'Wake up, my lord,' Bjorlam called back, 'we're nearly there.'

Uhther started awake and glanced around. The carriage driver was right. The sun was just now rising and the light of dawn was illuminating the farmholds of Rorikstead. To the left, a little way to the west, he could see the mountains that marked the edge of the Reach.

'About damned time,' Uhther said, stretching his back and wincing at the pain in his shoulders and hips. It had been nearly two days since he had left Winterhold and he felt as if he had spent every moment of those days in a wagon. Which he had, near enough.

He had returned to Windhelm long enough to retrieve a couple of possessions, stock up on potions and bid farewell to Sylgja and Sofie before leaving again and jumping on the carriage to Whiterun. He had not seen Lucia, which worried him a little. Sylgja had said she'd left with some friends two days before he'd returned but hadn't come back. Apparently she'd taken an axe from his stores and had bought a set of armour from somewhere and had gone adventuring. But though he worried, Uhther couldn't deny feeling a little proud that Lucia had grown up so much. He supposed it had only been a matter of time before she would want to make a name for herself.

Perhaps she will even join the Companions one day, he thought. He wondered how the Circle would react to seeing Lucia stride into Jorrvaskr. He, Uhther, was still technically a member of the Circle but their last parting had been less than friendly. He was sure Farkas wouldn't care but Vilkas, as Harbinger, might hold it against her. And as for Aela...well, he thought, best not think about that.

He had been in Whiterun less time that he had been in Windhelm. He'd only needed a quick word with Ysolda, to get a message to someone. Though he would have liked the chance to sleep in an actual bed, but there had not been enough time with the result that he was now working the stiffness out of his joints. His dragonscale armour made the uncomfortable business of sleeping in a carriage even more unbearable.

He gave his back one final stretch before turning his attention to the dark-haired woman who sat opposite him.

'Did you get any sleep at all?'

Lydia shook her head.

'You needed it more than I did, my thane,' she said, 'and someone needed to keep watch. There have been more bandits than usual in this part of the hold lately.'

Uhther looked out across the moors and grimaced. The wild country out there was certainly a good place for bandits to hide. He remembered all too well how many caves and hidden places there were out there that were the perfect places for hideouts.

'I'm surprised Balgruuf would allow that,' Uhther said, 'he's usually quite vigilant about such things.'

Lydia looked troubled.

'That's the thing,' she said, 'the Jarl hasn't been seen much lately. He keeps to Dragonsreach, won't even grant audiences anymore. And he hasn't posted any bounties in weeks. Farengar and Proventus made an announcement, saying he's ill, but the people are growing worried.'

Uhther didn't respond. He supposed Balgruuf was growing old, sickness was not unbelievable. He had heard of younger men than he carried off by disease in Skyrim. Though the timing seemed strange. Perhaps while he was nearby...

Uhther shook the thought from his mind. He could worry about that later. He had enough to think about for the moment, chief among them was what would be waiting for him when he arrived at the Karthspire. Would Alaric have had enough time to spread the message by now? Would he have even spread it? The courier had seemed earnest enough when he had seen the dossier but time had a way of changing minds. And even if he had spread word, would anyone have come? And, more importantly, was there any left to come?

Bjorlam reined in the horse with a "woah girl" and turned back to them.

'Here we are,' he said, 'will you be needing me to stay?'

'Well we will need to return to Whiterun,' Uhther said, thoughtfully, 'I don't know how long we'll be though.'

Bjorlam nodded, understandingly.

'Not a problem,' he said, 'I'll book a room at the Frostfruit Inn. Come find me there when you want to head back.'

Uhther thanked him, gratefully before stepping down from the carriage. Lydia followed behind him, her dragonplate armour making her descent considerably louder than his own, and handed him the shield that he had laid on the wagon floor.

This was one of the things Uhther had retrieved from his Windhelm house. He had thought that, if any former stormcloaks had answered his message, turning up with the elven shield of Auriel might give the wrong impression. So, he had left that behind in exchange for the broad, round shield that had once belonged to Ysgramor himself. The steel surface carved with Atmoran designs, he thought, would appeal to Nord sensibilities much better.

He hefted the shield now and began walking the road northwards. This path, he knew, would take them around, and then through, the Reach's border mountain range. Lydia followed behind him, her own shield, this one of dragonbone, at the ready for any sign of a threat. Her hand was resting on the hilt of Vaatdeinmaar, the sister sword of Dragon's Breath. Uhther had forged the two swords from the same piece of dragon bone and had given Lydia the other. She had been the first of his housecarls so he had felt it was only right that she should be the first to receive such a blade.

As they walked through the village, Uhther caught the eye of Lemkil, up despite the hour and already working his fields. The farmer made no sign of greeting, nor even any sign he had noticed the new arrivals, and merely continued scowling as he returned to his work

Uhther wondered if he missed Sissel, or had even noticed that she'd left the village for the College of Winterhold. Curiously, though, he did not see the other girl, Britte. Had she left as well?

They carried on through the town, up the road and into the hills, continuing north until the road forked and they took the left path that would lead around the mountains, into the Reach, and then turn south along the Karth River.

It was approaching the middle of the day by the time the Karthspire came into view. Even now the sight of the place made Uhther feel uneasy. It had been many years since the Forsworn had been here, but he still had memories of the horde he, Delphine and Esbern had had to fight through to reach Sky Haven temple. They had been camped outside the ruin, almost like a town of rustic huts and tipis but they had all fallen beneath their swords and Esbern's magic. There were tents there again now, though, more than there had been that day.

It was as if a small army had arrived outside the Karthspire. Uhther stopped, almost agape. He had never expected so many. A few dozen, at the most, but there must have been hundreds down there.

Lydia tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the bridge that ran over the Karth river onto the island. Uhther had been so transfixed by the sheer number camped by the ruins that he had failed to notice the twenty or so men and women, dressed in furs and leather, who stood guard by the bridge. Great swords and battleaxes in hands and all of them with their eyes on him.

Uhther straightened his back, raised his chin and strode towards the group, Lydia on his heels. He noticed as he approached that the hands of the Nords guarding the bridge tightened on their weapon hilts. Some eyes widened while others narrowed. They were afraid. They knew who he was. They knew that if he attacked, they would stand no chance. But they would not run. In their minds, if they were to die that day, they would go to Sovngarde in glory.

Good, he thought, these are the type of people I need.

He was careful to put his hand nowhere near his sword hilt. Instead he marched straight up to the man who stood at the group's head. He was shorter than Uhther but built like an ox, with broad shoulders and arms like tree trunks. His fingers were drumming nervously on the haft of his battleaxe. The weapon wasn't raised but Uhther could tell he was ready to swing if it was needed.

'I am Uhther Stormfist,' he spoke loudly, his voice strong and unwavering, a few of the group facing him flinched a little as he spoke but took no steps backward, 'I wish to speak with your leaders. Please take me to them. Should you wish, I am willing to surrender my sword.'

To demonstrate the truth of his words, Uhther unfastened his sword belt and lifted the sheathed blade up to hold it out to the leader. The man drew back.

'That won't be necessary, Lord Dragonborn,' he said. Uhther noticed there was a kind of reverence in his eyes as he looked on the sword, a look shared by many in the group.

They might not like me, Uhther thought, they may even hate me for what I did. But hey respect me. That is enough to work with.

'The captains await you, Lord,' another of the group, a woman with fiery red hair and a scar running across one eye, spoke up, 'we can take you to them.'

Uhther nodded and, after refastening Dragon's Breath's sword belt, followed the group towards the camp.

The closer they got, the more Uhther was in awe of just how many people had turned up. The tents were pitched so close together that there was barely room to move through. The men and women who had come were finding a way though, stepping lightly through the gaps, talking, laughing, some carrying tools, buckets of water and weapons for sharpening or hafting.

Over the hum of hundreds of voices talking and laughing, he heard the sound of a blacksmith's hammer on steel. They had created a true military encampment on the slopes of the Karthspire.

The gods help me if Tullius ever finds out about this, Uhther thought.

Two years previously, Uhther had finally convinced the Governor to sign an amnesty for all surviving stormcloaks. It had been agreed on the condition that they would be registered and would be forbidden from ever joining a professional army or informal militia. Just by looking around, Uhther saw enough to know that the terms of the amnesty were broken to pieces.

Rikke may well skin me alive, he thought, forlornly.

The small unit leading him and Lydia stopped and gestured towards a pavilion that stood at the centre of the camp.

'They await you in there,' the red-haired woman said before turning and heading back towards the bridge. The rest followed her.

Uhther looked at Lydia, who smiled encouragingly, then swallowed and walked into the tent.

The pavilion was spacious, large enough for ten men to stand in comfortably. It was clear this was no sleeping tent. There was no bed nor personal belongings. The only furniture there was a large, round table in the centre of the space and a few chairs. Two of these chairs were occupied, both by people Uhther knew. On one chair sat a stoutly built Nord man with straw coloured hair that fell to his shoulders and dressed in a padded leather jerkin, his shoulders covered with a bear's pelt. The other was filled by a stern-faced woman built like a poker, her long, silver blonde hair pulled back in a severe pony-tail. She was dressed in light, steel plate, made in the Akaviri style. Before her, on the table, lay the slim, single edged sword of the Blades while the Nord had placed a simple steel war axe on the table.

Around the edge of the tent were others. Three Nords, dressed similarly to the sitting man, stood facing an Orc and a Nord who were dressed in the armour of the Blades. All eyes were fixed on the two sat at the table and each had a hand on a weapon.

'It is inexcusable,' Delphine, Grandmaster of the Blades, was saying, 'this temple is the headquarters of the Blades. You have no right to be here. I insist you pack your things and leave.'

'Though I would love to see you try and make us,' Ralof of Riverwood said, his voice betraying amusement, 'I'm afraid we are here to answer the call of the Dragonborn.'

'The Dragonborn has no authority here,' Delphine spat, 'he hasn't for half a decade. He betrayed what we stand for and has not been welcome here since.'

Inwardly, Uhther groaned. That was something else he should sort out while he was here, he supposed. In truth, he'd been meaning to do it for quite some time, years in fact. There just never seemed any real need.

Well there's a need now, he thought, I will need the Blades.

The seven in the tent finally seemed to notice he was there for Ralof and Delphine ceased talking and turned to face him. Ralof stood, Delphine did not.

'Dragonborn,' Ralof said, bowing his head, respectfully, 'welcome. I received your message and gathered all I could.' He raised his head, and there was a look of interest, and a twinkle of mischief, in his eye. 'Now, why don't you tell us about this plan of yours?'