Chapter 7

Turdas, the 7th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Ghorza gra-Bagol wasn't happy to see her until Daenerys showed her that she had the coin to pay for a suit of leather armor. After that it just haggling. Daenerys agreed to pay 200 septims up front and the rest after her armor was fitted. Ghorza considered herself an artisan and wanted Daenerys to choose a theme for her armor. Daenerys longed to say dragons, but that would be far too revealing. She finally decided upon fire since she was a spellsword, but she declined to have her armor dyed red. That would stand out far too much. The initial fitting took a couple of hours and she was to come back in a week when the armor was done. Daenerys pushed Gorza on the time, but the orc wouldn't budge. The armor had to be cut, shaped, boiled, allowed to dry, riveted together, and assembled before the final fitting. In addition, Ghorza had promises to other customers to keep. Daenerys was sure Ghorza could have her armor ready sooner if she offered more money. Unfortunately, she could just afford the armor as it was.

It was approaching noon by the time she reached the Warrens. She had expected the Warrens to be like the other buildings in Markarth, old Dwemer construction being reused just with more people living there. She was only half-right. The Warrens was an old Dwemer building, but it was half-collapsed by a cave in. There wasn't even a door. Just a hole in the rock. Inside the entrance the hallways were half-filled with dirt and debris and the whole thing was askew. The floor sloped up and the ceiling sloped down. The roof was solid rock, but the way it slanted made it look unsafe. It was probably no less likely to collapse than some of the Nord barrows she had explored, but she wouldn't want to live in this place. However, many people, both individuals and entire families, called the Warrens home.

She was accosted as soon as she entered by a Breton wearing clothes so worn that they were almost rags. His face was scruffy, not a beard but not clean-shaven. His red hair was tangled and greasy looking. "The Warrens isn't a place for your type. What do you want?"

"I'm looking for Garvey," said Daenerys.

"Well, looks like you found him. I'm Garvey, but I don't know you, and you're too well off to stay here. This is where you go when you can't afford a room anywhere else."

Daenerys considered telling Garvey that she had been very close to sleeping in the Warrens. However, she didn't want to explain where she had been living or how she had acquired a house with an altar to Molag Bal hidden beneath it. "I'm looking into the death of Margret, the one Weylin killed. Do you have any idea why he did it?"

"You're searching for ore in a dead mine, lady. We don't ask too many questions down here. It's not healthy. Weylin kept to himself." He shrugged. "We pretty much all keep to ourselves."

Daenerys nodded in sad understanding. She'd knew what that was like all too well. It had been a long time ago, but she'd never forget living on the streets as a small child. She doubted this would lead to anything, but she'd promised Eltrys to investigate. "Can you show me to his space?"

Garvey shrugged. "I could, but why should I?"

"I can think of five good reasons," said Daenerys. She reached into her purse, counted out five septims, and held them out in her hand.

Garvey snatched them from her hand. "Those were some good reasons, come on. This way."

He led her over the uneven floor. Instead of a privy they had an indoor cesspit right out in the center of the main hallway. These were the poor and wretched of Markarth. Most of them were Bretons, but she also saw Nords, Redguards, and a few Orsimer. Their clothes were well-worn when they were not rags. The inhabitants ranged in age from infant to old, but the very young and very old were more common than adults. Despite the squalor three young children, two Breton girls and a Nord boy were laughing and playing tag. The rest mostly huddled in family groups around small fires. Her heart went out to one old Nord shivering under a blanket and coughing.

"Garvey, wait a second please." She squatted down next to the old man. "You sound sick. Why didn't you go to the Temple? The Dibellans would have healed you." Yes, there was a suggested donation, but she had never heard of the temples turning away the ill.

"Too many steps," muttered the old man. "Too tired to even walk, let alone wait in the line." He coughed. "Just a cold. I'll get better." He coughed again. "Soon."

Daenerys doubted that this old man would get better. Not without help. "You're right. You will be getting better soon." She placed her right hand where her amulet should be, reached out to touch him with her left, and called upon Talos to heal him. Magic flowed through her and into him.

The old Nord gasped and sat up straight. "Gods, bless you, Priestess! Thank you. Thank you so much! Which god do you serve, ma'am?"

Daenerys held a finger to her lips. "Shh, the one we do not name in Markarth."

"You mean?"

Daenerys nodded.

"Our jarl's a fool. May the Nine bless you and keep you safe, Priestess."

Daenerys rose and found Garvey looking at her. "If there are any others sick or injured, I want you to show me to them after I've seen Weylin's space."

Garvey dipped his head low. "Yes, Priestess. I'm sorry, I thought you were a mage. If I had known… I wouldn't have spoken as I did."

Daenerys shrugged. She wasn't really a priestess. Not even an acolyte. Nura Snow-Shod had been going to train her, but she'd never had a single lesson. Well, possibly half a lesson. "It's fine, Garvey. I've heard much worse. Now, where is Weylin's room?"

Garvey led her over some rubble, past two little family encampments, and deeper into the Warrens. He stopped when they came to a little alcove between two larger pieces of rubble. There was nothing there but a wooden chest with a padlock on it. "Well, this was his space. Looks like someone already took everything but his chest. I'm surprised they didn't loot that. We don't have much theft down here, but you don't need your stuff once you're dead. That was his chest. I don't have a key to it. I hope you can pick locks."

Daenerys looked at the chest and frowned. "I can't. I guess I'll have to come back with a crowbar or a hammer…" For a moment the top of the chest was hidden in shadow. When the shadow cleared, Molag Bal's mace was resting on top of it. "Or I could use that."

"Gods!" exclaimed Garvey. "Where did it come from? Is that ebony? By the Eight! That must be worth a fortune!"

"Don't touch it!" warned Daenerys. "It's mine. It's enchanted. It has a habit of finding me when I need it."

"I've never heard of an enchantment like that! Oh, think of the possibilities. You could sell it, then leave town and call it back."

Daenerys set down her staff and picked up Molag Bal's mace. "That would be stealing, Garvey. I'm not a thief. Don't tell anyone about this mace. It's important. Do you understand me?"

Garvey nodded his head up and down. "No, but I'll do as you ask, Priestess."

Daenerys sighed. She really wished Garvey hadn't seen the mace, but she wasn't going to kill him for it. So, his agreement to keep silent would have to do. She took the mace and smashed down on the lock. The lock not only shattered, but the heavy wood of chest cracked as well. Daenerys squatted down, deliberately set Molag Bal's mace aside, and opened the chest.

The chest was mostly empty. She found a few wizened apples inside, eating utensils, a wooden bowl, flint and steel, two candles, and a bag that held a collection of small odd shaped leathery objects. She held one in her hand and turned it over and over. Then she realized what it was. "They're noses!"

"What?!" shrieked Garvey in disbelief. "No, no, that's bad."

"He had a bag full of human noses in his chest." Daenerys had seen much worse than human noses taken as trophies, but from Garvey's reaction there was a deeper meaning to it. She brandished the nose she had at Garvey. "So, what does this mean? Some kind of Reachman thing?"

Garvey backed away. "No! Maybe? You're new in Markarth. Put that down, and I'll tell you."

Daenerys dropped the nose into the box with the others. "It's down. Now, explain."

"So, when the Nords returned to Markarth, and the Silver-Bloods reclaimed the mines, a lot of Bretons died in the confusion, mistaken identity they say." He snorted. "One of the richest Bretons who survived was Nepos. He was in tight with the Silver-Bloods. Helped them out. Married a Silver-Blood lass and was almost adopted. Had some Silver-Bloodlings. What he did the most was run their security. He had spies everywhere in Markarth, or so they say. That's how he got his name, Nepos the Nose. Well, just a little over a year ago, Nepos was killed in his home along with his guards, his wife, and two of his children. The important part is this. The killers cut off their noses. Ever since then more and more Nords have been turning up dead. Not just beggars and ruffians, merchants and others. Most of the time when they turn up dead, they're missing their noses! Weylin didn't just kill Margret. He's killed who knows how many. Most people think the killers are Forsworn, but it's a mystery."

Daenerys frowned. "If Weylin has killed so many times, why did he get caught this time?"

"Why are you asking me? How would I know? Maybe because he attacked the woman right there on the plaza in front of the guards instead of sneaking into homes at night?"

Daenerys decided that she needed to have a talk with Eltrys. These kind of details would have been good to know. He had mentioned the killings getting worse about a year ago, but he had not mentioned that was when the killers had started targeting Nords.

"You can't tell anyone about this," said Garvey.

Daenerys frowned. "Oh, and why not?"

"Because the Markarth Guard will come down here and start beating people up for answers. Answers that no one down here will have because everyone minds their own business."

Daenerys mulled that over for a moment. Eltrys had hired her to find out answers. While she believed the answer was simply the Forsworn – Nord – Breton hate triangle, this was certainly a clue. Wasn't she obligated to tell Eltrys? No, she decided. Eltrys lost his father years ago. His need for answers didn't justify unleashing the guard on these people. "Very well, Garvey. You keep quiet about my mace. I'll keep quiet about the noses." She picked up the bag and put the nose inside with the others. "Do you want to dispose of this bag, or shall I?"

"You do it, please, Priestess. Toss them in a privy, burn them in a fire. I don't care. Just get rid of them. I'll keep your secret, and you can keep this one."

Secrets in the dark, binding them together. Despite it being warm inside the Warrens, a chill went through her. For a moment she remembered sharing secrets with Brelyna back in Winterhold. It had only been six months ago, but it seemed like forever. Was Mephala listening and smiling now? Brelyna had tried to explain that Mephala was a complex god and not the simple villain the Nords painted her as, but Daenerys was tired of Daedric Princes. Maybe she wasn't a priestess of Talos yet, but she had chosen her god, or maybe he had chosen her.

She shook off the feeling that something was watching. "Garvey, I need you to do something for me. Go buy a blanket, or something so I can wrap up my mace. I'll pay five septims for it." Which would buy a blanket or two.

"Why don't you just leave it here?" asked Garvey. "It will come back to you."

"It's not a weapon you just leave lying around." She put an edge into her voice.

"Sure, Priestess. Whatever you say, ma'am." He hurried off.

While he was gone, Daenerys mulled over what to do with the damned mace. She obviously couldn't rely on it staying put. A mace wasn't like a sword that could be sheathed, especially not this mace with the blades and spikes. Normally you just hung a mace on your belt, but that was obviously out. She would need to get some leather or thick cloth to wrap it in and start wearing a backpack at all times so she had a place to stow it. She briefly wondered if she could send the mace away as easily as she could call it to her, but she doubted that would work unless she had faith in Molag Bal. There was no way she was praying to him. Ever.

Garvey returned carrying a worn bedroll. "Will this do, Priestess?"

Daenerys nodded. "Yes, that will do just fine, and you can call me Danyen."

"Of course, Priestess Danyen." He handed her the bedroll.

Daenerys rolled the mace up inside. It made a big bundle, but she could carry it. While it might look a little bit suspicious, it was better than carrying an ebony mace through the city. "Thank you, Garvey. Now, if you would just show me to everyone who is sick or injured, I'll heal them, and then I'll be on my way."

She followed Garvey around the Warrens. She had expected there to only be a person or two that needed healing. However, there were four sick people who needed healing. One of them was only an infant. There were also two that had injuries. One was a Breton that looked like he had been beaten to within an inch of his life. The other was lame. She couldn't entirely heal the lame man. His bones had healed wrong, but her healing did ease his pain. She doubted it would last, but he was very grateful. In addition to the sick and injured many came forward just asking for her blessing and advice. She gave blessings in the name of the gods, being careful not to specify which gods. Let them decide whether she meant the Eight or the Nine. The requests for advice were harder, but not much different from when she held court in Meereen and everyone would come to her seeking answers. She did her best and advised them to do the right thing even when it was hard.

She was also more than annoyed with the Temple of Dibella by the time she was done healing. She heard too much talk about long lines waiting for healing at the temple. It also hadn't escaped her notice that many of those living in the Warrens weren't merely skinny, they were starving. Perhaps not to death, but they simply weren't getting enough to eat. The Temple of Dibella was very wealthy. They could and should be doing more to help the people of Markarth. She knew the Temple of Kynareth helped the poor and homeless in Whiterun. They handed out soup and bread once a day. It wasn't much, but it was more than the Dibellans were doing. It angered her enough that she decided to do something about it. That feeding the poor would also be the exact opposite of what Molag Bal would do was just the extra drop of honey in her tea.

First, she had to deal with Molag Bal's mace. She bought a backpack and a leather hide and returned the mace to the house. While she was there, she filled up the backpack with food. She had cleaned out most of everything of value in the house, but the storeroom still held barrels of simple foodstuffs: flour, apples, potatoes, and even mead. She filled the back full, walked back to the Warrens, and gave it away to those who seemed the most in need of it. Their gratitude was even more overwhelming than when she healed them. She had a whole afternoon to kill before her meeting with Eltrys, so she went back to the house of Molag Bal, filled up her backpack again and made another trip. She intended to make a few more trips, but after her second trip a large Nord warrior was waiting for her as she left the Warrens.

He was a huge man. Most Nords were a head taller than her, but she didn't even come up to his breastbone. He made himself look even taller by wearing his auburn hair in one of those mohawk style crests except for a little skinny little braided ponytail in back. He was wearing leather armor designed for comfort instead of full protection: a cuirass to protect his chest, pauldrons for his shoulders, and full tassets to protect his thighs. However, his arms were bare as were his legs from mid-thighs to his calves. She would never wear such armor, but the heat never bothered her. He wore no facepaint and his face was scruffy, neither the clean-shaven look that Imperials favored, nor the beard that almost all Nords wore. The glare he gave her was full of anger and distaste.

"You've been digging around where you don't belong, mage." He had a rumbling voice like the growl of an angry dog. "It's time you learned a lesson."

He looked impressive, but she just wasn't that intimidated. She could kill him in many ways: Shout him down, burn him with her magic, or even let her wolf roam free. She probably couldn't take him with her staff, but she was dressed as a mage. If he came at her with weapons, she had every right to retaliate with magic. Of course, that had also gotten her thrown in the Chill, so she would rather avoid it. So, she attempted reasoning with him. "And what lesson is that? Not to heal the sick and injured? That I shouldn't feed those who are starving?"

"The warren dwellers? These scum?" He spat upon the stone. "Why bother feeding them? They're Reachers; let them eat each other. They are cannibals living in their cave just like the Falmer. I don't know why they haven't sent the guard in and just dug them all out of this hole. They like holes? Throw them all into the silver mines. At least we'd get some useful work out of them that way."

Daenerys clenched the staff in her hands at this Nord's prejudice and blindness. She had done a lot of wrong in her life, but even her worst crime, even when she burned King's Landing, she had been convinced that it was for the people. She knew that she would never win their hearts, so she would have to rule through fear – but that she fully intended to rule in the best interests of the many, to force justice on the noble, to feed the poor, and to build a better world… Madness, but not petty cruelty. She wanted to strike out at him, but she held herself back. He was obviously picking a fight.

"Well then, I'm glad that I am not you. I will heal them because they hurt. I will feed them because they are hungry. None of which are illegal, so kindly let me pass."

"Maybe you'll listen to this!" He came at her, not with a weapon, but with his fists.

Daenerys swung her staff at him. She had tried out some other weapons when training with the Companions before settling on a mace, but she had never used a staff as a weapon before and had no clue how to use it. Still she managed to hit the angry Nord with it in his unarmed upper arm. Not that it did any good. He shrugged it off and punched her in the face.

Her face exploded in pain as her jaw slammed shut and felt almost ripped out. She staggered back and barely kept her feet only to get punched in the tit. She reached for her magic and channeled healing as she did calling out for, "Talos!" as she did. Her magic filled her and with it came clarity.

"Don't say that name! You Forsworn scum!" He reached out and grabbed her quarterstaff from her hands and tossed it aside.

Daenerys knew she wasn't that skilled in the arts of combat. That's why she wore armor, cast spells, and hired better warriors than herself. While she was stronger than most men, this warrior was strong, fast, and skilled. She had to quit playing his game. Just as if she asked for it, the heavy weight of a mace appeared in her hand. This time she knew exactly what it was, but even knowing that she still brought down the full weight of Molag Bal's made upon the Nord's unarmored knee. A blow to the knee wouldn't kill him. She felt very satisfied when she heard bone snap.

The Nord was bigger, stronger, and faster than her, but he still collapsed to the ground when she crushed his knee. "Ah fuck me. You're dead, bitch. Dead. I'm going to fucking kill you. Then I'll rape your fucking corpse." Despite his words the Nord wasn't going anywhere. His knee was bloody mess and the white of bone showed through.

"Priestess!" hissed a voice behind her. "You should go. Now. Before the guard get here."

Daenerys backed away and to the side, looking to see who was talking while not losing site of the injured Nord. He had stopped cursing and was now threatening to make her his three-hole bitch.

Garvey stood in front of some of the other residents of the Warrens. "Please, Priestess Danyen, you must go. The guard will come down on all of us for this."

That wasn't right or fair. She might have broken the law since he had only come at her with his fists, but she wasn't even sure how that worked out under Nord custom or Imperial law. However, she did know how Nord prejudice worked in Makarth. She looked like a Breton, but had injured a Nord, so she was guilty. She could easily believe the guards would take his side and harass the people who called the Warrens home. "Very well, I'll go." She slipped off her backpack, and wrapped Molag Bal's mace inside a piece of leather. As she covered up the mace, she could almost hear Molag Bal urging her to smash in the Nord's brains and take his skills for her own. Whether that was his voice, or just temptation, she ignored it. She tied the leather wrapped mace into a bundle and stowed it in her backpack. She was very much aware that several of the warren dwellers had seen the mace. She held a finger to her lips. "None of you were here. None of you saw anything."

She received nods and agreements from the Eltrys and the other inhabitants of the Warrens. The Nord who attacked her was still cursing. He moved on from threats of rape and was now threatening to cut her into little pieces and feed her to the skeevers. However, he had also wrapped his knee in a bandage and didn't look like he would by dying any time soon.

She picked up her staff and took a step closer to him. While she had no skill in using a staff as a weapon it did have the advantage of reach. "Who sent you?" she demanded.

"No one sent me, bitch. You just don't know your place."

Daenerys shook her head. "Like I shouldn't have been 'digging around for answers'. No, you sought me out. Someone sent you."

This time he finally shut up and just scowled at her.

"You know, knee injuries like that are notoriously difficult to heal. The longer you wait, the more likely you'll end up lame. Maybe it will be you living in the Warrens this time next year. I could heal that knee."

"I have friends in Markarth. I don't want or need your help."

Daenerys was tempted to try to beat it out of him or just to simply kill him. She wasn't Molag Bal, and some people did deserved mercy. However, letting this man live felt more like stupidity than mercy. On the other hand, she was inside the city of Markarth. Just killing him would be murder, and she still had a small crowd of people watching her. They were people that looked up to her, not as the Dragonborn, but as a Priestess of Talos. Despite all the arguments for and against, it came down to the fact that she refused to send any more souls to Molag Bal. She had to be better than she had in the past. While she was certain she would see him again, she walked away and left him to his pain.

She returned to the house of Molag Bal because being off the streets in a house that most people ignored seemed like a good idea. She spent some time trying to put pieces together. Weylin had certainly been a killer. From the nose trophies, he was involved in the group that killed Nepos the Nose and some others. That group targeted Nords and were probably Forsworn, but they might just be a group of Bretons that got fed up. The death of Eltrys's father and other Bretons didn't fit that pattern, but it did fit with Nepos having ordered it done while cozying up to the Silver-Bloods. She really couldn't find a mystery there, just ruthless politics. Blood begat blood begat more blood. It was about power, control, and money, or silver in this case. Silver and blood. Those were the words of Clan Silver-Blood and they summed up Markarth quite well.

Gods, she wanted to leave this town already. In Riften she'd had power, reputation, allies, and a plan before everything had gone to Oblivion. She wondered how Saerlund was doing. He would make a better jarl than his brother, Harrald, but Riften was a mess of problems that would take years to fix. She learned that the hard way in Meereen. If Sanguine hadn't whisked her away to Markarth, she would be there sharing some of her hard-earned lessons and propping him up with the reputation of the Dragonborn. Not to mention that Sofija was now leading the Dragonguard. She had been the only possible choice, but Sofija wasn't ready for that burden. That's where she should be.

However, hoping and wishing wouldn't get her out of Markarth. Her armor would be ready in a week, but at this rate she wouldn't be alive that long. She wanted to blame Eltrys, but she was the one who took the job with him. Besides, she'd made waves of her own: mistaken for a whore, last person to see Vigilant Tyr alive, her encounter with Mathon in the alleyway, and now busting up a thug's knee. She wondered if that was illegal. He had come at her with first. She'd been the one to use a weapon. Maybe she should hide out in Molag Bal's house for a week until Ghorza had her armor ready? She had enough to pay the armor off, barely enough, but enough. There was still plenty of food left in the house. On the other hand, she had given her word to Eltrys. She had even spent his money already, but… Eltrys was rich. He wouldn't miss the money. Wasn't getting out of Markarth and dealing with dragons more important? How much was her word worth? It wasn't like she had never lied or deceived before. The masters of Astapor could attest to that, except that they were all dead. However, they had been slavers, men who had picked and preyed upon the weak. Molag Bal would have liked the masters of Astapor. Besides, the gods had given her a second chance. She wasn't going to make the same mistakes this life. She had to do better. No, she had to be better.

Despite her misgivings Daenerys left the house of Molag Bal behind and set off to meet Eltrys at their agreed meeting place. She left early so she could take the long way around through alleys and sidestreets, but she still arrived early. It was a good place to meet. Just outside the series of stairs that led down to the foreign district. She found a niche where she could stand so her back was up against the solid stone from the mountain. From her hiding place she could see much of the foreign district laid out before her. The smelter was still running and men scurried about as busy as ants. She settled in to wait.

Eventually, the smoke from the smelter died down. The workers made the last pour of the day. Half the men left then while the others set the molds aside in a solid building guarded by three men. Gradually the other men left heading home for the day. From her perch up high she could easily spot Eltrys by his bright blue clothing. No one else wore anything that fancy. He was one of the last to leave. She also saw five Markarth guards start toward him. She would never reach him in time, but she could warn him.

She rushed over to the top of the winding stairs and yelled out to him down below. "Eltrys! Look out! It's a trap!"

She was close enough to see the fear on his face and see him look about and spy the guards rushing in toward him. He panicked and started to flee. She didn't have eyes in the back of her head, but she heard the tromp of feet both to her left and right. Turning she realized that there were guards coming down from up and behind her. Standing at the top of this stair was not a good place to fight. She tossed her staff aside and leaped off the cliff. As she fell, she Shouted, "Feim!"

The world faded around her and turned into ghostly shades of black and white. Although she knew that it wasn't the world that had faded. She had faded, leaving this world, stepping slightly outside of it and into the greater whatever it was beyond. She hit the ground and didn't feel a thing. The guards swung their weapons at her, and she ignored them. They couldn't hurt her. She had eight seconds of invulnerability. The ignored four guards hit her with their swords as she passed. Their blows did nothing.

She returned to the real world just as she reached the guard standing over Eltrys. He was injured, maybe dead. Daenerys felt the weight of Molag Bal's mace in her hand. She raised it up to fight. The last time she had surrendered meekly to the city guard, they had tried to rape her. However, she couldn't bring it down. It was futile. She was surrounded. There was no escape. Even if she killed this guard, where was she going to run to? She refused to send this guard's soul to Molag Bal. Deliberately, she let go of the mace and let it fall to the ground.

"What have we done?" she asked. "Eltrys just wanted to find out who killed his father. We haven't done anything." She could hear the guards coming up behind her, but she was trapped. The wolf howled within her, but she didn't let the wolf free. She would save the wolf for later.

"You asked too many questions," replied the guard.

She sensed the blow coming from behind and tried to dodge it, but something hit her in the side of the head and the world started spinning. She fell to her knees. Desperately she channeled healing, but a boot came down in her face and she knew no more.