Six: Hungry Like the Wolf
The Jarl of Falkreath was a young man, as Jarl Balgruuf had said; probably around the same age as Rhiannon, who had turned twenty-seven only a month ago. His hair was dark and cut short, unusually for a Nord, and he was clean-shaven. He wore a tunic of fine material embroidered with gold thread and trimmed with fur, a jade and emerald circlet adorned his brow, and the belt that encircled his waist was secured with a large gold buckle.
Handsome, and well-dressed, but Rhiannon didn't find him in the least attractive. And, in fact, after the first minute of conversation she felt more like giving him an elbow strike to the face.
"So you are the famous Dragonborn," Siddgeir said. "I must confess I did not expect the warrior of legend to be such an… attractive young lady."
Rhiannon ignored the compliment. "You wrote inviting me to come," she said, "and mentioned appointing me as a Thane."
"Ah, yes," said Siddgeir. "There is room in my court for another Thane, certainly. At present I have only my uncle Dengeir, who was Jarl before me, but he is too old and set in his ways to be much use. And not very… decorative, frankly. Someone like you could liven this dreary place up significantly. But I can't just appoint a newcomer over the heads of the residents without observing certain traditions. You must perform a task for me, for a start, and I have a couple of things in mind. Then there is the custom that a Thane should be known and respected throughout the Hold. Doing a few favors for the rabble would satisfy that requirement. There's always some simple thing that they don't have enough gumption to do for themselves."
"Like killing rats in the cellar of the inn, is it?" Rhiannon said, thinking of the tasks her gaming group's DM had given the characters when they started out, getting them a few gold pieces whilst introducing them to the combat system.
"I don't believe there are any rats in Dead Man's Drink," Siddgeir said, "but no doubt there will be something similarly mindless some of the locals will want you to do. Three such things should do, I think. Don't worry, I'll put the most liberal interpretation possible on whatever you come up with. You could even do a favor for the condemned man in the cells and I would count that."
"Condemned man?"
"A murderer, who killed a little girl," the Jarl said. "We would have executed him already if the headsman hadn't gotten himself killed at Helgen. You wouldn't care to do that duty yourself, would you?"
Rhiannon shuddered. The headsman to which he referred must be the one who came within seconds of cutting off her own head. "No," she said. "I don't do that."
"A pity," said Siddgeir, "but I can understand that it's not to everyone's taste. I wouldn't want to do it myself. Such a horribly messy business, I've always thought. Anyway, the murderer keeps making a nuisance of himself begging the guards to take some stolen item back to its rightful owner. I don't know the details, and I can't spare any of the guards to go wandering off on anything so unimportant, but you might want to look into it."
"I'll see," Rhiannon said.
"As for my own task," Siddgeir went on, "I've a couple of things in mind. There's an iron mine to the east, near the border with Whiterun Hold, and a band of outlaws have moved in and taken it over. Jarl Balgruuf keeps pestering me about them, complaining that they're raiding into his Hold, and I've decided that the little they've been paying me in tribute is no longer worth the bother. It's time they were cleared out. Kill their leader for me. The rest should soon scatter. Or you could kill them all, which would be neater."
Rhiannon felt her eyes widening and fought to keep her face impassive. The Jarl had just let slip that he'd been tolerating the bandits in exchange for tribute. That explained Balgruuf's assessment of Siddgeir as 'indolent at best, dishonest at worst'. Getting rid of the bandits did seem like a worthy endeavor, and it would please Balgruuf, but she wasn't keen on the idea of actively seeking out people, even bandits, and killing them.
"What was the other thing?" Rhiannon asked.
"The taxes from Granite Hill are overdue," Siddgeir said. "It's a miserable little hamlet, hardly more than a few farms and an inn, but their coin is useful and normally they've been quite conscientious about paying on time. You could go there and investigate for me. My steward could point it out for you on the map."
Rhiannon didn't see herself as a tax collector, either, but it seemed a better option than being a bounty hunter. "I'll look into it," she agreed. "I'll see what the townsfolk want doing, first, and have a word with that… murderer. If he wants his stolen thing taken back to that Granite Hill place, I could kill two birds with one stone."
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The WWE management has announced that the standard thirty-day title defense rule will be applied in the case of Rhiannon. The Divas Championship title will be up for grabs as of January 14 2016. They will be running an elimination tournament, to decide the new champion, in the same way as they did for the WWE World Championship following the injury to Seth Rollins at the Dublin Live Event show in November.
The police investigation into Rhiannon's disappearance continues but, so far, without result.
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"Come to gawk at the monster?"
He didn't look like much of a monster. A rather scrawny individual, in fact, clad only in ragged trousers. He had a straggly beard that covered most of his cheeks and his hair grew down his forehead in a pronounced widow's peak. His cell was a stone chamber, open at the top to admit light, but with walls much too high to climb. The open roof must have let in rain-water, too, as the cell floor was a foot deep in water.
"I hear you killed a little girl," Rhiannon said.
"Believe me, I didn't want to," said the murderer, whose name, Rhiannon had been told, was Sinding. "I just… lost control. It's all on account of this blasted ring."
"What ring?" Rhiannon would have expected any jewelry to have been taken from the prisoner, along with his clothes, when he was arrested and thrown in jail.
"The Ring of Hircine," Sinding said. "I was told it could control my transformations. Perhaps it used to, but no more."
Rhiannon listened, with horror, as Sinding explained that he was a werewolf. He had heard of an enchanted ring that would give him greater control over his transformations, had sought it out, and stolen it. In so doing he had angered the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, Hircine, who had cursed the ring so that it caused him to transform at random, at any time of the day or night, into a ravening beast.
Rhiannon had come across passing references to the Daedric Princes in the reading she had done in Whiterun and at High Hrothgar. They were regarded as demons, although apparently a couple of them were benevolent, and dealing with them was, to say the least, frowned upon. Hircine, she gathered from the books and from what Sinding told her, was the equivalent of Herne the Hunter in British mythology.
"I want to beg Hircine's forgiveness," Sinding said, "so that I can enter his afterlife. There is a certain beast, a White Stag, that is his symbol. If someone would take the ring, and hunt the White Stag, when it is slain Hircine will appear and grant the hunter a boon. Getting him to take back the ring would free me from his curse."
A White Stag? The ending of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe immediately came to Rhiannon's mind. The four Pevensie children, as the grown-up Kings and Queens of Narnia, had gone to hunt the wish-granting White Stag and had been led to the lamp-post and thus back to Earth. Maybe this White Stag could get Rhiannon back home…?
"So where would I find the White Stag?" she asked.
"It waits in the woods just east of the town," Sinding said. "Just to add to my torment, knowing that it is so close, and I am stuck in here. Take the ring, hunt the Stag, and return the ring to Hircine so that I can find peace."
Rhiannon considered her options. She seemed to have acquired responsibilities here, in her capacity as the Dragonborn, with a duty to fight dragons. If she gave it up, and went back to Earth, she'd be deserting Jenassa, letting down Delphine and Jarl Balgruuf, and abandoning the population of Skyrim to their fate. But maybe there could be another Dragonborn, and her parents had to take priority over everything else. If there was a chance she could find her way back to Earth she had to take it.
"I'll do it," she said. "Give me the ring." She took out one of the pieces of cloth she used for wiping her swords and spread it over her hand. If cursed items worked here in the same way as they did in D&D, or resembled the One Ring, she didn't want to risk touching it. "Put it on the cloth."
Sinding pulled a ring from his finger, stuck his hand out through the bars of the cell, and dropped it onto the cloth. "Thank you," he said. "I shall remember your kindness."
The ring was silver and had a sculpted wolf's head projecting from it in the place of a gemstone. Rhiannon saw it clearly only for a second and then it vanished. In its place appeared a ring that gave the wearer improved skills with a sword, found by her in Shroud Hearth Barrow outside Ivarstead, and which she had been wearing on her right hand.
"Beth y uffern?" Rhiannon exclaimed. She snatched away the cloth and looked at her hand. The wolf's-head ring was firmly on her finger and her frantic attempts to remove it failed. "Mae hi wedi cachi arna i!" She glared at Sinding.
"Seek out the beast," Sinding said. "I wish you luck." Hair began to sprout all over his body, he grew in size, and his jaws began to protrude and take the form of a wolf's muzzle. In seconds the transformation was complete and, instead of a man, a bipedal wolf-like creature stood in the cell. It leapt up the wall, clung on with newly-grown claws, and climbed up through the roof opening and out of sight.
Rhiannon concentrated on the ring and cast the minor spell that would enable her to identify magic items; a much easier process here than in D&D, luckily, with no need for material components. The results confirmed her fears. The wearer would, indeed, randomly transform into a werewolf. It couldn't be removed except by the will of Hircine or by being freely accepted by someone else – who would then be afflicted by the same curse. And in this world magic rings could only be worn one at a time, on the right hand, so her other magic ring was useless to her now.
"Here, take this," Rhiannon told Jenassa, proffering the Ring of Wielding. She gave a quick account of what her spell had revealed. "And then you'd better leave me. If I'm going to turn into a ravening beast you'd better not be in the vicinity. I'd hate to hurt you."
"I will not abandon you in your time of need," Jenassa declared. "I think you need my help more than ever."
"Then let's get after that stag," Rhiannon said. "The quicker we can get this done, the less chance there is of me turning into a werewolf."
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Finding the White Stag was easy. Catching it… not so much. It was fast, evasive, and seemed determined to lead them into danger.
Not far out of town the road passed through a little valley. To each side a wooden guard tower had been built, with a walkway of planks suspended on ropes running between the towers, presumably as part of the town's defenses. Instead of guards, however, it was manned by a pair of bandits.
Perhaps they'd killed the guards and taken over or, more likely, Jarl Siddgeir couldn't be bothered to keep the post manned and the bandits had moved in and occupied the abandoned post. Either way they controlled the road and were preying on travelers. The towers held stores of boulders, which could be released to fall upon the road, and the bandits triggered the deadfalls. Rhiannon and Jenassa had to jump smartly out of the way to avoid being crushed. And then the bandits began to loose arrows from their vantage points above the roadway. Running, and dodging, Rhiannon and Jenassa managed to get off the road without being hit either by rocks or arrows.
"We must take the fight to them, sera," Jenassa advised.
Rhiannon could see her point; with the advantage of position the bandits would win any exchange of fire. She thought she could see ways up the rocky slopes of the valley that would get them in close without exposing them too much; hopefully, anyway.
"You go that way, I'll go this," she said, and set off up the nearest slope as fast as she could run. Jenassa made for the other slope and both of them closed on the bandits.
Rhiannon managed to make it to the tower safely and rushed at the bandit, a woman, who was in the act of changing from bow to sword. Rhiannon caught her with sword half-drawn and struck before the bandit could react. The woman went down, blood spurting, and Rhiannon looked across at the other tower just in time to see the other bandit aiming at her. She leapt aside and the shaft only grazed her shoulder. Then Jenassa appeared behind that bandit and drove both swords into the man's back.
With the immediate danger over, and the adrenalin rush subsiding, Rhiannon felt renewed horror at having killed again. She fought down the emotion and tried to act logically. In D&D the first thing her character would have done would be to loot the bodies. This seemed to be in accordance with the way things were done here and she checked out her fallen foe's equipment.
A steel-reinforced composite bow, better than her own, and a quiver of arrows. She took them and looked at the woman's sword. Basic iron, like the one she had acquired in Helgen that had snapped off in the body of a bear, and not valuable enough to be worth the encumbrance. But on the woman's brow was a circlet, of gold set with green gems, and Rhiannon sensed that it was magic.
An Identify spell confirmed that it was, indeed, enchanted; a Circlet of Major Archery, better than the circlet Rhiannon had been given by Lucan Valerius in Riverwood, and Rhiannon was surprised that she'd come out of the fight with only a single, minor, arrow wound. Either she'd had a lot of luck or the bandit had been such a terrible shot with a bow that even the circlet couldn't bring her up to a decent standard.
Or else she'd been aiming at Jenassa, Rhiannon realized, once she was reunited with her companion. An arrow had struck Jenassa in the back, piercing her armor, and was still projecting from the wound. And, after removing the arrow, it took all of Rhiannon's healing magic, and two potions, before Jenassa, now wearing the Circlet of Minor Archery, was fit to continue on.
As Rhiannon was casting the healing spells she felt herself, horribly, slavering at the scent of the blood. The prospect of transforming into a werewolf seemed to be looming ominously closer.
"We'd better get back to hunting that deer," she said, trying to fight down any wolfish impulses. "Which way did it go?"
It didn't take long to locate the stag once more. It hadn't gone far; perhaps it was hanging around deliberately, allowing them to hunt it, but once they got within range it ran off again. It was fast, and evasive, and it seemed to regenerate from arrow wounds as quickly as the frost troll had done. Eventually, however, it ran into a blind canyon and, when it tried to run out past them, Rhiannon was able to catch it a solid blow with her newly-enchanted flaming sword. It went down and Jenassa delivered a finishing stroke.
"Now what…" Rhiannon began, but before she could finish her sentence a shimmering, ghostly, figure appeared above the corpse of the White Stag. The apparition looked almost identical to the dead beast, except for being transparent, but it spoke in a human voice.
"Well met, hunter," it said.
"You're… Hircine, is it?" Rhiannon asked.
"I am the Spirit of the Hunt," the being replied. "Just one glimpse of the glorious stalker that your kind calls Hircine."
"Uh, well met, Hircine," Rhiannon said. "Will you take back this ring and get rid of the werewolf curse on me?" There was no point in asking to be transported back to Earth, she felt, not if she was likely to become a werewolf at random times. Ripping Charlotte, or Sasha Banks, limb from limb in the ring wouldn't do much for her career in the WWE.
"I may consider it," said Hircine, "but you must first do a service for my glory. The one who stole it has fled to what he thinks is his sanctuary, just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunt, but only ends up trapping himself. Seek out this rogue shifter. Tear the skin from his body and make it an offering to me."
"You mean… kill Sinding?"
"I do," said Hircine. "Only if you do this will I remove your curse. But you must fly, my hunter. There are others who vie for my favor. A bit of competition. Don't dally while the prey flees."
"I don't have a choice, do I?" Rhiannon said. "Where is this… sanctuary?"
"Bloated Man's Grotto," Hircine answered. "Hurry there, hunter, for if the others get there before you… the curse will remain, and you may find yourself as the next quarry for the hunt." With that he vanished.
"Wait!" Rhiannon called. "Where's this Bloated Man's Grotto at?"
"I know where it is, sera," Jenassa said. "It is in Whiterun Hold, just off the main road from Whiterun to Markarth. It is said to be a perilous place, and I have never been inside, but I can find the way there. From here I think that the quickest route would be to cut through the mountains by way of Brittleshin Pass. We must start off in the direction of Riverwood, and cross the White River near the Guardian Stones, where it exits Lake Ilinalta, and then make for the pass."
"Lead the way," Rhiannon said.
They moved on and it wasn't long before they were walking along the road that ran parallel to the lakeshore.
"If we swam across the lake it would shorten our journey, sera," Jenassa said, "but I am not sure it would be worth it. We would have to protect our bowstrings, and anything else that might be damaged by water, and then unwrap them at the other side. And there are slaughterfish in the lake."
"I don't know what slaughterfish are," Rhiannon said, "but they sound nasty. I think I'd rather walk. By the way, Jenassa, I keep meaning to ask you – what does 'sera' mean?"
Jenassa frowned. "It is a title of respect," she said, "used only to women. I think in your tongue the closest equivalent would be 'Mistress'. Perhaps, now you are a Thane, I should say 'serjo', which is the term used for members of the nobility."
"I don't feel like a noble," Rhiannon said. "Keep using 'sera'. Or you could call me by my name."
"Should I call you 'Dragonborn'?" Jenassa suggested.
Rhiannon shook her head. "Just call me Rhiannon," she said. "I don't want to attract too much attention."
And then the dragon attacked.
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The following article was first posted on December 14, the day that Rhiannon went missing, and we have considered taking it down. On reflection, however, we have decided to leave it up as a tribute to her. Jason Pinkney, Editor, ThatCulture Wrestling News.
Taming the Dragon – is the WWE mishandling Rhiannon?
It's not a huge secret that Rhiannon is a place-holder champion. After Nicky Bella passed AJ Lee's record, becoming the longest-reigning Divas Champion in history, it was intended that she should lose the title to Charlotte. Charlotte's shoulder injury made that impossible, Paige's sprained ankle ruled her out as an alternative, and the regular crowd chants of 'We want Sasha' only seem to be making the Authority even more determined not to give The Boss the title reign she deserves. Out of the remaining contenders they went for Rhiannon, most probably because of the impending Live Events tour of Europe and the British Isles, and the PR they could generate from a British champion. With that out of the way, and Charlotte and Paige both fit to return, Rhiannon's reign will, undoubtedly, be coming to an end soon.
And yet she's been a surprisingly popular champion. She's always been a good worker, proficient at mic skills despite her accent being strange to American ears, and very good at selling losses. As champion, however, for the first time she's been allowed to show just how good she is at selling victories.
She's the tallest Diva in the main roster, quite possibly the strongest, and an excellent technical wrestler with an extensive repertoire of moves. It's a compliment to her skills that the WWE allows her to use her 'Dragon Driver' finisher, a variation on Mitsuharu Misawa's 'Tiger Driver', a move forbidden to most wrestlers in the WWE because of its potential for serious injury if not performed perfectly. When Rhiannon steamrollers an opponent who is some four or five inches shorter than her, or powers out of their holds without apparent effort, there is no suspension of disbelief required at all.
It's been my opinion for a long time that the Divas division could use an unstoppable monster, the equivalent of Brock Lesnar's role in the men's, destroying opponents at will. Prime contenders for that role would be Awesome Kong, despite the way she was under-used in her brief WWE stint as Kharma, and Nia Jax. Perhaps, though, Rhiannon would make a good alternative, at least in the short term until Nia Jax moves up to the main roster, and after that Rhiannon could feud with Nia in a parallel to the Undertaker's feud with Lesnar. An equivalent Clash of the Titans. And, if the rumors that Ronda Rousey will come to the WWE ever materialize, Rhiannon is one of the few who could credibly stand against her.
Rhiannon's biggest weakness, as far as selling her goes, is that she's just too likeable a personality to make a credible heel. That's a downside when it comes to playing an unstoppable beast, not a role traditionally associated with a face. Big Show's spells as a face, however, have shown that it can work. Another example is the applause that broke out when Ryback, after losing to Kalisto in the recent title elimination series, took the defeat in good grace and shook Kalisto's hand. That's exactly the kind of action that would come naturally to Rhiannon and it should play well with the crowd when she's booked to lose against a smaller opponent.
Ideally, of course, there should be a Divas Tag Team Championship. It's a major lack in a division full of teams and partnerships, with a succession of tag matches that don't mean anything, and a belt would give things a much-needed shot in the arm. The obvious role for Rhiannon would be in a 'Celtic Warriors' team with Becky Lynch. It's one of the few foreign pairings that should play well with Americans, who tend to like the Irish, and who know of the Welsh primarily through Tom Jones. I've been harping on – no pun intended, I only realized the connection between harps and both the Welsh and the Irish after I typed the phrase – about the need for a Tag Team Championship in the division for months now, but there's still no sign that it's going to happen, and I don't expect it to come any time soon.
So, barring that, I'd urge the WWE to give Rhiannon more of a chance to shine. After she loses the title, have her retake it. Set things up so that she's a star player at WrestleMania 32, either defending her title – perhaps against Sasha Banks – or making a renewed challenge to retake it; and book her to win. Give her a run as an irresistible force, an unstoppable beast, a (friendly) monster. Let the Dragon roar.
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It wasn't targeting them, Rhiannon realized, after the first terrifying moments when it passed overhead and strafed them with its fiery breath as it went by. The flames missed them, narrowly, and then the dragon was past and slowing to hover near a circle of standing stones not far from the road. It let loose another jet of flame and, in response, a blue-white stream of magic energy shot up from someone within the circle.
In full flight it was a difficult target for Rhiannon, even with the help of her new circlet, but the dragon's hovering, almost stationary in the air, made for a much easier shot. She hit with two shafts, Jenassa beating her score by one, and then the dragon was on the move again. They dived for cover behind the low stone wall that bordered the road. Rhiannon cringed, expecting to feel flames washing over her, but the dragon passed by without attacking. Instead it flew out over the lake, descended over a small island, hovered again and unleashed its breath weapon on a fisherman's tent. The fisherman fled, his clothes alight, and dived into the water. Rhiannon and Jenassa loosed more arrows, although the range was extreme, and Rhiannon couldn't tell whether or not they'd managed to achieve anything.
The dragon wheeled and headed inland again. Rhiannon ducked back into cover but, once more, the dragon ignored her. It returned to the standing stones and engaged in another duel with someone there, most probably a mage, and then made for a new target yet further inland.
Rhiannon chased after it, and could see Jenassa doing the same, and managed to reach a position where she could get a good view of the hovering dragon just in time to loose one arrow before it moved off. She was quite close to the standing stones, and was vaguely aware of a black-robed figure there shooting bolts of magical energy in the direction of the dragon, but her attention was concentrated on the dragon. She saw it turn and head directly in her direction, descending, coming in to land.
And then her vision began to turn red, her pulse pounded in her ears, and her skin began to prickle. She felt her chest swelling, the bodice of her armor becoming unbearably tight, and she dropped her bow and pulled the armor over her head and let it fall. Her face was distorting, her mouth extending, and with almost her last conscious thought she realized that she was transforming into a werewolf. Then there was nothing but a red mist, hunger, and rage.
The next thing of which she was aware was the sensation of a dragon's soul pouring into her. Her vision cleared, she felt herself shrinking, and she was able to think rationally once more. When she came fully back to herself she realized that she was standing, stark naked, in front of the dragon's skeleton. And, a few feet away, was the corpse of an Elf in mage robes. His body was savagely torn, bearing the marks of fangs and claws, but too small to be the work of the dragon. Rhiannon gasped in horror as she realized that she, as a werewolf, must be responsible.
"What have I done?" she gasped, and then an even more horrifying thought struck her. "Jenassa!"
"I am here, sera – Rhiannon," Jenassa's voice responded. Rhiannon turned and saw her some yards away, beside one of the standing stones, in the act of slinging her bow over her shoulder.
"Are you all right?" Rhiannon asked. "I didn't hurt you? Look you what I've done! I killed that man."
"Do not concern yourself with him, my patron," said Jenassa. "Look over here. He was a vile necromancer who had sacrificed an innocent. Your slaying him is nothing to regret."
Rhiannon, still naked, went over to join Jenassa and saw that in the middle of the circle of stones was what appeared to be an altar. The body of a young woman, soaked in blood, lay there. On the ground around the altar were several human skeletons.
"I… suppose you're right," Rhiannon said. "I was terrified I might have harmed you."
"You made no move to attack me," Jenassa said. "Even in beast form our bond seemed to remain."
"That's a relief," Rhiannon said, "but I don't want to risk it again. I'd better get dressed and we'll move on." She headed back toward where her discarded armor, backpack, and weapons lay but before she could don them there was an interruption.
"Well, what have we here?" a male voice exclaimed. "We came to see if there was anything worth looting on a dragon's body and find two pretty women. And one of them is naked already. Couldn't be better."
Two men were approaching, one wearing studded leather and the other in a full set of iron armor, both of them wielding weapons. Bandits.
"This more than makes up for the damage the dragon did to our camp," the bandit in iron went on. "The Dark Elf is armed, Hararik, so I'll take her. You grab the nude one. But don't indulge yourself yet. I want first go."
The leather-clad bandit sheathed his sword and made for Rhiannon. She looked for her sword-belt, and saw it on the ground, but it was closer to the bandit than it was to her. She'd have to defend herself with her bare hands – but that was what Rhiannon did best. And against a would-be rapist she felt no qualms whatsoever about using potentially lethal moves.
The bandit made a clumsy grab at her. Rhiannon performed a sweeping deflection parry, sending him off-balance, and sidestepped. She slipped past the stumbling bandit, got behind him, and wrapped her left arm around his neck. Her right arm came across, she grasped its bicep with her left, and she hooked her right hand behind the bandit's head to complete the figure-four variant of a rear naked choke hold; she felt it oddly appropriate in the circumstances. She dropped to her knees, bringing her full weight to bear on his neck, bending him over backward. And then she simply applied pressure.
The bandit pawed at her, and groped for his sword, but Rhiannon ignored his struggles. With this hold compressing his carotid arteries, and shutting off the flow of blood to his brain, he'd be unconscious in a few seconds. Recovery would be just as quick, if she released the hold, but she had no intention of so doing.
She turned her head to see how Jenassa was faring and was just in time to see Jenassa disarm her opponent with one sword and then slash her other blade across his throat. Rhiannon felt her opponent cease his struggles, go limp, and sag against her. In the ring she would have released immediately. Here… she remembered her instructors' warnings never, ever, to apply the choke for more than thirty seconds at most and decided that two minutes should be about right.
"Have you… killed him?" Jenassa asked.
"Not yet," Rhiannon said. A part of her was appalled at what she was doing but another, and stronger, part overruled the first. She continued to apply pressure until a sudden stench, and liquid dripping onto her lower legs, told her that the bandit was dead.
"Eww!" Rhiannon exclaimed, standing up quickly and grimacing. Her legs were damp and, also, she realized that she was covered in blood. "I'm going to wash this off in the lake."
"The blood may attract slaughterfish," Jenassa warned her.
"I'll take that risk," Rhiannon said, and hurried down the slope toward the water. Jenassa followed, readying her bow, but Rhiannon took no notice and plunged straight into the lake. She rubbed herself clean, returned to the shore, and turned for a brief look out over the lake.
It was then that she spotted two things that she would have seen earlier if she hadn't been concentrating on getting clean. One was a fish, resembling a large pike or a small barracuda, which was floating on the surface of the water with an arrow sticking out of it. It wasn't big enough to have posed a risk to her life but could, no doubt, have delivered a nasty bite had Jenassa not shot it.
The other thing she had overlooked was a person. The fisherman who had dived into the water to extinguish the dragon-fire was still there, staring at her, his mouth so wide open that he might have been trying to impersonate a basking shark. Hastily Rhiannon brought her arms across to cover herself and then fled back toward her clothes.
She dried herself off on a spare set of footwraps, scrubbed dirt from the soles of her feet, and then started to get dressed. Her boots were ruined, and the fastenings of her underwear had snapped; luckily they were the local product, tied with drawstrings, and not her only set of irreplaceable Earth underwear. Even more luckily the wristband of her watch hadn't been damaged; presumably the wrists of a werewolf were no larger than those of a human. She put on another set of the local undergarments, unwilling to risk the Earth version in the event of her becoming a werewolf again, and then pulled on her spare boots and her armor.
"We'd better get going," she said, as she donned her sword-belt.
"I suggest that we check the bandits' camp first," Jenassa said. "There will be loot there, no doubt, and it is possible that they might have a captive to be rescued."
"Good thinking," Rhiannon said, "but let's make it quick."
There was no captive. There was, however, another bandit. This one was injured already, having suffered burns from the dragon-fire, but he refused to surrender and had to be slain. A chest held a hundred septims, an ingot of iron, and a soul gem, a pouch containing sixty septims lay on a bed-roll inside a somewhat charred tent, and in another tent was a book. It was called Night Falls on Sentinel and it was enchanted to give its reader greater skills at fighting with one-handed weapons, such as swords or maces. Valuable indeed and it, in itself, made this detour to loot the bandit camp worthwhile.
Rhiannon was getting edgy, however, dreading the prospect of another werewolf transformation occurring when there was no dragon to act as a focus for the beast's rage, and she was glad when they could move on again. Down to the road, along the path until they reached the point where the river exited the lake, and then they waded across where the water was shallow. Across country for a mile or so, up a hillside, and then they reached a cave that Jenassa said was South Brittleshin Pass.
And they walked straight into more peril. The tunnel was occupied. A rune on the floor exploded as they stepped on it, injuring both of them slightly, and beyond that they had to fight skeletons. A necromancer lurked in a large room further on, sending another skeleton to melee with them whilst he attacked with jets of biting frost magic. They took him down with arrows, healed themselves, and searched his lair for valuables.
Rhiannon opened a chest, narrowly avoiding being brained by a trap that released a mace on a chain swinging at head height, and found inside it some gold, a couple of potions, and an odd crystal object that rather resembled a baseball-sized twenty-sided die. She picked it up and was startled when it spoke to her.
"A new hand touches the beacon," it said, in the voice of a somewhat haughty and aristocratic woman. "Listen. Hear me and obey."
"Who are you?" Rhiannon queried. "And why should I obey you?"
"I am Meridia, Prince of Life, Lady of Infinite Energies," the voice replied. "You will obey me because to do otherwise would be foolish. I offer a great reward."
Rhiannon remembered coming across references to Meridia, in the same source that had given her some information about Hircine, and the book had named Meridia as one of the few Daedric Princes who could be regarded as benevolent. "I'll consider it," she said. "Can you rid me of this werewolf curse?"
"Alas, I cannot interfere with one of Hircine's hunts," Meridia replied. "You will have to resolve that matter yourself. But I can wait. Cleanse yourself of his taint and then you can carry out my task. A foul darkness has seeped into my temple. A darkness that you will destroy. Return my beacon to Mount Kilkreath and I will make you the instrument of my cleansing light."
"I don't have time to go into this right now," Rhiannon said. "I'll get back to you." She shoved the crystal into her pack, gathered up the rest of the loot, and moved on.
Once clear of the necromancer's chamber they were faced by yet another trap; this one a soul gem, mounted on a pillar, that shot spears of ice at anyone who came within range. Rhiannon managed to disarm it by using her Unrelenting Force shout to dislodge the gem.
And then, somewhat battered but richer by several magic items, a new spell, and a decent amount of gold, they emerged on the north side of the mountains. The sun had set, during their journey through the passage, but the two moons and the stars provided sufficient light for them to see where they were going.
"Darkness falls, and nature sleeps," Rhiannon quoted. "So why do we still tromp about?"
Jenassa stopped and stared at her. "You have been stressing the urgency of this mission, Rhiannon," she said. "Have you changed your mind? The danger of you becoming a werewolf again has not diminished."
"No, I was just quoting from a… play," Rhiannon said. There was no point in trying to explain video games to Jenassa. Not that Rhiannon had ever played the Baldur's Gate games herself, she tended to avoid things that could soak up that much time, but she'd heard a lot about them and watched extracts on YouTube. "I'm… missing my home, I think. YouTube, and TV Tropes, and Strictly… and not having to kill people. Forget it. Which way now? Down this path, is it?"
"That is correct," Jenassa confirmed, "and then we turn left when we reach the road and proceed to the west. We should reach Bloated Man's Grotto within the hour."
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Rhiannon was most familiar with grottos in the context of 'Santa's Grotto'. Toys, and reindeer, and little elves, and a jolly fat man with a red costume and a cotton-wool beard. This wasn't like that at all. A red moon shone down from overhead, bathing everything in a light that appeared to be filtered through blood, and the first thing they encountered was a small campsite littered with dead bodies.
One of them stirred as they approached. A Khajiit, terribly injured but still alive, and he raised his head and spoke.
"The prey is strong," he said. "Stronger than the hunters. But more will come. Bring him down, for the glories of Lord Hircine." Then, before Rhiannon could get to him with a Healing Hands spell, the Khajiit slumped down again and his head lolled limp. The spell had no effect.
"He's dead, Jim," Rhiannon said.
"Jim?"
"It's another line from a play," Rhiannon said. "I'm an actress. I do that a lot." She examined the body and found the marks of fangs and claws. "Sinding must have killed them. I hope we're better fighters than they were."
"I believe the werewolf took them by surprise as they rested," Jenassa said. "They were foolish to make camp while on such a quest." She checked out the equipment on the corpses, topped up her quiver with arrows taken from one of them, but took nothing else. "Their gear is of lower quality than ours," she assessed. "I see no enchanted weapons or armor. I am certain that we can give a better account of ourselves."
"Let's hope so," Rhiannon said, with a shudder. There seemed to be only one path leading out of the clearing in which the fallen hunters had camped. Rhiannon and Jenassa advanced, cautiously, along the path and almost at once saw their quarry.
Sinding, in werewolf form, stood atop a rock that towered over the path. "You? Why?" he asked, his voice a bestial grunt, and then he seemed to gain some control and spoke in a more human voice. "I never thought I'd see you again," he said. "Have you come to hunt me down?"
"Hircine told me the only way I can get free of this werewolf curse is for me to kill you," Rhiannon said.
"I can't stop you, if that's what you want to do," Sinding replied. "Hircine is too powerful. But if you spare me, I can be a powerful ally to you. And I would promise to never return to civilized life. I know now that I can't live among people."
"I can't not live among people, and I can't take the risk that I'll suddenly change into a werewolf and kill someone… like you did," Rhiannon said. "I don't want to kill you… but better you than Jenassa, or Delphine, or… a little girl."
"So be it, then," Sinding said. He jumped down from the rock, on the far side, and disappeared from sight.
Rhiannon and Jenassa advanced along the trail, alert for ambush, and came to a flight of steps. At the top was a walled area in which lay an iron-bound wooden chest. "We'd better check it out," Rhiannon said. "You never know, there might be a magic weapon inside. That would be worth the delay."
The chest wasn't locked. It didn't hold any magic weapons, alas, but it did contain an enchanted helmet of an odd metal, which seemed almost to resemble glass, unlike anything Rhiannon had seen before. As well as the helm they found a small sack of gold, a Potion of Healing, and a jade circlet set with sapphires. Valuable, no doubt, but of no immediate help.
Even as they were looting the chest they heard a commotion ahead. Snarls, growls, and screams. They stuffed their finds into their packs and hurried on, arrows nocked, and descended another flight of stone steps. Near the bottom lay the body of a steel-clad warrior. His steel armor hadn't saved him from being torn apart.
Sinding had to be close. The temptation was to hurry but Rhiannon forced herself to slow down. There was no point in catching up to the werewolf only to have him leap out from ambush and take them by surprise.
As, it seemed, he had done to others. Several other fresh corpses, still oozing blood from multiple wounds, lay at the edges of the trail. And then the two girls turned a corner and saw the werewolf engaged in combat with a pair of hunters.
They aimed and loosed at once, hampered by trying to avoid hitting Sinding's foes, but both managed to score hits on the werewolf without striking the wrong target. It didn't save the hunters. Sinding tore out the throat from a leather-clad Khajiit, seeming to ignore both the arrows and a blow from the war-axe of the Khajiit's human companion, and then turned on the remaining hunter and savaged him. Rhiannon and Jenassa shot the werewolf again but to no apparent effect. Then Sinding cast the human hunter's body aside and charged.
Rhiannon dropped her bow and drew her swords. She was aware of Jenassa mirroring her actions but her attention was concentrated on the oncoming werewolf. His claws swung at her, fast and powerful, and she tried to meet them with the edges of her blades. The two weapons, one enchanted with fire and the other with frost, bit deep into Sinding's arms but he still managed to get through and land a strike on the bodice of her studded leather armor. The claws pierced the leather and tore the skin of her left breast. Painful but shallow, not in any way life-threatening, and Rhiannon could have stayed on her feet. Instead she allowed herself to be knocked down and, just as she hoped, the beast turned to face Jenassa.
Rhiannon whirled her legs and performed a Black Dragon spin-up, as she had done when fighting Mikael the Bard, and regained her feet far faster than anyone untrained in martial arts could have expected. Sinding's back was to her and his attention was on Jenassa. Rhiannon thrust with both blades, with every ounce of her power, and drove them deep into the werewolf's body. Sinding howled, staggered, and his arms dropped. Jenassa took instant advantage and slashed her right-hand sword across his throat. The beast collapsed and lay still.
"I saw you felled and thought you slain, or badly injured at best," Jenassa said, after checking that Sinding was dead. "I feared for both our lives."
"I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never going to keep me down," Rhiannon quoted. "I'm trained to make it look as if I'm hurt when I'm not. I thought he'd fall for it and it worked."
"It did indeed," Jenassa said, "and together we have slain a mighty opponent. But now, according to Lord Hircine's command, we must skin him."
Rhiannon winced. "Tear the skin from his body, he said," she remembered. "I've never done anything like that." She could feel blood soaking into her bra, and trickling down her body under her armor, and hastily cast a healing spell. "I hope this won't leave a scar," she said. "Nothing has, yet, but I've seen people walking around with scars on their arms and their faces."
"Once a wound has healed naturally, without benefit of spell or potion, any scarring will remain," Jenassa explained. "The Orcs, and some Nords, scorn magical healing. More fool them."
"I agree," Rhiannon said. "There's daft, it is, not to take advantage of the good things about this world." She looked down at the dead werewolf and the dead hunters. "I don't think trying to skin him with swords will work," she said, "especially ones which burn or freeze. Maybe one of these two will have a dagger."
Both of the fallen hunters proved to possess daggers that looked suitable for skinning animal corpses. The two women set about removing the hide from the werewolf; Jenassa emotionlessly and with the competence of one who had done similar things many times before, Rhiannon clumsily, guided only by memories of watching Eivin Kilcher skinning a deer on Alaska's Last Frontier, and struggling to hold herself back from vomiting. Once the corpse had been skinned a ghostly figure appeared beside it.
This apparition took the form of Sinding, in his human shape, and for a moment Rhiannon thought that it was in fact the werewolf's ghost. Until it spoke. "You've done well, hunter," the apparition said, in the voice Hircine had used when appearing as the White Stag.
"I did as you asked," Rhiannon said. "Now will you take back this ring?"
"I will," Hircine agreed, "and you have found my favor. That skin will serve you well, child. Look more closely at it. My glories shall protect you from all the world's grievances. Good hunting."
Rhiannon felt the cursed ring leaving her finger. She looked down at what had been a bloody and ragged pelt and saw that it had transformed. Now a piece of armor lay where the pelt had been; a bodice of fur and leather with a metal breastplate, embossed in the center with the image of a werewolf's face, with claws projecting up from the shoulders in barbaric fashion. She looked up again at where Hircine had stood but saw that he had departed.
She picked up the armor. "Enchanted, I'll bet," she said, and she confirmed this with an Identify spell. "It's called Savior's Hide, and is enchanted with Magic Resistance and Poison Resistance," she announced. "There's handy, but I'm not happy about wearing something that was a person. If you would like it…"
Jenassa shook her head. "No doubt it is tailored to you, and would be too large for me," she said, "and I fear that the wrath of Hircine might fall upon any but you who wore the garment. Wear it, sera, and do not concern yourself with the fate of Sinding. He brought his woes upon himself."
Rhiannon moved away from the blood-stained area around the skinned werewolf corpse, unbuckled her pack, and stripped off her armor. She took off her ripped bra, used the clean half of it to wipe away the blood from her chest, and tossed the bra away. "I'll run out of underwear soon, at this rate," she remarked, as she replaced the torn bra with the one from her only remaining set of locally-made undergarments. "We'll need to do some shopping when we get back to Falkreath."
She pulled on the Savior's Hide and found that, as Jenassa had predicted, it fit her perfectly. The claws around its top had worried her, at first sight, but once she was wearing the garment she found that they were curved in such a way that she was safe from scratching her face or neck no matter how she moved her head. The armor was warm and supremely comfortable.
"There's lush," she declared. "I can move really well in this. My old armor needs repair, now, but maybe it could be altered to fit you. Or I could use it to learn the Health enchantment and put that on your armor."
"That would be advantageous," Jenassa agreed. "Now," she said, rubbing her hands together, "we should loot the bodies of the fallen hunters."
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They snatched some sleep, in the camp-site of the first group of ill-fated hunters, and arose as dawn was breaking. The grotto, by natural light rather than the sickly glow of Hircine's Blood Moon, looked quite pleasant, almost appealing, if you could ignore the mutilated corpses.
There was a pool near the little circle of tents, clear and fresh and inviting, and Rhiannon bathed in it after drawing water to, at long last, make herself a cup of tea. In the process of bathing she discovered a chest sunken in the water and, opening it, found sixty septims. Her funds were mounting up nicely. She was still short of the five thousand septims that it would take to purchase a house in Windhelm, even not counting the additional cost of furnishing it, but it no longer seemed unattainable.
Once clean she settled down to breakfast and the longed-for tea. The Khajiit version of tea-leaves bore a close resemblance to the black tea she knew at home, not unlike Welsh Brew Tea or Yorkshire Tea, and would have gone well with milk and sugar. They weren't available, and so she drank it black and unsweetened, relishing it anyway. Jenassa tried it, hesitantly at first, but found it quite palatable.
"Now, child, you have time to speak with me," a voice interrupted their breakfast.
Rhiannon jumped, almost spilling her tea, and looked around. She realized that the voice, female and imperious in tone, was coming from her backpack. The crystal that had called itself the beacon of Meridia. She set down the pewter goblet she was using as a tea-cup, opened her pack, and took out the crystal object.
"What do you want?" she asked. "You want me to take this… beacon somewhere, is it?"
"I do," Meridia's voice confirmed. "The necromancer Malkoran has defiled my temple, tainting it with vile corruptions, using the power stored within my own token to fuel his foul deeds. I am in need of a champion to cleanse the temple. Malkoran had given the beacon to one of his acolytes, seeking to remove it far from where it could be used to gain access to the temple, and – lo! – it fell into the hands of one who is a Champion indeed. His own schemes shall be his undoing."
Rhiannon put the crystal down on the ground and retrieved her cup of tea. "So this… Malkoran is the boss of the one in Brittleshin Pass, is it? And you want me to evict him from your temple?"
"Mere eviction would not suffice," Meridia replied. "He must die for his blasphemy. And if he is not slain he will use the army that he is creating to wreak havoc upon the world of mortals."
"I agree that getting rid of him sounds like a good idea," Rhiannon said, "but I have to meet someone in Riverwood in four days' time. Where's this temple of yours at, then?"
"Close to the city of Solitude, perhaps an hour's walk west of that city at a mortal's pace," Meridia said. "I shall cause its location to appear upon your map."
Rhiannon retrieved the map from her pack, unfolded it, and found that a glowing spot had appeared upon the parchment near to where Farengar had marked the location of Solitude. "I suppose we're part of the way there already," she conceded. "Jenassa, what do you think? Could we get there and back again in time to meet up with Delphine?"
"If we stick to the roads, and meet no delays upon the way, then there would be time enough," Jenassa said. "The way across country is shorter, as the hawk flies, but there is a much greater chance that we would encounter obstacles, or foes, that would make the journey time longer."
"Short cuts make long delays," Rhiannon agreed, quoting Pippin in The Fellowship of the Ring. "Hmm. Ustengrav, where we'll be going with Delphine, is between here and there," she noted. "It might be best to wait until then and carry on to your temple after we've retrieved that Horn thing."
"Perhaps," Meridia conceded, "but I warn you that Malkoran's forces will grow stronger as you delay. And my artifact could be of great use to you in your other tasks."
"So what is this artifact, then?" Rhiannon asked.
"A sword, a mighty weapon dedicated to the destruction of the Undead," Meridia informed her. "Wielding Dawnbreaker you would be truly the bane of draugr and other such foul perversions of life."
"There's tidy," said Rhiannon. She studied the map. "Granite Hill, that place Falkreath's version of Kim Jong-Un wanted us to check out, isn't far from here, and in the right direction," she said. "Okay, then, we'll head for your temple. But if we start running short of time we'll turn back and do your quest later, right?"
"That is… acceptable," said Meridia. "I shall speak to you again when you reach my temple."
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The settlement of Granite Hill no longer existed. Only charred ruins showed where an inn, and the surrounding farmhouses, had stood. The pastures were empty of livestock and the only signs of the human inhabitants were the blackened corpses of people burnt to death.
"That explains why they didn't pay their taxes," Rhiannon said. "A dragon did this. The one we killed back at the lakeshore, do you think?"
"That is probable," Jenassa agreed. "I believe that this is the direction from which it approached us and it would be no great distance for a flying dragon." She tensed. "Beware! A sabre-cat watches us."
Rhiannon followed her gaze and saw a huge feline, at least as big as a lion, rising from where it had been feeding on the corpse of a cow. The fangs that protruded from its upper jaw looked to be approaching a foot in length. "A saber-toothed tiger!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know you had those in this world."
The big cat approached, flattening itself low to the ground in a fashion that could only mean that it was stalking them, and Jenassa readied her bow.
"Wait!" Rhiannon commanded. "I want to try something. KAAN!"
The sabre-cat halted its advance, rose to its full four-foot height, and turned around. It ambled, unconcernedly, back toward the dead cow. The Shout that Rhiannon had found in Shroud Hearth Barrow, and had unlocked with the soul of the dragon slain the day before, had worked.
"I don't think it lasts very long," Rhiannon said, "so we'd better be on our way while the going is good."
And they made good time. Alternating walking and jogging, like the Chosen Men in Sharpe's Eagle, they kept up a rapid pace. In the middle of the afternoon they came upon another set of wooden towers connected by a walkway suspended above the road. And, just like the one in Falkreath Hold, this one was manned by bandits. Eight of them in total but, luckily, they were too thinly spread to gang up on the two girls.
"I'm getting sick of this," Rhiannon complained, once the last of the bandits lay dead at her feet. "Skyrim seems to have enough bandits to give even the Magnificent Seven problems."
"Who are the Magnificent Seven?" Jenassa asked.
"Heroes of my world," Rhiannon said, not bothering to explain that they were fictional. "The seven of them fought against forty well-armed bandits to protect a village. Four of the seven died, in the battle, but the bandits were almost all slain and the few survivors fled."
"A great deed," said Jenassa, "worthy of the Companions of Jorrvaskr."
That reminded Rhiannon that she had been invited to join the Companions, and had thought it might be a good way to get further training in sword-fighting and archery, but she'd almost forgotten about it. There had been too many other things more urgent and, after all, she seemed to be picking up quite a bit of on-the-job training in the form of experience.
And magical books. Jenassa picked up a book from a table in the bandit chief's hut, examined it, and then passed it to Rhiannon.
"The Black Arrow, Volume 2," Jenassa said. "It is a skill book for Archery. I have read it previously, and can learn from it no further, but it would be of benefit to you."
"There's tidy. Thanks," Rhiannon said. She tucked the book away and joined Jenassa in looting the camp. They didn't take the time to do a thorough search but, even so, ended up with more than they could carry and, reluctantly, left some of the armor and weaponry behind. Perhaps they'd have time to come back for them later, perhaps other bandits or innocent travelers would stumble upon them and take them away, but there was no other choice if they were to keep up their quick pace.
Keep it up they did. Resolutely ignoring suspicious-looking mages who might have been necromancers, using the Kyne's Peace Shout to get past wolves and bears without being attacked, they pressed on until, not too long after nightfall, they reached a bridge with a small town on the far side.
An unusual and spectacular bridge. It crossed a river gorge in a single span, arching slightly upward, and from each side of the parapet pillars projected upward in imitation of the spines on the back of a dragon. In the center the pillars were higher and joined together to form an arch that was crowned by a large statue of a dragon's head.
"There's impressive," Rhiannon remarked, as they passed under the sculpted figure. "This country is almost as obsessed with dragons as Wales is. Dragons on the money, Dragonsreach in Whiterun, and now this dragon bridge."
"I know little of the attitude of the Nords to dragons," Jenassa said. "It did not seem important until the creatures returned and began to attack."
"And I turned up and was told that it was my job to fight them," Rhiannon said. "Right now, though, all I want to do is find the inn and get a good night's sleep."
"I wonder," Jenassa mused, "if it might be a good plan to visit Solitude before we go to the temple of Meridia. We are on the verge of being overburdened with the spoils of war and have no room for more. If we make an early start tomorrow, and pay a brief visit to the city, we could sell what we have and thus make space for fresh acquisitions."
"We're ahead of schedule, and Meridia says it's only an hour's walk from her temple to Solitude," Rhiannon agreed, "so that sounds like a good plan to me."
It seemed less good to her late the next morning when, after a four-hour walk, they passed through the gates of Solitude and entered the city. An open courtyard lay just inside the gates, with the streets of shops and the like starting on the far side of the courtyard, and in that open area a crowd was gathered. Laborers and the like in common clothes, the wealthy in fine fabrics and furs, a few warrior types, and a young blonde woman, clad in scale armor and holding a lute, who stood out from the rest of the throng by virtue of her quite remarkable beauty. Perhaps a hundred or so in all, clustered in little groups, all looking in the same direction.
Rhiannon assumed that they were watching a performance of some kind, perhaps a musical concert or an orator making a speech, and she followed their example and looked across at that side of the square. Her eyes widened, her blood seemed to run cold, and for a moment she felt on the verge of fainting.
A prisoner stood on a raised terrace, flanked by guards, and a horribly familiar block of wood was positioned in front of him. Near the block a muscular man waited, a pole-axe in his hands, as an officer read out a sentence.
She was witnessing an execution.
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English meanings of Welsh phrases:
Beth yn uffern? = What in hell?
Mae hi wedi cachi arna i! = I'm buggered!