Part II: Briar Blood
I wake with a start, shaking violently from the bad dream. It was the third one I had this week. And it was the start of my fourth day without Vorstag.
Still quivering, I kick the tangle of fur blankets off my legs and bring my scarred knees up to my chest, burying my head into them. I breathe slowly, counting seconds between inhales and exhales, trying to get my heart to slow down.
"You're fine, Sabierelie." I murmur to myself, pushing the sudden desire for companionship down. "You're stronger on your own—you don't need to rely on others." Before I can stop them, the memories of blood—his blood—are in my mind. "You'd only get them hurt."
Feeling restless, I push myself up and unexpectedly hit my head on the stone ceiling. "Dammit!" I yelp, biting back a much louder, stronger shout. Dust and dirt fall from above and settle around me. I'd forgotten, once again, that I've been squatting in the Warrens.
I quickly pull my gear on, eager to get out of my increasingly claustrophobic hovel, and make way for the exit. Emerging from underground, I'm greeted by the bleary, near-dawn sky of Markarth. But today isn't just another pointless day—today I finally get my audience with the jarl.
When I left Vorstag, I headed straight for Markarth and demanded to speak to the jarl about the growing Forsworn attacks in the Reach. I'd been kindly dismissed by housecarl Faleen, being told the jarl was far too busy to see another complaining miner, and that he was already working very hard to solve the problems. I persisted, attempting to tell her about the fatal attack. Her dark brows had come together and she once again said the jarl was too busy to see me, but if I came back in three days she'd personally make sure my account was heard.
I meander around the empty stalls, arms crossed tightly against the cold morning air, and find myself facing the Silver-Blood Inn. I look at the door, knowing the warmth and food that lie inside that could be mine for all but ten coins. The wind buffets my cold frame with a whirling scream. That a hundredfold of that coin amount rests in my bag—a hundred days of food and lodging if I so desired.
I don't.
Vorstag might be there. I blush at the foolish thought, hating myself for my sudden fancy of the romantic. Why would he come after me? He said I was going to get myself killed and that he wouldn't be a part of it. So there was no way he'd be here. And I'm glad for it. Truly. He'd only try to talk me down and I'm afraid this time he'd succeed. But I still can't bring myself to go inside.
As I walk away, I hear the padding of fast feet behind me. My hand reflexively finds my new sword, awkwardly grasping the unfamiliar hilt, while I ready my other with a hysteria spell. No need for gaudy displays of magick in the middle of town. I turn slowly, putting on my best 'do-not-even-try-it' face.
It's a young man with a whitecap—a courier. He nearly collides with me, surprised by my sudden stop, and drops his parcel of scrolls and letters.
"Shite…" he mumbles with embarrassment, throwing himself down to pick up the soiling papers. "Sorry, sirrah."
"Don't run around like that," I scold, nerves still uneasy. "I thought you were a mugger."
"I'm sorry!" he piped, face red. "But I have to get these letters to the Silver-Bloods now, they'll skin my hide if I delay their business."
"Okay, calm down." I sigh sympathetically, bending over to help him pick the papers up. I'm about to hand him my pile when I read one of the sender: Skaggi and Sosia of Left Hand Mine.
I blink, not believing my eyes, but the names are still there. A flood of unwanted memories comes rushing back and I angrily clench my jaw. I need to fix this Forsworn problem now.
The courier reaches to take the papers, but I pull back, unphased by his alarmed look. "When were these sent?" I demand, holding the papers at ransom.
"I—I don't know! They're from various days and places." He whined nervously, reaching to snatch them back. "Please, sirrah, if you'd…"
"Okay," I snap handing him all the papers besides the one from Sosia. "When was this one sent?"
He shakes his head uncertainly, giving me a baffled look. I shove the paper into his face, grip tight. "Look at the names. Left Hand Mine. A man with a scarred face and a woman with one good eye. Remember them?"
He glances at me, overwhelmed and deeming me mad. He timidly eases the now damaged letter from my hand and looks at the return address. I watch as his eyes go wide with recognition. "Oh, yes." He stammers uncomfortably, quickly returning it to his pack. "Left Hand Mine. I just got it yesterday and then returned here."
"Why did you go to Left Hand Mine?" I ask pointedly, bringing my dark brows together and refusing to leave his side. "It's so remote and was just attacked—did they summon you to send word about the Forsworn?"
The courier's face grew white and he froze mid-picking up papers. "I—I was sent there," he discloses in a barely audible tone, "by my lord. Now, if you know what's good for you, you'd refrain from speaking lightly about those savages."
"I'm not speaking about them lightly!" I fume, standing up and aggressively grabbing his shirtfront. His face goes wide in horror as I drag him to his feet and he makes to call for help. I immediately regret the decision and drop him, profusely apologizing and pulling out a healthy handful of coin to shut him up. Though I hated to admit it, Vorstag had rubbed off on me.
"Look, I'm sorry." I say again, forcing more coin into his unsteady hand. "I was just there, okay, and the Forsworn attacked us. It was terrible."
He glares at me with distrust, but slips the large roll of coins into his empty pocket. I'm sure it's more gold than he sees in a month. "I came to Markarth to get the jarl to do something about it," I continue, trying my best to sound earnest, "and if your lord is interested in them then maybe he's someone I could talk to."
He backs away from me, looking down and shaking his head. "You're a madwoman" he breathes, but then with a sigh, "You didn't hear this from me okay? It's to the Silver-Bloods. Now please, leave me alone!" He then scampers off at a faster speed than before, disappearing into the stone trestles of Markarth.
"The Silver-Bloods?" I say to myself. They were a prominent family in Skyrim, owners of their namesake inn and many mines throughout the Reach. But they weren't owners of Left Hand Mine, Skaggi and Sosia were.
My thoughts are interrupted as something wet rushes over my body.
Jumping with an undignified scream, I look up to see an old woman holding a bucket retreating from her metal trimmed window. Oh divines…
I yell at the old hag, flapping my arms to get the wet matter off. She flinches at my obscene words and gestures, a repulsed expression on her face, and disappears behind the metallic slam of her shutters. Slightly panicking, I try to determine exactly what the liquid is. I heave a sigh of relief upon smelling its dank, soapy odor. Dishwater. Used dishwater, but still dishwater. I shudder as I consider the other possibility. Suddenly I hear the metal window grind open again. The hag returns, another bucket in hand. I jump out of the way just in time. The rancid smell reaches my nose and I gag, covering my mouth. She glares disappointedly at her non-pissed drenched victim.
Yeah, just in time.
Shaking the gross water from my armor and praying it doesn't rust, I make my sopping-wet way to Undertone Keep. If the good people of Markarth are already up, the jarl would be too.
XXX
Understone Keep is now free from the cannibals but I still feel that ominous, looming presence. I pull inward, always afraid of entering the oppressive mountain, fearing as if it would swallowed me whole. I could do caves, dungeons, and daedric crypts, but something about this place always felt wrong. There was something corrupt. I shuddered, begging for the feeling to pass. It was the same place I'd been to countless times these past few weeks—minus Verulus, Vorstag, and cannibals of course—so I pushed the childish fears from my mind a forced myself inside.
Among the crumbling keep, I look for the housecarl who promised to secure my meeting. Though it's dark and in ruins, I still can't find, even when I secretly cast a detection spell. The only people in this hall are tired guards and servants. I stand there nervously, shifting my weight as the sleepy guards eye me suspiciously. I suppress the urge to barge my way in, knowing that would accomplish nothing other a one way trip to Cidna Mine, and cough pointedly.
"What is it?" one asks wearily, trying his best not to lean against the wall. His partner nudges him and boldly commands. "No lollygagging, citizen! If you have business here, it'll have to wait."
"Alight." I concede, making to leave. "I figured it might be too early. I do have an appointment, though. You can ask Faleen if you don't believe me. I'll be back in a few hours."
"You misunderstand," she says smugly, enjoying her authority, "The jarl and housecarl are not in the city today. Important business for the Empire in Solitude. I'd refer you to the steward, but he has requested to have the day off."
"Excuse me?" I burst out, louder than intended. "What do you mean? So he just up and left, didn't even think to notify anyone?"
"He notified people of importance."
"Oh, you're going to wish you'd fallen into Oblivion." I seethe, placing a hand on my sword and taking a step towards the guard. "I've been waiting three days to see him!"
"You need to leave." She commands darkly, grabbing her own blade. "Now." The other guard straightens and does likewise.
"This is a matter of life or death! The Forsworn have attacked and killed an entire village! The jarl has to do something!" I yell in utter disbelief.
"The jarl is doing something. And it will be a matter of 'life or death' if you don't remove your hand from your blade." Her partner growls in grouchy voice, evidently upset I disturbed his attempts to sleep on the job.
I stand there for a moment, mentally stabbing out their eyes and turning over the jarl's empty throne. Finally, I let my hand fall and angrily turn around. My face is blazing with embarrassment and rage, and I have to clench my hands to prevent them from doing likewise. Doesn't anyone in this damned city care about the Forsworn?
"You, girl! Hold!"
Suddenly a strong vice grabs my shoulder, clamping so hard I can feel the metal plates pinch against my skin. I wince and whirl around, forcing the large hand off me. Eyes flashing, I glare at the assaulter and spit, "I'm leaving, if you didn't notice."
I blink, confused by the face I see. It's not the uniform helmet of the city guard, but a balding, middle-aged man. Hard lines etch his face and they seem to grow deeper as he leers at me. His irises are pure silver, cold, ruthless, and angry. I involuntarily gulp. Angry at me?
"You're that half-breed bitch that assaulted our courier this morning." He accuses, backing me against the wall. His breath smells of stale ale and raw meat.
My ears burn at the class insults. He's dressed in silver embellished armor, hands adorned with several silver rings, and a family sword at his belt. I narrow my dark eyes and curl my lip. Obviously he's someone who thinks he can throw the weight of his family name around to bully others.
"What was that?" I growl, fighting the urge to slap his face.
"You attacked our courier." He repeated, obviously thinking that was the part I was referring to. "He said a Breton girl attacked and tried to steal his letters. Our letters."
"Oh, you must be a Silver-Blood." I say disdainfully, rolling my eyes at the lies. Well, at the exaggerations. "I didn't attack him. He ran into me."
"He said you assaulted him and demanded to know about our family." He insisted in a low voice, leaning closer and baring his teeth. I laugh; one of them is capped with silver.
"You think this is a joke?" he seethes grabbing my hair and pressing my head roughly against the wall. I small cry escapes my lips before I can stifle it. "You tried to intercept our letters. That's theft, you little rouser. I have a good mind to call the guard."
My eyes go red and it takes all my will power not to blast him with flames. If I attacked this noble, especially one with sound accusations, they'd execute me without a trial. Hell, I'd be dead before I even left the keep. My heart races as I try to figure out what to do.
"I'm just trying to get someone to do something about the Forsworn!" I whisper urgently, hoping he'll hear the sincerity in my voice and let me go. "But no one will do anything! I was trying to get information for my case, which is why I came to see the jarl—!"
"That name again…" he murmurs quietly, a darkness shrouding his lined face. "You said it earlier, and our courier said you were asking him about it, too. Why are you so interested in them, what do you know?"
"Thongvor!" a tired voice shouts form down one of the halls. "What is the meaning of all this noise? Didn't I tell you I was taking the day off? Why are you even lurking here at this early hour?"
A frail man, featuring a mane of white hair and face with a lifetime of wrinkles, teeters down the hall, still dressed in bed-ware with a sabercat pelt draped over his shoulders. He coughs and places a hand against the wall for support. He glares at us with murky eyes but comes no closer.
"Raerek." Thongvor Silver-Blood greets, sounding like he'd tasted something foul. "This upstart tried to steal from me. I'll have the guard…I'll take care of it. Go back to bed."
Raerek looks at me, squinting his bleary eyes, and coughs some more as he tries to voice words. Taking this as an opportunity, Thongvor grabs and attempts to usher me away from the steward.
"Hold…Thong…vor." the old man wheezes, managing to walk towards us. Thongvor grudgingly obeys and turns both of us to face him. I glare at his hand that firmly remains on my shoulder. "I recognize this woman…She…she was here a few weeks ago and helped reopen the Hall of the Dead…You…of all people…should be thanking her."
Thongvor looks between Raerek and me, a mixture of incredulity and disbelief on his face. "You're mistaken." He grunts skeptically, sizing me up. "She couldn't be, look how young and small she is!"
"Excuse me?" I say, temper flaring once again. Dammit. What's wrong with me? I haven't been able to control my anger all day, and it's caused me nothing but trouble. I take a steady breath and reaffirm that I'm smooth, calculated, manipulative, strong, independent…
"Oh she is." Raerek chuckles, regaining some vitality. "You were complaining to the priest of Arkay, and then she walked in and fixed everything! But you left in such an angry storm you must not have noticed."
"Ah…yes," Thongvor admits, giving me an uncomfortable sideways glance. "I do recall her face, now that you mention it. She had a burly mercenary—Vorstag's the name, right? With her." Raerek looks at him expectantly. "Thank you." He says through his teeth.
My heart skips a beat at hearing Vorstag's name. I bite the inside of my lip, wishing he was here right now. I needed all the help I could get.
"But she is still a thief." Thongvor adds quickly, interrupting my internal lament. The redness in his ears returns to his face. "She tried to intercept my letters. That's a grave crime."
Raerek waves this accusation off, coughs some more, and begins to walk back to his room. "I think we can overlook one little mistake as reward for one great deed," he pauses and looks at a bemused guard, "don't you?"
"Aye, my lord." The guard answers readily, putting a fist against his breastplate. "Silver-Blood, release the woman."
With a feral growl, Thongvor shoves me away, sneering angrily as I catch myself before falling to the ground. I rolls my shoulders, tense from the his brute force, and sigh tiredly. I won't be getting any help with the Forsworn from the Silver-Bloods it seems.
I watch Thongvor Silver-Blood, the family that owns almost all the Reach's mines, angrily walk away. Why had he been so paranoid about my run-in with his courier, and why did he act so neurotic when I talked about the Forsworn? It was alarming and peculiar.
And why did all of Markarth treat the Forsworn problem like a taboo?
Running my hands through my tangled hair, I decide to get some answers.
And I know exactly where to start.
So originally I had "Briar Blood" this as a separate story/doc. But I decided to move it all over here instead. Hopefully you guys who liked this story are now able to read (and like) its continuation!
