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-Ross-
It didn't take Ross long to lose track of how many times he'd slipped and stumbled over the precarious mountain path. The Raiders showed him no sympathy, despite the fact that they'd been the ones to blind him, so whenever he fell they simply dragged him back up.
The trick, the freerider told himself, was to keep moving his feet.
The night came and went, and nobody suggested stopping to rest. Ross hadn't dared to ask. Even as fatigue weighed down upon his shoulders and made any action at all a draining effort, he kept moving. The ground rose and fell beneath his feet, sometimes so steeply he lost his balance and thought he was going to plunge to certain death down a chasm; but the Raiders were as surefooted as mountain goats, and confident of wherever they were leading him.
So when at last Ross felt the first watery rays of morning penetrate the dogging chill of the mountains, he was almost relieved, but further reminded of his exhaustion. "I'm sure you have me well and thoroughly lost at this point," he hinted.
"The first thing you'll see when we take that bag off your head will be Stormbear himself."
The Raiders proved obstinate like this, until Ross was to the limit of his patience and solemnly promised himself that he wouldn't be dealing with these stubborn Nords again.
After a little while one of his escorts announced, "We're nearing the encampment now, freerider. Another ten minutes and you'll be in it. One of our sentries has noticed our return and departed to inform Kaarn of your arrival. He'll be expecting you by the time you make it down."
"Down from where?" Ross asked guardedly.
The Raider's response was to laugh and say, "If you're afraid of heights, be glad you're wearing the sack."
So Ross descended a sharp dip in the trail constantly contesting with a nagging apprehension of a long and fatal fall if one step went wrongly. As he neared the encampment he began to discern sounds that seemed appropriate; voices barking orders, the clanging of steel, the rasp of a grindstone, the flapping of tent covers. These grew in volume as the trail began to even out, and in a few minutes more they surrounded him entirely.
He sensed interested eyes on him and flexed his wrists, grateful at least that the Raiders hadn't shamed him any further by binding him like a prisoner. That was how he felt nonetheless, but what could he do? He said he'd come quietly, and apparently this was their definition of that; ensuring that no stranger knew of their exact whereabouts in the mountains.
Then, quite abruptly, a hand grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. "Take a knee," rasped the hand's owner.
Ross warily did so as he heard a tent open a few paces beyond.
"Be honoured, freerider," the same Raider announced, and suddenly the bag was whipped off his head. Ross blinked against the sudden rush of light. "Before you stands the true Lord of Windhelm and rightful prince of Eastmarch: Kaarn Stormbear, second of his name, Ysgramor's Heir, with kingsblood of steam and stone in his veins."
After the titles were presented, Ross found himself staring up at this infamous chieftain of the Raiders himself.
At first glance, Ross thought he was a man; but at a closer look, he realized that this so-called Ysgramor's Heir was still a boy; he looked to have only just left adolescence behind. But he'd grown well. Fair-skinned, fair-haired and pale-eyed, Kaarn was a living embodiment of his kinfolk. He was tall and broad of shoulder, his shoulders draped in bear hide over his skin of steel chain. His flaxen hair hung long past his ears, but went no further below his stern jaw, and the beginning of a beard was visible around his lips and upon his cheeks. Though young, his face was austere, with creases around his eyes, and his weathered look speaking of a life of hardship.
Yet Ross had a feeling the boy would grow to resemble his uncle, who'd looked much the same, only older.
Kaarn's brow furrowed deeply. "What is this?" he asked his men. "I was told a freerider was coming to speak with me, not a captive. Help him up."
His voice was deep and true of authority; Ross was promptly stood upright.
"Now, freerider," said Stormbear, "what business do you have with me?"
"As does any freerider when he seeks an individual." With a long glance at his Raider escorts, Ross slipped a hand into the pocket on his belt and withdrew the (slightly battered) letter. "I come with a message."
Kaarn frowned as he accepted the folded parchment. "Who sent you to me and what does this concern?"
He's asking all the right questions, Ross thought. All the rumours forewarned me of a boy playing at war. So far I haven't seen him. "A contract of mine took me into the greenwood," he answered. "Once there, I was called before their warden. The message is from him."
Kaarn unfolded the letter. "What would the southhold warden have to say? So long as his allegiance lies with dragons, he is an enemy of us."
"He would not have entrusted me with that letter if he didn't have anything meaningful to say to you."
A minute or so passed in silence as the Raider chieftain read the writing on the parchment—and as he did, a subtle change came over him. Ross saw it first in his eyes, then in the way the scowl lessened upon his face, but his thoughts he kept well hidden. At last he folded it once more and said, "It seems we have much to discuss, you and I. Come into my tent." His attention briefly turned to his men. "Mralki, Hodar, I thank you for your troubles. Get some food and rest. Naltheim, if you could be so kind, see the freerider's horse is attended to."
All three dipped their heads and strode away, one leading Ross's steed deeper into the encampment. He hoped the long night's walk hadn't upset his injury. For now, however, he could not think of himself or his faithful mount, and he followed the young bear into his tent.
It was much quieter and dimmer inside, but candlelight kept the early morning gloom at bay. Kaarn circled to the other side of the table in the centre of the pavilion, where Ross noticed a large map of the easthold dominated its surface, pinned and tacked in places. "Strange tidings indeed," the Raider murmured, as he set the letter down on one corner of the map. "It seems I was wrong about the south warden. Or am I being played for a fool, freerider? Does the Greensmile genuinely offer his allegiance?"
"I may not be the best one to tell you that, my lord—freeriders take no sides."
"It's not your fidelity I'm asking for, it's your opinion—and drop the formality. I am not your lord, so you needn't refer to me as such."
"As you wish." Ross was impressed at how well-spoken the lad was. He speaks like a man twice his age—his uncle taught him well. "And Halling Greensmile spoke plainly to me, more so than I've heard any dragonman before. He was sincere to the point of fervency. When I asked for his purpose behind this act of treachery against the dragon cause, he spoke of change coming to this land, and seemed to believe that you would be a herald of such a thing."
Kaarn was silent, brooding on this answer. His eyes fell on the letter again. "I think I believe you, freerider," he said at last. "The sincerity you claim he spoke with echoes in every word in this message to me. His heart lies in the dream that Skyrim will once more belong to the Nords. His faith with the dragon cause is lost and now rests in me—but can I trust a man who would so willingly betray the ideals he pledged loyalty to for another?"
He leaned over his desk with a deep sigh. "I have few enough men as it is, and I will not risk their lives upon this peculiar turn. I feel I should refuse him, but it would be folly to reject an offer of friendship."
"You cannot keep hiding in the mountains," said Ross, tempted to voice his thoughts aloud. "It is only a matter of time before the dragons discover you here—somewhere in these mountains lies the throne of the World-Eater himself. Every rumour I've heard of late claims you are about to launch an assault on that citadel in retaliation for…" He hesitated.
Kaarn looked up sharply. "For what?"
If Ross was not mistaken, a hint of uncertainty sounded in the Stormbear prince. He does not know…or he does not want to believe.
With reluctance that surprised him, he said, "In retaliation for your uncle's death."
Kaarn straightened slowly. "So it's true, then?" His voice had taken on a very different note. "My uncle…when he was taken, they…"
Ross lowered his eyes. "I had the hapless privilege of attending his vaxnilz when I stopped in Ahgelingrah."
"Gods…"
The prince of Eastmarch sank into the nearest chair, ashen-faced. For a long time, he did not speak.
"I'm sorry about what happened to him," said Ross quietly. "He died boldly, with courage, and honour." The horror of the vaxnilz was yet to truly leave him. "But I feel you ought to know; to dragons, men and citizens, he proclaimed how deeply he believed in the cause he died for—and he seemed certain that with his death you would be emboldened."
"That was always what he was like," the young bear murmured, "loyal, one might say almost to a fault." It was plain the confirmation of his uncle's demise had shaken him. "I was informed of his capture in the Asodar Fords among these accursed mountains…and in the weeks that followed I was certain my uncle would return. He spent his entire life living this rebellion, like every Stormbear that preceded him. But it was whispered that a vaxnilz had taken place…and I didn't want to believe." He shook his head, suddenly seeming as vulnerable as a child. "Now I must accept the truth. Ulfric is dead, and every Raider will look to me as their general and inspiration."
"Were you not both before?" Ross dared to ask.
Kaarn lifted weary blue eyes. "Since I was old enough to stand," he said, "my uncle cared for me. My mother died before I remembered her, my father slain in a dragonhunt near Darkwater Crossing; so he was my guardian, and unto me, his sole heir, he would bestow the solemn duty of our family.
"For as long as clan Stormbear has existed, freerider, we have fought for our rightful home as Nords of Old, willing defilers of this new empire the dragons have forged in blood and fire. The mantle of our rebellion passed down generation to generation—uncle Ulfric upheld it, and throughout my life he was forever preparing me to do the same. He taught me how to wield a blade, to skin a deer, to read and write. With war inevitable, he was our general, and since my sixteenth birthday, he began to pass such wisdom to me—my army of Nords of Old, noble warriors determined to see Windhelm seated with a Jarl once more and Eastmarch freed from the dragons' oppression. It is a dream that has kept the old ways of my people alive, Imperial.
"So no, I was not both before." Kaarn stood and glowered at the map of the easthold beneath his fingertips. "I still had much to learn. Ulfric had a natural mind for this bloody game of death and conquest, and endless patience. I attended every war council he called and held to every word spoken—but now I fear that it is not enough. A great legacy has become my burden and I fear now of failing it."
Ross recounted the vaxnilz and said what he knew. "Your uncle believed you were ready."
Kaarn looked quickly at him. "He spoke?"
"He did. Before dragoneye and mortal, he proclaimed his death would rally the Raiders and begin the inevitable war." Ross glanced at the map. "Rebellion never stays quiet for long."
A light lit the young bear's eye, and he straightened. "Then to honour him, this must be done. Since Windhelm's fall, Stormbears have grown this rebellion in secret and preparation; now it must start." Strength returned to Kaarn's voice, and he spoke with the uncanny power of a kind that did not befit a youth. "To begin, I must consider the Greensmile's proposal. Freerider, I have imposed on your patience, but I ask you to wait a little longer. I may have need of you to hurry my response."
A part of Ross had expected this, but he still groaned inwardly at the thought of returning to the notorious greenwood so soon. "My patience would stretch better if I had a little refreshment," he suggested, recalling his gnawing hunger.
Kaarn smiled. "Of course. I'm yet to break my fast myself. We'll eat together."
Food was sent for and came swiftly; it was hot, to Ross's veiled delight. It did not take him long to revive on bread, wine, and a haunch of roasted goat. Raiders were overcautious folk but hospitable once they trusted you, it seemed.
After a few minutes Kaarn said, "I apologize if my men were uncongenial with you. They are good warriors, but regard every stranger with hostility I cannot blame."
Ross snorted into his tankard. "'Uncongenial' hardly begins to describe it."
Kaarn's eyes twinkled. "Thought you were a dragonman, did they?"
"Completely."
"Ah. Again, my apologies. Please, harbour no resentment for them; they are descendants of those that witnessed the murder of their leader and the sacking of their home. Bitterness and anger root as deeply in their souls as loyalty and honour. No visitor is treated kindly."
"It's not in my nature to hold grudges," said Ross, though he was sorely tempted to with the one who'd strangled him. "You receive many visitors?"
Kaarn's serious demeanour resumed. "There are times when the rumours of us inspire heart and recklessness in our people beyond Eastmarch. If they are fortunate enough to escape the attention of the dragons hunting us, they try to find us, and often succeed in doing so—our scouts are everywhere, and it does not take them too long to discern whether the stranger in our territory is potential friend or threat. Either is greeted with hostility, but we do not turn away a willing heart."
"Many support you," Ross remembered, thinking of his conversation with the innkeeper in Ahgelingrah and the lumberjack in Gosvahgraag. "They share your dream of a liberated Skyrim. The autumnhold, southhold and most of the midhold is well aware of the Raiders' rebellion, and word will continue to spread until the entirety of the province is aware of you."
"Then more may join us."
"Not many can survive the roads." It felt strange and even a little wrong counselling the Raider chieftain, but Ross had to say what he knew. "Perhaps it isn't wise waiting for them to come to you—maybe you should go to them."
Kaarn surveyed Ross thoughtfully over the rim of his cup. "It is not a bad thought, freerider," he noted. "These mountains prove a treacherous home, and the tundra is barren. But how to continue our fight for Eastmarch outside the Eastmarch territory? Our efforts have been focused on taking control of the three settlements outside Windhelm in one simultaneous attack—and from there we may launch siege against the parody of Nidrinnilz—and once the lands of my people are returned, and a firm centre established, we may begin our reclaiming of the other holds."
The plan was noble, but falling apart at the seams. "Was this your uncle's plan?"
Kaarn narrowed his eyes. "No. In light of recent events, it is mine."
He is young, Ross remembered, still new to war. "As a freerider I say only what I hear, but I can hear protest inside of me, and I am inclined to voice it. This movement is folly. When the dragons learn that the easthold—"
"Eastmarch, freerider." Kaarn's voice was hard. "Name the world for what it was and will be again."
Ross dipped his head. "Very well. When the dragons learn Eastmarch is no longer in their control, they will simply return, in greater and greater number, until it burns as it did in the initial purge. The settlements will be destroyed and Windhelm once more razed to rubble and smoke—and when they know when to find you, Stormbear, they will kill you, and the rebellion would be lost."
"You speak boldly indeed, freerider," said Kaarn, though he did not sound angry. "But there is much yet that you do not know." For a long moment he surveyed Ross through furrowed eyebrows, then asked, "You go about saying what you hear, sir—but I ask you now, can you keep a secret?"
"I carried a message from the Greensmile that would have meant his and his people's death if word of it had ever fallen into the wrong hands. Throughout my journey, not a soul learned of its existence. Even when prompted at swordpoint by your own men, I refused to share the purpose of my finding you, and kept Greensmile's message concealed from even their eyes until it was placed into your hands. So yes—I am practiced with both the spoken and the secret word."
Kaarn nodded thoughtfully. "You are honest, so I trust you will keep silent of this." He set his goblet down and rose, crossing to the corner of his tent. "But before I begin, I ask you this, freerider; what do you know of my clan's history?"
"Only rumoured word," Ross admitted, "and which cannot entirely be trusted."
"The rumours we send among the people do us favour. I am well aware what people think of me, that I am young and naïve to the ways of war." Ross sat up in surprise. "Among my spies and scouts who dwell as plainclothes and seem ordinary to common eyes, I encourage these rumours—if the people believe it, so will the dragonmen, and so they will underestimate me. I am not my uncle, but nor am I a child, and I know how this game works. I am fully aware which perils will cost us dearly, which will reward us and further our goal, and which would have resulted only in disaster.
"This was always the intention; we cannot begin this rebellion as our forebear began his. Our enemy is far stronger and far more dangerous, so we must be cunning about how we begin this. It has been a resistance nurtured by the young clan Stormbear for centuries. Both began the instant Windhelm was lost in the purge. The people believe that the clan has taken the name Stormbear in honour of the Eastmarch bear that we fly on our banners of blue—we let them believe that. When they are ready for the truth of our lineage, then they will learn, and discover that the time of heroes is not yet over."
Ross frowned. "You think yourself a hero?"
"I think myself more than a face of this rebellion." Kaarn returned with a small, polished box of ebony in his hands. "Even you underestimate me, freerider, and I fully expect you to. A little family history, then; after the Dragonborn turned, chaos reigned supreme across the land. The Night of Silence sent shockwaves through the entirety of Tamriel, but it was a rally of all dragonkind, which rose to Alduin and Ysmir the Unworthy both. Skyrim became the seat of the dragons' power, and Skyrim burned.
"Many resistances rose and fell throughout the bloody years that followed—the land was already torn with civil war between the old Empire and the Stormcloaks of the east. This you know already through stories and history now set in ash. The first of the first five Dragonlords of Alduin came to power: the Altmer Analor, formerly of the Thalmor, dispatched by his First Emissary to treat with the dragons. However, Analor turned just as the Dragonborn did, and won the dragons' approval when he presented the head of his former ambassador to the Dread. Thus did Analor become the first of the Dragonlords, and he carved his name Nordsbane into history in blood as blow after blow was laid to the roots of my people's culture—the Companions of Whiterun he vanquished, and the mead hall Jorrvaskr, built of one of the ships of Ysgramor's ancient fleet, he torched to the solemn earth. One by one the Jarls were slain, five of whom by his hand—and among those Jarls was the one who led a side of the civil war that had ensued during the Dragonborn's rise to power: Ulfric Stormcloak, already fighting to liberate Skyrim from the hold of oppressors.
"Stormcloak's rebellion lasted two more years after the Night of Silence until his forces were weakened to the point when Analor could storm Windhelm with but six dragons. The Dragonlord killed every man who barred his way to the Palace of Kings and fought Ulfric in single combat. Stormcloak was slain upon the throne of Eastmarch, and the remaining four dragons—two had been killed prior to the duel—made even the old stones of Windhelm burn, so great was their wrath at the loss of their kin.
"But this is where recorded history ends. What the dragons and Dragonlords or the world itself did not realize was that clan Stormcloak was not so vanquished as the world believed. Ulfric had a mistress whom he had come to dearly love—she appears not in history, but the Nords of Old name her Lady Tempest, the Storm Queen. Aware of the strength of Analor and the fading of his own crumbling armies, Ulfric sent the majority of his soldiers to escort her into the safety of the mountains, but it was after the sacking of Windhelm the mistress discovered that she was pregnant with her lover's unborn child.
"Upon learning this, the remainder of Ulfric's army pledged themselves and their every descendant to the protection of the Stormcloak heir as the first and last of the short-lived Stormguard, for they existed only in the time of the Lady Tempest. After the conquest of Tamriel was complete, the Fifth Era began, and Ulfric's son was born, they became the Nords of Old, who devoted themselves to a life of exile and rebellion against their oppressor where none else would make a stand. The pledge that was made survived still; the first duty of the Nords of Old concerned the survival of the ancient clan Stormcloak."
"Only you no longer call yourselves Stormcloaks," observed Ross, enlightened.
"No," Kaarn said. "Clan Stormcloak died with Windhelm that night. It was Lady Tempest who first began clan Stormbear, with the birth of her son. Her next words are famous among us. To her Stormguard she declared, 'After his noble sire, his name is Ulfric. He is the heart of the storm you vow to protect. He is the Bear of Eastmarch with steam and stone in his veins. The oppressors will see us as heathens and beasts—so that is what we shall be, until the lands forsworn of us are ours once more. He is Ulfric Stormbear, first of his name, the thriving spirit of the east!'
"And with those words, clan Stormbear was founded in the snow of the land and the blood of the patriarch clan that died for our freedom. Every Stormbear became the heart of the rebellion, the inspiration of the Nords of Old. As the Dragonborn became the Dread—to us, Ysmir the Unworthy, the fouled heir of Talos Himself—we Stormbears became Ysgramor's Heirs. Clan Stormcloak's bloodline is said to trace back to the Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor himself, so we let the title hang, whether we are true descendants or not."
Ross was impressed. There is certainly more to these men that meets the eye. "So you continue your forefather's fight for Skyrim's liberty."
The young bear's eyes hardened. "It never ended with Stormcloak. Our enemy has only changed. This rebellion has ensued in secret across Eastmarch for over a century, as my ancestors prepared this brooding war for the generation to come. The Nords of Old have memories as deep as the stones of the mountains—so we have knowledge that in light of the purge, the rest of the world has quite forgotten. One such shred of knowledge, freerider, is of the Thieves Guild."
Ross frowned. "Like every other Guild, they were destroyed in the purge."
"Not quite. Unlike every other Guild, they survived, as they have survived for centuries before the dragons' return; in the shadows, in secrecy. Shadows draw shadows. My ancestors collected across the changed land a payment that they couldn't refuse—for a task that only the greatest price could pay. We paid them sixteen precious stones of immense value to them, collected across the decades, for this."
The ebony box in Kaarn's hands was opened, and a gleaming purple pendant, encircled in embossed silver, was lifted into the candlelight.
"What is it?" Ross felt nothing but suspicion for that necklace. Even from a distance, he felt an evil energy surrounding it.
Kaarn's eyes gleamed. "This, freerider, is what will ensure the victories to come. It is what the dragons name Sogaalmundov, the Jewel of the Dragonlord, or more simply the dragonjewel—this is a Dragonlord's equivalent to a badge of office. Formerly, this dragonjewel belonged to one Ollos."
Ross gaped in amazement. So it is true…the Viper was so daring as to steal from Dragonlord Ollos himself. "The Thieves Guild is responsible for this."
"They are. Sixteen stones they couldn't refuse, for one of the three dragonjewels to be found in Skyrim. Do not miscalculate its power or value, freerider; Ollos was one of the first five Dragonlords of Alduin. While Astarr the Bonereaver, Analor Nordsbane and Nisenthril the Fifth passed from life, Ollos and Vylornar remain the eldest, and the most notorious, of the Dragonlords—and this dragonjewel is the eldest of the two. These stones are said to be infused with the energies of a Shout that once defeated the World-Eater in the first Dragon Wars—a power all dragons fear—and each of these is crafted by the Dread, who possesses knowledge of that Shout; and while Dragonlords possess these, dragons are inclined to carry them upon their backs as wingsteeds, allowing for swift and unchallenged transport across the entirety of the continent."
Kaarn turned the gleaming crystal between his fingers. "Therefore these pendants are known by another name; golsekroz, the Rendingstone."
Ross had been greatly mistaken about the Raiders. Their true power is not so much in strength as knowledge, and that is a dangerous weapon indeed. "You know much about this artifact you've acquired," he said.
"My ancestors have had a century to learn of it," Kaarn answered. "After Analor and Astarr, Ollos was bequeathed a dragonjewel. This was still in the day of the first Ulfric Stormbear, and he knew at once that the jewels were needed for us to have any hope succeeding against the dragons. The Dragonlords' prowess in combat exceeded ours, as Analor proved only too well, so Ulfric the First knew that the Thieves Guild would be our only means of success. However, to persuade them to risk the wrath of the one of the most dangerous Dragonlords in existence, we had to offer them a price that they could not refuse. He and his descendants spent their whole lives preparing that price, and at last, after over a century, it has paid off with this Rendingstone that from the beginning, Ulfric the First knew we had to have."
Ross frowned. "Why this particular crystal?"
"There is no equal to it, freerider, not in all this world, and there was no other worth the effort. The power of its two elders died with the deaths of their masters decades ago, Cadmir's is too young to serve our purposes, and Vylornar's is unattainable; that Dragonlord has built a friendship with his own wingsteed to the point where he no longer needs to wear it for the privilege of travel by dragonback. It was always going to be Ollos's pendant." Kaarn replaced it in its box with a sigh. "I only wish uncle Ulfric could have seen what our forefathers worked their whole lives to gain."
He held the freerider's cautious stare. "The Rendingstone is the weapon, and my uncle's murder marks an end to the hiding, a true beginning to this fight. Within months, the rumours of me will have changed, as will have the dragons' impression of the Raiders. We have slain dragonmen and killed the monsters where we could, but in idle, unpredictable attacks as men of the wilds, bandits and outlaws in our own rightful home. No longer. The rebellion begins in earnest."
"And that's how you're certain your plan will succeed?" asked Ross, with a nod at the ebony coffer. "With a single stone capable of bending dragons' will?"
"It does not bend their will," answered Kaarn Stormbear, "it grounds them—and when grounded, they are at their most disadvantaged. With a golsekroz, no dragonhunt will be too great for us."
So these are the Raiders' great weapons, Ross thought, relieving his awe with another sip of wine. A Stormcloak heir, an army dedicated to his protection, a Dragonlord's pendant, and knowledge of the eras that came before. Once more he thought of the Greensmile's words, and smiled ruefully to himself. Change is indeed coming, old man—but how you knew Kaarn Stormbear was one so worthy to follow, that is your secret still, and I am glad I do not know.
"You will keep silent of this, freerider?" inquired Kaarn.
Ross bowed his head. "On my honour and continued neutrality among dragonmen and the people."
Kaarn's smile turned wry. "It cannot last, you know. The peace in this land is false at best. Mankind will never be truly subdued by the dragons, not so long as there is a single shred of hope. The Nords of Old will demonstrate that when we liberate Eastmarch. Then the people will rise. When you eventually leave here, you may spread another rumour. Tell them that the winds of war stir in the east."
Beneath his furrowed brow, he said, "You are welcome here, freerider. Rest for as long as you need to. My men will show you to a sleeping place. I will call for you again when my response to the Greensmile's offer of allegiance is ready."
"You are most generous—"
Ross broke off suddenly as a disturbance sounded outside—running footsteps, raised voices, the sounds of struggle. Kaarn was on his feet at once, the box with the dragonjewel stowed out of sight. "What's going on?" Ross asked guardedly, thinking of his horse.
The tent burst open and a Raider stuck his shaggy head inside. "Lord Kaarn," he gasped, "you must come at once!"
"Alfreid, what's happened?" Kaarn followed the Nord of Old from the tent, and Ross felt inclined to do the same.
It did not take long for him to understand the situation. He emerged just behind the Raider chieftain and found that a large crowd had gathered in the cleared space before the tent. Three Raiders were bodily subduing a writhing man whose wrists were bound and head was bagged.
"We found him creeping up the hidden trail," the Raider growled. "Little shit was following the party that escorted the freerider here—a dragonman who had the nerve to name us kinsman." He spat. "If a Nord sides with the dragons, he's chosen the World-Eater over Talos. He's no kinsman of ours."
"And you brought him here for questioning," said Kaarn, and Ross was surprised at how coldly the young bear spoke.
"Aye. He'll have lots to say about that damned dragon who's hunting us."
Ross turned quickly to Stormbear. "You have been found?"
"What do you think drove us from the open tundra of Eastmarch?" Kaarn's voice was taut with anger. "After my uncle's capture, a lieutenant of Alduin was assigned to see me dead. Before our conquest of Eastmarch may begin, I must learn more about him." His blazing eyes rested thoughtfully upon the hooded, bound dragonman, now doubled over in weary pain, defeated. "And such an opportunity has now provided itself. It matters not he is a Nord like us whose beliefs are clouded. Knowledge is always attained before every move we make—one way or the other."
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