Chapter Twenty-Eight: Reaching the Reach

"You wanted to see me, Skjor?"

Rusvir didn't bother wiping the sweat off his face. There would be no point cleaning up if he was about to practice his fighting forms or spar with Aela again. Any spar with her was likely to end with her victorious and him dragging himself out of a dusty gutter, but he wouldn't mind a rematch.

He watched as Skjor straightened to his full height. It's a job then.

"I did. Your time, it seems, has come."

Rusvir blinked, then shifted in place.

"What do you mean?"

"Last week a scholar came to us. He said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad. He seemed a fool to me, but if he's right, the honor of the Companions demands that we seek it out."

A fragment of Wuuthrad!- Like the other shards that the Companions have collected over the centuries!

To retrieve such a piece of the Companions' history, when he had joined so soon ago!-

He bowed his head, humbled.

"I would be honored to retrieve it."

Skjor snorted.

"There's a fine line between respect and boot-licking, new blood. But I like your spirit. We've decided this will be your Trial. Do well, and you'll be counted among the Companions."

Skjor handed him a folded slip of paper. The suspected location of the Fragment of Wuuthrad. Rusvir felt a warm pride filling his chest. The Circle believed him ready for his Trial - the last test before he would be accepted as a full Companion.

"Farkas will be your Shield-Sibling on this venture, whelp. He'll answer any questions you have. Try not to disappoint. Or to get him killed."

With a stern nod, Rusvir went to grab his pack - he was ready and he would not let the Circle down. The burning fire of determination filled him now. He remembered long days of training his endurance. Long nights practicing forms and fighting stances. Dreams of fire and death and then dreams of beating it back. Shouting against the dark in a tongue not his own that he would not give in - that he would fight.

Rusvir steeled his eyes ahead. He would show the Circle that he was more than ready to be accepted.

He could still see, in his mind's eye, Aela working together with Farkas and Ria to take down a roving giant. Teamwork and training defeating a beast over twice their size. The giant was monstrously strong and cunning, but the Companions were the ones standing at the end of the battle.

The Companions had taught him so much about honor and battle and he still had so much to learn in the future. As a Companion, fighting alongside his Shield-Siblings, he would be able to defend Whiterun from anything that tried to attack its people. They would be victorious over their enemies.

1st of First Seed, 4E 202, Morndas

While the thalmor joining her and Sergius for their trip down to Markarth wasn't entirely a shock, Evelyn was still curious as to why the thalmor didn't pick up an escort from Solitude. Justiciars traveled in packs, and the Thalmor Embassy was nearby, right?

Maybe there weren't any free thalmor minions to send south with him?

Or maybe he was too impatient?

Either way, she wouldn't turn down additional firepower if they ran into bandits. Or forsworn, falmer, spriggans, trolls, or any of the other things in Skyrim that want to kill people.

In Skyrim, the list of things that want you dead is easy: nearly everything that breathes, and even a few things that don't.

Heh. Do draugr need to breathe?

xXxXxXxXxXx

During the day's travels, Evelyn spent the majority of her time walking behind the cart. Every so often, either Sergius or the thalmor would hop out and trade places with her so her feet wouldn't spontaneously combust, but her mandatory cart-time was typically - and thankfully - short. She noted after the second day that Sergius was way less likely to take a walk than the thalmor, but Evelyn couldn't fault him. Sergius was pretty old by medieval standards, after all.

She honestly didn't mind the walking. Being mobile was much better than laying like a sack of potatoes and risking cart-sickness. And there was another bonus to walking - she could choose to stay behind the cart.

Out of sight.

So long as they didn't look backward too often, the semi-solitude was perfect for practicing her spellcasting.

As she passed another rock cairn, she tossed a magelight into the air. It fell in a perfect parabola before she called it back to her hands again. She tried pulling it into a larger sphere, then squished it into a smaller one. She watched as the brightness fluctuated with each size change.

But she scrambled to stuff it in her robes when the thalmor shifted in front of her. He blinked out of the back of the cart just as she was smoothing her robes out. She added in a few more pats and brushed off some invisible lint, and then looked around like there was something she didn't like nearby.

Yep. I was definitely in the process of getting a bug or branch off of me. Definitely. Nothing suspicious to see here.

She could almost feel the confused and longsuffering look he was shooting her right now. She could, however, feel the magelight under her robes.

That was close.

Time passed and the magelight stayed put under her robes. To pass the time, she hopped over a pothole to snag a few low-lying juniper branches, raising an eyebrow at the thalmor. He was avoiding any and all eye contact. Just like all the other times he deigned to see if she was still alive.

She went back to half-heartedly wandering around. Hopefully, the thalmor would get bored.

A few minutes passed before she risked a sly glance at the backs of their heads. The thalmor had turned back around and Sergius was just as clueless as always. Slowly, she pulled out her magelight.

It had survived being stuffed in her robes and was shining just as brightly as before. Maybe a little bit brighter, actually.

She grinned. Her casting was getting better - quicker, and she felt less of a magicka drain than she had when first starting out - but any spells she cast would still disappear the moment anyone was about to see it. As long as they weren't visible, though, the spells could stay - but she had to be sure to stay quiet as well. She had found that talking would also scare her spells away. Even trying to talk while a spell was up would cancel it immediately and make her magicka hide for over half an hour.

As a result of her necessary quietness, the only things her traveling companions could hear were the ambient noises of the wilderness, the occasional verbal spell she tried to cast, and a few half-baked attempts to talk with them.

It probably sounded like she was missing more than just a few marbles, but the results were worth it.

Step one of the 'find out what's going on and avoid any and all Daedra' plan: get skilled enough to not die the instant I don't have backup. Or even nearly die - nearly dying is also a no-no.

9th of First Seed, 4E 202, Tirdas

In order to justify her loafing behind the cart, she needed an excuse.

She decided on 'collecting ingredients,' but that meant that as long as she was lurking and spellcasting, she needed to be collecting as well. So, by the time they hit Dragonbridge, the back of the cart was nearly swallowed in flower cuttings and partially filled sacks. They smelled very nice, but left little room for passengers.

Luckily for the horse, she didn't have the jars necessary to collect the juices - which were heavy in large quantities. The roots, leaves, and flowers were light when dried, and she had enough to sell for a profit when they finally reached Markarth.

Money for more books is enough to justify me walking behind them so often. Sergius knows that I'm studying the Falmer and that Calcelmo is the scholar most likely to have falmer-related books.

Sitting near the campfire for the day, Evelyn pulled out a few tufts of tundra cotton. It was highly labor-intensive to separate the seeds from the cotton, but both were important ingredients for popular mages' potions.

And speaking of labor-intensive- An additional benefit of these ingredients is that I don't need to help prepare meals. Whenever we rest, I just separate and sort every ingredient I've collected. The cooking usually finishes up before I do.

She looked over to see Sergius chopping potatoes into a stew pot. The thalmor was working on carving up a fish from the nearby river.

Heh. It's probably best that I'm not helping. As a college student whose diet was mainly ramen, fruit, and stress-baked sweets, I wouldn't be much help gutting and cooking rabbits and fish.

Sergius grumbled about the 'rabbit that keeps getting away' as she sat silently, picking seeds out of fluff. She hummed to herself.

I'll watch and learn though. If I don't have backup then I won't have cooking services either.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Markarth was in an uproar.

A silent one, but an uproar nonetheless.

Guards shied away from Justiciars as they prowled the midnight hours, while citizens avoided both like the plague.

The Thalmor weren't happy, the rumors said. Someone's cousin's friend's cook overheard news of another group of Justiciars gone missing. Only one survived.

It happened in the north, the rumors said. A group of new recruits fresh from Alinor gone - attacked on their way back from some mysterious job.

The Reachmen in the city kept their heads down. They weren't involved. They were ignored for the most part by the Justiciars.

The Nords were less lucky.

A string of arrests left the city short a dozen presumed Talos-worshippers. Only time would tell whether they were proven innocent by thorough property searches or not. There would be no resistance to the White-Gold Concordat allowed.

Tensions were high, and tolerance was low. Stress among the guards spilled over into their other duties. There was a spike in prison deaths in Cidhna Mine - if anyone had cared to pay attention.

As it was, the only note was that production was low, and orders bearing the Silver-Blood seal were sent out to quickly remedy the situation.

They called for longer working hours and more guard involvement - low production was intolerable. Food would be rationed further to make up for lost profits. Without the money from Cidhna Mine, the city's earnings would drop. An unacceptable outcome. Guards were prepared to arrest for less serious charges if it meant keeping their job and livelihood alive. It wasn't as if the so-called 'peasant lawbreakers' were helping keep the economy alive after all.

Some citizens sold out their neighbors. They couldn't be Talos worshippers if they gave away an actual worshipper, right? The guards were only too happy to keep the prisoners flowing into the mines. So long as they didn't know the poor sap, it wasn't their problem.

It was an orderly chaos of lawful murder and perfectly documented betrayals in Markarth, but it was just business for the city.

For if the silver ever ran dry, blood would have to make up the difference.