Windhelm's streets wound like the tunnels of the Ratway, shadowed on every side by towering stone buildings that made Riften look like an open field. The snow that piled in corners and fluttered down from the rooftops high overhead dampened every sound. There were no ringing voices from the market, no clatter of wood and carts; it was all muffled by the claustrophobic city.
Issana spent the day wandering the streets, not so much to see it as much as to just get away from Mercer. His glare was unpleasant, his voice was grating and his accusatory demeanor made her want to punch him. The cold weight of the stone around her - so different from the damp, soft wood of Riften - bothered her far less than he did.
Besides the market, the city gates were actually the most open space she'd found. There was a bit of a plaza from which Windhelm's main roads began, which bustled with Windhelm's citizens, all wrapped up as she was in thick furs and gloves. The soldiers - and there were many - stood in stoic silence at the gates and throughout the plaza. Their weapons were drawn.
Issana crossed the square at a gentle pace. There was no hurry. Mercer wanted at least two days to prepare for the next stage of the journey: a three-day hike into the tundra.
Issana had certainly let her opinion on that be known.
But Mercer was right. Maven had her tight in her hagraven claws. Issana couldn't get out of it, not unless she wanted her own head delivered in a box on Maven's doorstep. So if that meant a three-day march into Skyrim's deadliest weather, well... at least she might survive that.
Bitch.
Issana passed a cluster of people - two men and a dark elf woman - standing near the wall of a building. The dunmer had her back to it.
"You come here where you're not wanted. You eat our food; you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!" The man, a skinny, rat-faced creature, jabbed his finger accusingly into the dark elf's shoulder as he spoke.
"We haven't taken a side because it's not our fight!" exclaimed the elf. "We-"
"Hey," said the second man, broader than his companion but with muscles shrunken by the poverty that also showed in his clothes, "maybe the reason these grey-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"
The elf knocked the first man's hand away. "Imperial spies? You can't be serious. Skyrim's home to more than just you Nord bastards."
The man smiled. "Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are."
Issana folded her arms and cleared her throat loudly. The rat-faced man spun around. He looked Issana up and down, then smiled. "You a dark elf lover?" His voice had a nasty edge to it.
The elf took advantage of the distraction to slip away. Issana shrugged. "Haven't thought about it. I'm not too keen on bullies, though."
"Yeah?" said the man. His stocky companion cracked his knuckles. "What are you going to do about it?"
Issana crossed her arms and leaned back slightly, one eyebrow raised. "You'll have to do more than talk if you want to scare me, rat-face."
The man stared at her, blinking like a stunned animal. "What did you call me?"
Issana smiled. The man took a step toward her but his companion grabbed him by the arm and gestured with his head. Issana followed the motion with her eyes and saw a trio of guards watching them. The skinny man snorted. "You watch yourself, girl." He spat on the ground and stalked away.
Should have cut his purse, Issana mused as she watched him go. Maybe next time. She turned up one of the streets, away from the square. The road was sheltered by the eaves of the surrounding buildings with only the sparkling mist of tiny snowflakes drifting through the gap. Even though it was midday, the sky was dim and grey and the road was deep in shadows.
She didn't like it.
She took the first wide road she found and it took her up an open stairway. The snow was heavier out from the shelter of the roofs and Issana had to keep brushing it out of the locks of hair that had somehow freed themselves from her hood. Her boots made light, crunchy footprints in the snow as she made her way up the stairs and onto what seemed to be some sort of wealthy avenue. The houses up here were different, decorated with carven wood and stone statues, and many of the windows were filled with coloured glass.
Now this is a place I could get rich from. Maybe I should move to Windhelm.
She touched her nose and realized it was numb. Or maybe not.
There was one house in particular that caught her eye. It could have been two houses, actually. It was built on either side of the street but its second floor crossed the road with a heavy stone arch. Its walls - the parts that weren't covered with snow, at least - were of ornately shaped stone and decorated with dark timber. The main entrance was sheltered from the weather by an overhanging roof with stone pillars supporting the corners.
The windows were dark.
There was a boy standing near the entrance, a short, dark-haired child maybe eight or nine, arguing with an elderly dark elf. "Come away from there," the dunmer said. She kept glancing up at the immense home as if it was alive.
"Then it's true!" said the boy. "Like everyone's been saying! Aventus is doing the Black Sacrament!"
Issana slowed. The Black Sacrament? It sounded familiar. Something Delvin had said…
"Oh, Grimvar," said the elf exasperatedly. "Always with the nonsense." But to Issana, she didn't sound convinced.
Grimvar folded his arms. "Fine. Then I'll invite him out to play." He turned towards the house's door.
"No, child!" exclaimed the elf. "Wait! That boy… that house… They're-"
"Hah!" Grimvar said. "So I'm right. He's trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood!"
Issana glanced up sharply. The Dark Brotherhood. Some people considered them little more than an assassins' guild, but anyone in the Thieves' Guild knew exactly what they were. Delvin had dealt with them before. He had stories. There was something almost… religious in the way they did their work.
It was disturbing.
And Maven had never made it a secret that she had ties to them too. Just another reason not to cross her.
The dunmer swallowed hard and rubbed her wrinkled forehead. "All right. I won't deny it. It's true. But mark my words, boy. Aventus' actions will only lead to ruin. Now come away from that house."
Grimvar kicked a pile of snow. "I knew it." He let the dunmer take him by the shoulder and lead him away.
Issana cast a wary eye at the upper floor. The Dark Brotherhood wasn't something she ever wanted to get close to, and the whiteness of the snow along with the darkened windows made the whole building look unsettlingly skull-like.
Then she saw a face.
The boy was gaunt, with sunken cheeks and matted hair, and his skin was pale like he hadn't seen daylight in weeks. He was staring at her from the upper left window, shadowed eyes matching the facade of the house.
He didn't blink.
With a quick motion he yanked the curtain closed and disappeared.
Issana didn't move. Her eyes lingered on the window where the boy had vanished.
"Issana!" The shout knocked her out of the trance. She turned around and saw Mercer glaring at her. "I hope this has something to do with preparing for the journey," he growled.
"What are you, my mother?"
"No, I'm the one who's going to have to drag your frozen corpse into Karliah's hideout if I still want to use you as bait."
Issana blinked. She knew it was a joke but that didn't make her any less uncomfortable with it. "I'd hate to be a burden like that," she said at last.
"Good. Now get back to the inn. I had the cook make us some travel food. You'd better pack everything he's got for you, because if you run out I'm leaving your body in the snow."
"You're a wonderful travelling companion, you know that?"
Mercer didn't answer. He gave the house a glance, frowning momentarily as if he'd noticed something, and strode back the way he'd come.
Yeah, you definitely already know that.
Without another look at the house she put one hand on the avenue's iron railing and hopped over, dropping ten feet to the road below. She landed gracefully next to a wide-eyed beggar, his toothless mouth open in surprise.
"Sorry," she muttered. She dusted snow off of her coat and headed back down the road.
Mercer's voice echoed in her head: If I want to use you as bait…
Well, Issana thought, at least if Mercer got her killed she wouldn't have to put up with him anymore.
There really was a bright side to everything.
