They spent the rest of the day and following night in the Stumbling Sabrecat. The blizzard refused to let up into the early hours of the morning. It beat at the roof and thumped at the door, but the companions slept warmly. When the snows were silent, Lucred waded through to apologise for his lack of hospitality, with an appeasement that included breakfast.
Gylhain thanked him, and promised to commend the Prefect to Legate Rikke the next time she saw her. Lucred's smile almost split his face in two. He shook Gylhain's hand fiercely, military decorum forgotten, and wished them all the best.
They turned south where the roads met and left the Pale and its snows behind them. Once again on the fields of Whiterun, they passed the city itself by and headed up the winding path towards Riverwood. The morning sun shone down on their journey, and they were not troubled along their way. Soon enough, they came to the quiet town of Riverwood and Gylhain led them to the Sleeping Giant Inn.
"Make yourselves comfortable," she said. She headed to the bar to talk to Orgnar, the barkeep and owner.
"Is it just me?" asked Falin, as the group filled up both sides of a bench, "or does she know everybody in Skyrim?"
Dar'epha smiled. "Far as I can figure out, there ain't a soul left she hasn't had an effect on."
Gylhain returned to them after a few minutes and stood at the head of the table, her brow furrowed.
"Orgnar says there's been a bunch of attacks, mostly at night," she said. "Embry was out drunk a week ago. They found him the next morning burned and missing his head."
"Did you know him?" asked Kara. They all guessed the answer.
"Yeah. He was a drunk and a grouch, but could tell a good tale once you got some mead into him." Another dead comrade, she thought. Too many gone, too many dead for nothing.
"Do they not have guards in this village?" asked Antario.
"Sure," said Gylhain. "Three of them. At night there's only one on patrol, they can hardly be expected to deal with something like this."
"Should we scout around?" asked Falin, repeating her earlier suggestion. "See if we can find something outside the town?"
"Sure," repeated Gylhain. "Split into pairs, we can cover more ground that way." She scanned the group. One mage per pair seemed like a prudent move. Put everyone with who they were the most comfortable. Except for the obvious problem.
"I'll go alone," said Dar'epha, peremptorily. She smirked. "I can cover more ground without any o' you slowin' me down." She was out the door before Gylhain could ever direct her to a specific area. Ah well, she thought. If anyone was going to find anything, it would be the thief. She turned back to the others.
"Falin, Kureeth. Head back downriver, but stay on this side. Antario, Kara, stay on this side too, but head upriver. Avoid the mine, we don't have time to deal with the bandits if they've settled in there again. Vash and I will cross at the bridge and go upriver on the other side. Alright?"
There was a chorus of nods. They set out, leaving the inn for the green countryside that bordered the seemingly idyllic town.
After seeing Vash and Gylhain off at the bridge north of Riverwood, Falin and Kureeth kept heading northwards. They went along the east bank of the river, skirting around jutting stones, just avoiding getting their feet wet. There were multiple ledges, and Kureeth always held out a helping hand to his wife if she needed it. It was still sunny, and Falin found she was enjoying herself, despite the seriousness of their quest.
They came across the remnants of a fallen tree. It stuck out over the water, pointed towards the falls that would take the flowing water past Whiterun. Falin strode confidently to the end of the branch, her arms held wide for extra balance. Kureeth kept on the ground, ready to catch her if she fell. She could see nothing out of the ordinary, did a neat pirouette on the trunk, and descended.
They skirted a mossy tree, Falin running her fingers along its downy surface. A dead branch lay at the water's edge, which Kureeth hefted up and into the river. Another tree, this time covered in mushrooms. Falin paused to gently break some off the trunk and drop them into a pouch at her belt.
"Mora Tapinella," she called them. "Good for boosting your magicka in a fix." Kureeth only nodded and smiled. Falin's alchemical knowledge had been improving ever since they arrived in Skyrim.
Their path widened, then narrowed again as they reached the falls. Ducking past a bulging rock, they emerged onto an outcrop that served as a perfect vantage point to look out over the plains of Whiterun. The first waterfall was to their left, the second further downstream to their right. Whiterun itself was clearly visible, Dragonsreach standing tall over its city. Falin turned around, her eyes scanning the surrounding slopes.
"I guess this is as far as we can go," she said. "Those look too steep to climb."
Kureeth scoffed and gave it a go. He soon slid down the grass, all four limbs scrambling for grip. His wife laughed lightly at him. Her face dropped for a moment.
"We're out of our depth, aren't we?" she asked. "I almost died in Blackreach so many times I lost count. Gylhain, Vash, even Dar'epha, they're good at this sort of thing. We're not like them."
Kureeth shrugged. "Do you want to be?" he asked.
Falin thought that one over. "I . . . I don't think so, no. I'd like to learn more magic, but I don't want to kill with it. I don't want that life." She stopped, staring out at the river. "Do you?"
Kureeth shook his head.
"But you want to see this through, right?"
Kureeth nodded.
"Alright," she said. "Although I don't doubt Gylhain could do it without our help. Remember what I said about Winterhold?"
Kureeth nodded again. Of course he remembered.
"Then that's where we'll go, after this is over." She smiled at him. "We can build a home, finally. I'll enrol in the College, there's a lot I could learn there."
Kureeth stretched his arms out over his head, his fingers interlocked. He brought them down again with a yawn.
"Come on," said Falin. "Let's get back to the inn."
Kara and Antario followed the road south of Riverwood along the river, leaving it as soon as they could. There was a gap in the hill to the left of the path, and they strolled up it. Kara took the lead, her hand always ready to reach for her weapon. She'd spent a great deal of time in Skyrim's wilderness, living off the land, avoiding its dangers both natural and unnatural. Antario, on the other hand, had spent most of his life within cities, and was more than happy to let her be in front. Kara's eyes scanned the surrounds, taking their mission with the utmost seriousness.
The ledge they were on spanned the gap between the steep cliffs that were the Throat of the World, and the path besides the White River. The foliage was all a vibrant green, birds sung in the trees, and Kara felt her guard relaxing. They passed a vein of iron ore sprouting from the earth, and moved on gently through the swaying grass and between the trees. The slope steepened, and their view ahead was blocked by a huge tree. Holding aside its branches, Kara and Antario stepped into a clearing to find the mine entrance Gylhain had told them to avoid.
An empty cart and a small pile of lumber edged the open space. But it was the hound that caused Kara to come to attention. The beast was larger than any dog she had ever seen, and was black as the darkest night, with slavering jaws. It had been feasting on a human body, its teeth rending through flesh, the blood soaking into the soil. At the sight of them, it looked at them with ferocious red eyes.
With no time to draw her sword, Kara grabbed the empty cart and hurled it at the beast. In the same moment, Antario cast a bolt of flame, which turned the cart into a flaming cart. The resulting blow knocked the hound across the clearing. It came up howling with pain and shook the pieces of smoking wood from its fur.
Kara drew her sword, the heavy blade sweeping through the air as the beast charged. She moved to the side and the blade came down, biting into the hound's side. Antario finished it off with a shock spell.
"Guess that proves there's demons 'round here," said Kara.
"It would seem that way," said Antario. "But I would prefer that we have a further look around before returning to the others. I doubt one hound is the extent of the Thalmor's plans."
"We cut out for anything bigger?"
Antario frowned. "I am not sure what you mean," he said. "We are both perfectly competent fighters. Need I remind you of how well you dispatched the Thalmor agents that attacked us in Windhelm? You handled yourself remarkably well."
"Sure," said Kara, unsure and unused to compliments. "But this? More than I can handle." She climbed up the hill on the other side of the clearing, keeping her sword drawn. Antario followed her, drawing his own blade.
"You handled that hound very well," persisted Antario, internally cursing his own formal manner. "And you will not be alone. We number seven, all of us skilled in our own fighting styles." They crested the hill and rejoined the path, which had risen and twisted up the slope. The two trod down the short distance to the Guardian Stones, the three monuments that stood proud amidst a stone base tangled with roots and vines.
"You're probably right," admitted Kara. "Just wish I was better, y'know? I told you I fought the Dragonborn once, right?"
Antario nodded. "I remember the tale most clearly."
"She coulda taken me apart," she said. "She was toying with me. S'like she's on some whole other level of fighting, above humans. And mer," she added.
Antario could not help but agree, especially after seeing Gylhain in action in Blackreach. He cleared his throat, cancelling Kara's pensive gazing out over Lake Ilinalta.
"We should return," he said. "We have something to report, and can return with fuller force."
Kara sighed. "Alright," she said.
Gylhain and Vash stepped off the path almost as soon as they crossed the bridge, heading upriver on the west side. Gylhain led the way, as she knew the area as she knew every area in Skyrim: extraordinarily well. They stepped around a tree stump marked with the strikes of a woodcutter's axe, and took a long leaping stride together over a little stream that emerged from a gap in the rocky mountainside to their right.
Further on, past more jagged tree stumps, a huge elk reared up before them, its thick fur matted with riverwater. It shook its head furiously, its antlers whirling with the movement, water flying in every direction. That done, it moved past them at a distance close enough that Vash could have reached out and touched the animal.
Gylhain smiled at his amazement and they continued on.
Their path narrowed significantly after that. To avoid soaking their feet, they were forced to hurdle a fallen tree trunk and push through a bush, Gylhain holding the branches back for her friend. Then the way widened again, a huge hollow fallen tree imposing itself on the space. Gylhain strode towards the hollow itself.
"Bandits sometimes use this as a stash," Gylhain said. She wandered into the dark hole, its natural ceiling high enough that she had no need to duck. She tore aside loose branches and uncovered a chest. Wrenching open the lid, she pulled out a pouch of gold and a shiny emerald. She shrugged and pocketed both finds.
They moved on, down the green slope and up the next. A hooded figure in red and yellow appeared ahead of them. Vash began preparing a spell, but Gylhain waved him down.
"M'aiq," she said. "What are you doing out here?" The figure turned to face them, revealing himself to be an aged Khajiit.
He shrugged. "M'aiq knows much," he said in a thick accent, "and tells some. M'aiq knows many things others do not."
"That's great, M'aiq," said Gylhain. "Do you know anything about the Thalmor being around here?"
"M'aiq has heard it is dangerous to be your friend," he said, casting a glance at Vash.
"Ah, forget it," said Gylhain, moving away. "I should've known better than to ask."
Vash lingered. "Who are you?" he asked.
The Khajiit spoke again. "Some say Alduin is Akatosh. Some say M'aiq is a Liar. Don't you believe either of those things."
Gylhain retrod her steps to pull Vash away. "Come on," she urged. "Once he gets started there's no stopping him."
M'aiq shrugged again. "M'aiq is done talking anyway," he said, unaffected by Gylhain's disinterest.
Vash and Gylhain ascended the next slope, steeper than all previous. Piles of stones now marked their path, but disappeared just as quickly as they walked.
"Who was that?" asked Vash, after they'd gone a short distance. More evidence that the Dragonborn knew everyone.
"M'aiq the Liar," explained Gylhain. "Shows up in the oddest of places. Sometimes seems to know more than he's telling, other times seems to be making everything up. Didn't earn his name lightly, though."
They continued. Another fallen tree marked their route, one that had wrenched a great chunk of soil with it when it had fallen. A run-down cabin stood ahead of them, its wooden boards falling off, its little fenced garden overgrown with vegetables and herbs.
"Have you been here before?" asked Vash.
"Long time ago," said Gylhain. "There used to be an old woman who lived here. Anise."
Vash poked his head through the doorway. There was no sign of any person, living or dead. "What happened to her?" he asked.
"She was a witch," Gylhain said. "I had to kill her before she harvested my organs."
Vash raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. They moved on past the cabin. The slope descended again and Gylhain led them to the left. They came down to the shore of the beginnings of Lake Ilinalta. On the other side a lone hunter sat fishing from a rock, a small boat pulled up onto dry land, a little tent pitched behind him.
"Hail!" called Gylhain, raising a hand in the air. The hunter returned the gesture. "Have you seen any Thalmor or Daedra?" she called.
"Gods, no!" returned the hunter. "But there's something weird going on up at Helgen. Been telling everyone to avoid the place."
"My thanks!" said Gylhain. "Good hunting to you, friend."
"Same to you!" replied the hunter. He returned his gaze to his fishing pole.
"Damn," said Gylhain, her voice returned to her normal pitch. "We're on the wrong side of the river."
"Maybe the others will be back at the inn by now," ventured Vash. "If the Thalmor are up in Helgen, we should all head up there together."
"Perhaps they've been more successful than us," agreed Gylhain. "Let's go."
Returning to the Sleeping Giant Inn, Gylhain and Vash discovered both of the other scouting pairs already returned. They all shared their individual stories: Kara spoke of the demonic hound, Vash of M'aiq the Liar, Falin of the amazing view from the falls. Gylhain added the hunter's tale of disturbances in Helgen.
"Nobody saw Dar'epha?" asked Gylhain. The others shook their heads.
"I do not think any see that one unless she wishes it," said Antario.
It was then that their Khajiit comrade burst through the door, drenched in sweat, her bow strung, breathing heavily. She collapsed on the bench next to Vash.
"So, Gyl," she said, after taking a few gulps of air. "How many favours d'you reckon people owe you 'round Skyrim?"
Gylhain frowned, unsure of where such a conversation was going. Either way, Dar'epha cut her off before she could reply.
"Because you're gonna need to call in all of 'em," she said. "The Thalmor are massing up in Helgen, more'n I've ever seen together. And I think they're tryin' to open a gate to Oblivion."