch a camp we've located near the Reach's northern border. Find out where these weapons are coming from."
I saluted and left.
By its evil reputation, one would expect a feeling of ill-omen to settle on your shoulders the instant you cross the borders of the Reach. This was not the case as we walked across the ice of a nameless tributary of the Karth River, going south into a beautiful highland of rugged mountain pastures. Forsworn camps were common, but nearly all were abandoned. It was not until we reached a cliff overlooking the Whiterun road near the Stormcloak camp that we discovered the reason why.
"More slaves for his brother's mines," I muttered at the group of battered-looking savages tied to each other by their necks being led off to the south by a group of soldiers in Markarth green. I had no doubt that within a day they would be feeding the Sliver-Bloods' greed.
"The Jarl Igmund and the Silver-Bloods have made noises about scouring the Reach for years. I guess Jarl Thongvor finally acted." Aela mused.
"Think they'll be going to the same place the weapons come from?" I wondered.
She shook her head, "They'll be going to the mines. There's nothing we can do for them. We're not here to solve the Reach's problems."
Her voice was more clipped than I was used to. I looked over to my fiancé, she was farther back from the edge of the precipice. Her eyes were narrowed as she gazed at the camp on the other side of the river, completely ignoring the slaves marching below. Her prone body was so tense I thought she was about to transform.
"It's getting late," I prompted.
She didn't turn away from her vigil, "Go back to the camp. Wake me at midnight."
Lightly stung by her change in attitude, I wiggled back from my perch. "Good night babe," I whispered as slid by her.
"Don't keep me waiting Love," she replied in an odd tone.
Just after sunrise my heavy bloodshot eyes caught the sight of a wagon making its way to the rebel camp on the road below me. A detail of soldiers was already drawn up and eagerly waiting for the wagon drivers to begin handing down the crates.
Inside a minute the first of the crates was popped open. A soldier reached in and came up holding a long-hafted axe. I was too far away to see any details on the weapon, but its bright gold glint in the morning sun was all I needed. I slithered away from the cliff and crawled the short distance to our camp.
Aela and I had dug a small burrow in the snow before pitching our tent last night, keeping our camp under the horizon and warm without a fire. She was still asleep on her side beneath our wool blankets. In the grey light all I could see at the far end of the tent was a tuft of hair. I began the careful process of crawling up to her in the low and narrow space.
Gently, I pulled her rust-colored mane away from her face. "Our wagon has come in," reported, planting a kiss on her pale lips.
She rolled over and sat up to maintain the kiss as I drew back. I sat down in front of her and pulled her lithe body into my lap to kiss her again. One of her hands caressed my chest while mine slid up her ribs to fondle a breast. We sighed with quiet happiness when she parted her lips and our tongues met.
We parted for breath, foreheads touching. "Good morning," I whispered.
Her pale gray eyes looked up into mine with that heart-tugging smirk on her lips. "Just a few more minutes?" she tempted.
I shook my head slowly, "Sorry babe. Duty calls."
It took minutes to pack the camp and return to our overlook. By then the soldiers on the opposite side of the river were finished unloading the wagon. A quartermaster had imposed order on the building chaos and the soldiers were formed in their companies and being issued the new weapons.
The wagon turned back onto the road toward us. Its tired horses kept an easy walk on the cobblestones as we traveled towards Markarth. Alea and I ran through knee-deep snow, keeping well away from the cliff and coming to the edge only once in a great while to find the wagon plodding along on the road below.
We slid behind a pile of rocks near the fork in the road to Karthwasten, a small mining village I knew only as a dot on the map. My lungs and legs felt like lead and fire while sweat ran rivers down my back and chest. Aela dropped down next to me. Her face was flushed from the brutal run, mouth panting for breath, but she was nowhere near as wrecked as me. I did my best to still my breathing and waited for the noise of the cart coming down the road.
To our surprise the wagon's drivers turned from the main road and up the snow-dusted cobblestones leading to Karthwasten. We let them get well up the long rise to the town and followed.
A confrontation was ending as we approached the small mining village. A group of armed people and the wagon drivers were squared off against an equal number of villagers. A Breton in respectable clothing was speaking with the leader of the armed men.
"Forsworn?" The Breton was saying to the group of thugs, "We haven't seen Forsworn in these parts all winter! What you're doing is ridiculous!"
"Jarl Thongvor has gotten reports of Forsworn activity near these mines and has hired us to secure them until the threat is ended," the thugs' spokesman insisted. The towering Redguard said his lines flatly, as if they were well rehearsed.
"Thongvor just wants me to sell my property to his brother!" The prospector snapped.
The thug drew his sword, a moonstone sword, "My sword here says otherwise. Would you like to hear her argument?"
The miner backed down, "I'll take your word for it," he said sullenly.
"Good. More of the Jarl's men will be coming in a few days. We'll need food and drink while we're here guarding your mine."
With that, the armed men withdrew into the mine at the base of the cliff.
"And what do you two want?" The man snapped as Aela and I approached the village.
We held our empty hands out. "We want no trouble," Aela said. "We're Companions looking for a bed and food for the night. We'll pay for it."
The man kept his arms folded tightly over his chest, "Companions huh? Looking for a job?"
"We fight so others don't have to," I said, quoting the company line.
The Breton man pointed at the entrances to the town mines, "Those rat-bastard Silver-Bloods sent their mercenaries here after I refused to sell my mines. They're here to keep my diggers from working our one good shaft! Get rid of them! I don't care how you go about it."
"You have a deal," I said. Aela and I walked toward to opening of the mine shaft.
"Cowards," Aela spat her favorite insult, "They're only here to keep honest people from their work."
"A mine makes a great place to hide supplies," I thought aloud.
Aela nodded her agreement, "Be sure to talk to the leader before you kill him."
We didn't have far to go. The mine was too new to be large yet, and most of the mercenaries had gathered in one of the large chambers meant to be a future tunnel nexus.
Aela held back, stringing her bow and allowing me to walk up to the best-equipped mercenary alone. The way he sized me up suggested that he didn't think much of me. The feeling was mutual.
He saw a thin man of average height in a black leather cuirass and trousers, the matching boots and gloves fit tightly and had red embellishments. Over these were the angular steel greaves and dragon-stamped bracers of the Legion. A low black hood masked much of his pale, unshaved, and weathered face. A filthy wool cloak was draped over his scrawny form. No obvious sword could be seen among the belts and pouches. There was just a short metal cylinder almost large enough to be a club.
I saw a Redguard in cheap fur and rawhide beneath a corroded iron breastplate. He stood taller than Farkas. He was a musclebound animal who would wield his sword like a butcher's cleaver. Some among his men looked more competent, but the malicious gleam in his eye suggested a vindictive personality that would never suffer others to escape his domination. If I broke him and one other in the group I guessed, the mercenaries would abandon their job in seconds.
"The owner wants you out of his mine," I said to the man who stood with his hands on his hips, making him look yet more colossal.
He knew very well why I was there, but the game had to be kept up until the last card had been dealt. "Master Thonar offered Ainethach a very fair price," He had a voice like rosewood, rich and dark that sounded well with his smooth drawling accent. "Now the Forsworn have been reported in the area and Jarl Thongvor has sent us to secure the mine," he was almost laughing out loud at the transparency of his lies.
I was done with the game. "Get out. Now," I commanded flatly and removed Revenant from her place on my waist.
This time he did laugh, "That is a tall order indeed! So unlike you Imperial! Who are you to make such a bold request?" Some of his men chuckled with him.
"The Dragonborn does not make requests to brigands hiding in caves," I replied with all the studied arrogance of my race behind my voice.
They paused for a second, but the ringleader began laughing again. "And what god would be so cruel as to make the Dragonborn a scrawny Imperial dwarf?" He taunted while drawing his sword. "And who is that ravishing woman with the bow? A pet perhaps? Or your owner?"
That was two insults too far. Revenant hissed our wrath and the harsh light of the white blade illuminated the suddenly frightened mercenary's face. I Spoke to the man before bringing my saber up into guard.
"Fus! Ro-dah!" My Thu'um in the confines of the mine was a roar that shook the earth around us. The Redguard stood perhaps six feet from me and took the full force of the dreadful Shout. He flew back into the wall twenty feet behind him. I saw his armor and body crumple from the impact and dust flake off the wall behind him.
With a furious cry a Nord with a steel hammer rushed me. I heard a bow snap behind me and an arrow materialized in his throat. He fell gurgling on his face and slid on the ground to my feet.
I counted five other people in the room apart from the two wagon drivers, including a mage with her hands ready.
"You have until I count to five get out," I told them, holding Revenant's blade out by my side. "If you don't, she and I will hunt you for sport in the tunnels. One…"
I hadn't reached three when the last mercenary sped past Aela and I with fearful glances at Revenant and Alea's bow.
We didn't have to search for long before finding crates of moonstone weapons.
"The Silver-Bloods are definitely in on this," I observed.
"That still doesn't explain where all the weapons are coming from," Aela said.
She was looking down at one of the crates where the owner's stamp had been burned off with a hot iron. All the crates we found were similarly vandalized. It was a sensible, exasperating precaution.
"Let's talk to the villagers. They're bound to know something," I said.
"They can at least help us dump these in the river," Aela suggested.
"Next time, I'll be sure to grab one of the wagon drivers," I groused. The frightened teamsters would be on their wagon and driving the horses as hard as they could by now.
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