(AN: Big stuff happening in this chapter. Let's just hope i can pull myself into a position where i can actually get some work done here. It's not necessarily the distractions, merely the disinterest in writing [or doing anything].)
A Stolen Sword
Their night's rest was disturbed by loud cries, a ringing bell, and the entire Windpeak Inn alight. Sigrun and Jonna awoke as one to find smoke filling their bedroom. As they bent down in coughing, they found that closer to the ground, the smoke was not as strong.
"Get the bags!" Sigrun shouted.
Jonna crawled towards the other side of the room, where they had stowed their gear for the night. Sigrun, meanwhile, was up at the door: it didn't feel hot, but the door didn't budge when she tried to push it open. Again and again she pushed, though the work was strenuous under the thick cloud of smoke, but to no avail.
"Sig!" Jonna cried out, tossing her axe across the floor. Sigrun leaned down, picked it up, and went at the crack where the door met the wall. The door didn't budge on the first, second, third, or even fourth swing: but by the seventh swing, there was a terrible crack of wood. Sigrun kicked the door down, then, keeping low to the ground, ran out into the common room with Jonna carrying on behind her. When they came to the inn's main door, they found this was locked from the outside as well: as if that were not bad enough, the smoke was starting to get to them as well.
"The window!" Jonna shouted.
She threw the sack at the window, which broke from the force of the hit. Sigrun then ran to the window and crawled out, with Jonna following closely behind her. Once they reached the outside, they were both struck by the chilling cold of the northern sea wind: both of them were reminded that they had not worn cloaks to bed, nor their warm, travel clothing. All around they could hear the sounds of the townspeople of Dawnstar shouting at the burning inn. Foremost on their lips, besides concerns over the safety of their homes and where they would be getting beer in the future, were their ideas of who might be responsible for the fire.
"Did anyone see who started it?"
"I did! Three of them Thalmor soldiers!"
"Shh! Not so loud, now! You know what they can do to you!"
"I've had enough of this hiding! They can't do this to us!"
"Clearly they can."
"Maybe it was that old man that came in last night."
"Or those two lying out front of the inn?"
"Why would they set the inn a'fire and leave themselves inside?"
"No one would blame them?"
"Call the Jarl! She'll get to the bottom of this!"
Throughout the whole ordeal, several altruistic townsfolk were running to the nearest well, bringing back buckets of water to dump on the fire. Unfortunately, the buckets sloshed quite a bit and less water made it to the burning inn than was pulled up. Sigrun and Jonna walked away from the burning inn and wrapped themselves in their cloaks; some of the townspeople kept a wide berth around them, as they were worried that they had started the fire. A few minutes passed of finger-pointing and cries of terror when a group of Imperial soldiers approached the gathering crowd. In their midst was an old Nord woman wrapped in a rich robe.
"What's all this commotion?" the old Nord asked. "You're all out of doors after curfew!"
"Someone set the inn a'fire!"
"Not someone, them!" a Dunmer shouted, pointing at Sigrun and Jonna.
"Nay, it wasn't them!" another interjected. "It was that strange old man that's been prying about town lately."
"It was the Thalmor!" the brave old Nord man retorted. "I saw them running away from the inn just moments before the flames started!"
"Silence!" the richly-dressed Nord shouted. "All of you will be silent, or all have you all imprisoned for curfew violations!" Some of the commotion started to calm down, but there were still a few murmurs, masked by the crackling flames.
"Now then," the rich Nord replied. "As your Jarl, I remind you that the Thalmor are our friends, permitted to operate in Skyrim by order of the Emperor. They are under the protection of the Emperor and no false accusations or retaliatory actions will be carried out against them, under pain of death and penalty of confiscation of goods."
"What about them girls?" the Dunmer asked.
"Ay!" a toothless, old Nord woman with a croaking voice added. "Saw 'em chattin' it up with that ol' busybody Havi!"
"It was he as set the fire, not these girls!" another shouted.
"Alright, that's enough!" the Jarl retorted. "Guards, take these two to the prison. Let them work in the mines until they learn respect for their Jarl."
"Yes, sir!" one of the Imperials returned.
"How can she do this!" the man exclaimed. "She's always been a friend to the people of Dawnstar."
"Shut up, old snow-back!" the Imperial guard snapped.
"'Ave mercy on an old woman!" the woman begged. "I can't work in no mines! It was them as set the inn a'fire! Why am I bein' punished an' them allowed to go fr..." At a nod from the Jarl, the Imperial soldier struck the old woman in the face with the pommel of his sword.
"In the Legion," the Jarl announced. "Insubordination was dealt with by hard labor. As long as I rule Dawnstar, I will have order!" She then turned to Sigrun and Jonna.
"As for you two," she said to them. "What are your names and what is your business here?"
"We're bodyguards," Sigrun began. "We came up here with..."
"No one!" Jonna interjected. "We're just two sisters, adventuring through Skyrim."
"Sellswords, eh?" the Jarl returned. "Bringing your troubles to my city, are you? I have half a mind to throw you in jail with those two."
"We didn't start the fire," Sigrun replied. "We were in the middle of it just now, trying to escape."
"You can smell the smoke on our clothes, if you don't believe..."
"Silence!" the Jarl snapped. "Imperial Law dictates that one is guilty until proven innocent: after all, we would never judge an innocent man. Can you prove that you did not start the fire?"
Immediately, Sigrun's thoughts went to the little box of tinder in their pack. They hadn't had time to use it, as their first departure had been at night, and Sori had warned them about lighting a fire in Fort Fellhammer, as it would alert the Imperial camp just a short distance away. Now they would have to submit themselves to a search and likely be caught with the tinder and blamed for the fire.
"The innkeeper!" Jonna interjected. "He saw us to our rooms. He'd also be the last one to go to sleep once the common room closed, right? If we got out of our room, he would know it."
"Hmm," the Jarl mused. "We'll question the innkeeper. In the meantime, you will surrender all of your goods to my guards for search."
"What?" Sigrun exclaimed. "No!"
"Violating my orders?" the Jarl returned. "Maybe you did start the fire. After all, an innocent person wouldn't deny a simple search, would they?"
Sigrun realized they had fallen into a trap. She saw no way out for them: at their backs the fire blazed on, despite the futile attempts of the villagers to put the flames out. Before them was an angry mob out for blood, and between them and that mob were the Imperial Red Legions under the command of the Jarl of Dawnstar, who would follow her orders without question: even if it meant killing their captives.
"No," Sigrun sighed.
"Smart girl," the Jarl stated. "Turn out your bags now. I'll send for the innkeeper once we've searched you...thoroughly."
Without asking, the guards took the bags from the two women and began to remove the contents. Within moments, Jonna buried her face in her hand and Sigrun sighed: the guards pulled out Jonna's sword and ax very first.
"Very interesting," the Jarl noted. "I'm sure you know that Imperial Law forbids the carrying of weapons within the limits of any city in the province."
"I thought you cared for us, outsider!" one of the townspeople shouted. "We've always been able to protect ourselves in our own cities, ever since Ysgramor..."
"Take him to the jail also!" the Jarl ordered. Two guards went towards the man in question. The Jarl then turned to the two ladies. "What this looks like," she said. "Is two women smuggling illegal weapons into my city under the guise of being sellswords. Not to worry, though: you'll be more than glad to tell us all after you've spent a few days in prison..."
Suddenly there was a burst of fire from one of the other houses in the town. All eyes turned towards the explosion, when suddenly the Jarl and both of her guards were found face down in the snow. Jonna was tossed the bag and Sigrun the sword and axe; both were shocked and stunned into silence, not merely by this sudden turn of events, but also by the one who had thrown them their gear and weapons.
It was the figure in black.
"Run, now!" an old man's voice urged from beneath the hood. One hand leaned upon a tall staff, and the right hand gestured back down the road they had come from. "The way is clear!"
"Who are you?" Sigrun asked. "What do you want from us?"
"Go, now!" the old man repeated. "They will not stay down for long! We will speak later."
"Come on, Sig!" Jonna cried out. "You heard the man, let's run!"
The two women could not recall another time they ran as fast as they did that early morning. No bear or wolf they had encountered in the woods around Lakeview Manor had incited such urgency in them as now pushed them onward. At any moment they feared that the jig would be up and they would soon hear the sounds of hooves upon the snowy road behind them. Once they heard that, it would only be a matter of time before the Imperial guards caught them and brought them back in chains to Dawnstar: then what hell would befall them then! Yet for the present, there was no sound of pursuit, only the distant, steadily fading, glimmer of the burning Windpeak Inn.
The moons were out again and shining brightly; it was fortunate for them that this was so, else they would have missed the turn of the road. At the sign, they paused only for a short while to take wind, before realizing that they were shivering cold. In their hurry to leave Dawnstar, the two women hadn't had time to dress themselves in much more than their usual tunic and trousers. They donned their warm cloaks from their bags and girt their sheaths upon their belts, then left the road and turned east. For the rest of that night they continued east, looking for the sight of the lighthouse as they had been directed. By the time they finally found it, weariness had overcame them yet again and they practically stumbled inside and fell asleep as soon as they sat themselves against the inner wall.
When morning came, they found themselves both alive and more or less well. Sigrun said a prayer of thanks to the Nine Divines, for she was certain that they had had help in surviving the cold night.
"Nords don't freeze as easily as southerners," Jonna mused. "We have good blood. Don't you remember all those stories your Da told you about his adventures? He never froze in them, and he must have been in worse snows than this."
"Maybe," Sigrun said. "But I feel safer praying just the same."
They ate from the food in their bags, only to discover that they were dangerously low. They might be able to make the food last them until Winterhold, if they were lucky, but even that would not be without rationing it very thin. Jonna groaned at this misfortune, but Sigrun was silent.
"Eat up, now," she said. "We have to reach the Wayward Pass before nightfall."
"Why?" Jonna inquired. "What's the rush? Do you think we're being followed?"
"By more than one person," Sigrun returned.
"How?" asked Jonna.
"You saw him, didn't you?" Sigrun replied. "The old man in black."
Jonna nodded sheepishly. "I saw an old man in black save us from the Imperial Guards. I...you don't think it was the same one you saw by the Guardian Stones?"
"I'm certain of it," Sigrun stated.
"But you said that he had wolves with him the last time," Jonna said.
"I didn't know what I saw," Sigrun returned. "I thought he chased off the wolves the first time. But when he kept appearing, I was worried. But this was the first time he spoke to me; he saved us from the guards, he also said we'd speak again. I wonder what he means by that."
"But you said more than one person," Jonna noted. "And you only mentioned one. The others, I take it, are the Imperial Guards?"
"And others," Sigrun said, a worried look on her face. "Do you remember what they were saying when we escaped the inn?"
"Barely," Jonna answered. "There was a lot of screaming and yelling. I think they were blaming us for starting the fire. Of course, since we ran, they'll think we're definitely guilty."
"I think it might have been the Thalmor," Sigrun stated.
Jonna scoffed. "Well, if you don't remember, your Da has done his best to keep the Thalmor out of Skyrim. Every agent that is found crossing into the Rift or Falkreath ends up dead, if I recall. I think he was even part of a raid on a Thalmor fort up north during the Civil War."
"That was years ago," Sigrun stated. "Things may have changed."
"But why would the Thalmor burn down an inn?" Jonna asked. "I thought they played politics and only hunted down Talos worshipers."
"Well, we're certainly Talos worshipers," Sigrun chuckled. "Even if we don't bear Hjalti's hammer. But if they're following us, I think it's because of this." Sigrun reached into her sack and pulled out the folio she had recovered from Fort Fellhammer.
"What's that?" Jonna asked. "Where did you get that?"
"I found it on our friend in Fort Fellhammer," Sigrun replied. "He seemed to be keeping it close. I thought: why wouldn't he burn it to save himself from the cold? Figured it must be important."
"Well, what is it?" Jonna repeated.
"I haven't opened it," Sigrun answered. "I had intended on opening it at breakfast at the Windpeak Inn, but, well, you know..."
"Do you think the Thalmor knew you had this?" Jonna asked. "And that's why they set fire to the inn?" She gasped. "What could it be!"
"Well, we are up north," Sigrun stated. "As far as how they knew, I can't say. Maybe someone saw me with it."
"Aren't you going to open it?" Jonna asked again.
Sigrun opened the foilo and began perusing the pages briefly before flipping over to the next one. Most of them were lengthy reports on the wealthy and influential people in Skyrim. Most of the names she did not recognize, but there were a few were in fact very familiar: she recognized the names of High Queen Elisif, Jarl Lysa of Falkreath, and Eirik Bjornsson.
"Jons, Da's name is in this," Sigrun said warily. Jonna looked at the folio.
"'Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim,'" Jonna read. "'Former member of the Stormcloak rebellion and ex-Harbinger of the Companions.' Gods above! Look at what it says here..." She pointed with her finger to a line in the portion dedicated to Sigrun's father: Location - Known.
"I don't think I like the looks of this," Sigrun said warily.
"Neither do I," Jonna added, shaking her head. As Sigrun began continuing to pour through the pages, a missive fell out from between a few pages. Jonna picked it up and quickly examined it.
"Sig," she said. "Come, take a look at this. It fell out of the folio while you were looking through it. Looks important."
Sigrun took the missive and read it aloud to both of them.
'Written on the first day of Second Seed, the 220th year of the Fourth Era. Ordered to destroy all documents gathered by Thalmor agents in Skyrim upon receiving this note.'
"Sounds pretty serious," Jonna mused aloud. "Like someone didn't want this list to be found."
"Maybe," Sigrun said aloud. "This note is almost four months old, and this folio isn't exactly empty. Maybe our friend from the fort was on the run. Maybe he took this folio from the Thalmor and tried to escape with it, but the weather caught up to him."
"It must have been pretty important," Jonna added. "For him to take it with him to his grave."
"I'm guessing someone at the inn saw me with it," Sigrun said. "And reported it to the Thalmor."
"That's why they set the inn on fire," Jonna deduced. "Destroy the evidence."
"Exactly," Sigrun nodded, holding up the folio. "As long as we have this, we're in danger."
"Well, what should we do, then?" Jonna asked. "It's not like we know anyone to take it to around here. The closest we'd come is Riften, and I've heard some unsettling rumors about it."
"What rumors?" Sigrun asked.
"Well, you see, I've been planning this little adventure for years," Jonna began. "Your Da and the Sons of Skyrim might have a firm grasp on Falkreath, but things are different in the Rift. The Snow-Shod clan died without an heir, and Hemming Black-Briar became Jarl of Riften. He welcomed back the Thieves Guild and the rest of the Black-Briar clan, all of whom seemed to have recovered the wealth your Da took from them when they were kicked out of Riften."
"How does this involve us?" Sigrun asked.
"Our paths might have led us to Riften in time," Jonna stated. "So I thought that was useful information in the long-run. As far as how it affects us now, the Rift is supposed to be under the protection of the Sons of Skyrim: but as things are right now, it might not be very safe. Your Ma was very clear about how the Black-Briars were in the pocket of the Empire, and if they're back in power, it's a safe guess that they're in the pocket of the Thalmor as well."
"I didn't know you knew so much!" Sigrun commended.
"That's because I listen, Sig," Jonna returned. "And pay attention. You should try it some time."
"Are you saying I don't listen?" Sigrun asked, pretending to be aghast.
"No, of course not," Jonna stated. "Just...try it more."
Sigrun smiled. "I'll keep that in mind. So what should we do in the mean-time?"
"Find the sword, like that dumb-ass old man said," Jonna answered.
"What, now you want to do that?" Sigrun asked. "I thought you didn't like him."
"I don't," Jonna replied. "But right now, we need to stay as far away from Dawnstar as possible, which, unfortunately, means taking our time with Havi's plan."
"Alright," Sigrun nodded. "We can do that. Then what?"
"First things first, Sig," Jonna chuckled. "Let's get to Winterhold and find out about retrieving that sword. Then we'll see about where to go from there."
The two ladies made sure their things were all packed and secured, then hid all traces of their stay at the lighthouse before they set out down the cliffs and into the glacial valley. For the rest of that day they carried on southeastward, keeping the high cliffs on their right-hand. They continued walking, sometimes taking out their map with frigid fingers to see if they had made a wrong turn at any point: though they seemed to be following the proper course, it seemed that the mountains to their right were an impassable barrier, impossibly high with neither lane or path leading through them.
About midday, the mountains to their right suddenly split open in a narrow pass. In that moment, they stood frozen in awe, not necessarily because of the chill wind. They were amazed at how the mountains, which had but a moment ago seemed to be an impassable barrier, had opened up before them in this path. They reasoned that it was because of the narrowness of the pass that it seemed almost invisible from afar. With all haste they made their way into the pass. It was quite narrow and inclined upward steeply, and the cold wind bit at their backs; but they were now confident that they were going the right way.
By and by, the path leveled off and then descended yet again. The path was filled with dense, soft drifts of snow, which the two ladies slid or fell through with joy. At this point, the cold winds were blocked by the main girth of the mountains and the air was not as threatening as in the glacial valley. By the time the snowed path met the road to Winterhold, both Sigrun and Jonna were covered in snow and full of merriment, all thought of Thalmor or pursuit forgotten. In fact, were it not for the cold of the upper mountain regions, this would have been the best part of their adventure so far. But the cold was still there, and when they climbed out of the drifts, they found themselves shivering.
A little inn sat by the highway-side a short distance off from where the Wayward Pass met the road. The thought of a warm fire to melt away the snow was much to the desire of the two women. So it was that Sigrun and Jonna came to the Nightgate Inn. They noticed a wagon tied out front, but they paid it little heed: warmth was foremost in their minds. They passed into the inn, saying nothing as they made their way to the hearth to warm themselves. Having removed cloak and boots and were now taking a seat by the hearth, Sigrun took a moment to look about the common room. It seemed quite an empty place: there was one forlorn-looking bartender and a dark-haired man drinking from a pewter cup at one of the tables.
"Is that your cart outside?" Sigrun asked.
"Why do you want to know, snow-back?" the man retorted. His tone was not that of a Nord and he was clearly no mer or half-Orc.
"We're on our way to Winterhold," Sigrun replied. "If you'd like to hire our services as guards..."
"Two women?" scoffed the man. "Back in Cyrodiil, civilized women know better than to play with swords."
"You're an Imperial?" Jonna asked.
"A proud one at that!" the man returned. "And I don't do business with you damned Nords."
"Why is that?" Jonna replied, her fist clenching.
"Your kind are nothing but violent rabble," the man stated. "Even after the Empire killed that elf-killer Ulfric Stormcloak, your kind couldn't mind yourselves. The loss of the Reach and the east, the rebellion of the so-called 'Sons of Skyrim', the revolt in Bruma, the mysterious death of the earl of Whiterun: your people cannot mind yourselves."
"And you Imperials are better?" asked Jonna.
"We keep the peace in these parts," the man stated. "If it weren't for the Imperial Legion, the Dominion would have taken over this gods-forsaken country, the provinces would fall into chaos and anarchy, and the College of Winterhold would be raided and burned by you savages."
"You're going to the College?" Sigrun asked.
"Delivering much-needed supplies," the man retorted. "Or are you as dense as everyone else around here and actually believe the Winterhold mages can conjure food out of thin air?" The man scoffed.
"Why not take us on, then?" Sigrun asked. "As your body-guards. Our last customer made it to his destination alive and with his goods intact."
"If I were of a mind to hire body-guards," the man sneered. "I'd go after such as can handle themselves. I'm not spending my hard-earned drakes on two little girls with swords. And they wouldn't be Nords, either: such as rob you blind and threaten you if you as much as protest."
"Can't we at least go with you as passengers?" Sigrun asked. "It will take off some miles from our journey and we can pay you."
"I wouldn't trust you lot with my goods," the man retorted. "Besides, it'll give me some small measure of joy to know that you wet-nosed little girls will be benighted and delayed on your way to Winterhold. Perhaps then you'll grow enough sense and go home!"
"The hell is your problem?" Jonna interjected.
"I don't quite like being molested by you mongrel b*tches!" the man retorted. "Besides, the only thing in these parts an honest man needs protecting from is you lot. The Sisters of Strife don't come this far north, and the rumors of dark elf slavers is just that: same as the rumors about Falmer in their caves."
"I think we've heard enough," Sigrun muttered to Jonna. The younger woman made a rude gesture at the Imperial man, then gave him her back.
"Can you believe such a person has the misfortune to be in Skyrim?" Sigrun asked. Jonna smiled.
"Almost reminded me of Crixus from your Da's stories," Jonna added. "Hmm, maybe it is."
"Oh, come on," Sigrun chuckled. "It can't be."
"Why not?" Jonna asked.
"Well, for one thing," Sigrun began. "Crixus is the Emperor. You wouldn't find the Emperor in a tavern like this in the middle of nowhere, without guards or anything. Also, I remember my Da's stories better than you do, it seems. Crixus was bald, or close to it, and his face was full of scars. This man has short hair and looks as though he hasn't fought a day in his life."
"With a mouth like that, I'm not so sure if that last bit is true," Jonna replied.
"Even so," Sigrun said. "I don't think this man is the Emperor. An asshole, yes, but not the Emperor."
They stayed at the inn until their clothes had dried again. Once they were sufficiently dry, they made their way out of the tavern and back into the cold. As they readied themselves for their journey, Jonna nudged Sigrun on the shoulder and pressed her finger clandestinely against her lips in a gesture of silence.
"Let's sneak onboard that son of a b*tch's wagon," Jonna whispered.
"What?" Sigrun asked. "But that's trespassing! If he catches us, we'll be in the wrong!"
"So?" Jonna returned. "We have swords. If he tries to evict us, we can give him the fight of his life."
"I'm not so sure about this," Sigrun shook her head.
"Come on, Sig!" Jonna urged. "We can get a ride to Winterhold and get back at him for being an asshole. Now, quiet! Let's do it before he comes back."
Sigrun sighed, but followed Jonna over to the Imperial man's wagon. Carefully, so as to not startle the horse, they climbed into the back of the wagon. As was the case with every wagon in Skyrim that dared the eternally frigid climes of the northern holds, the wagon had a burlap or leather tarp that could be pulled over the top to protect the goods within from the elements. Once the two ladies were both inside, they covered themselves with said tarp and waited. They did not know how long it would be until the Imperial man returned from the inn and they might have to wait all of that time until he did.
Suddenly Sigrun started squirming where she lay.
"What are you doing?" Jonna asked.
"Covering our tracks," she replied. "Remember all that snow? He'll see our footprints and know we climbed inside his wagon."
Sigrun got herself turned around, so that her feet were aimed at the wagon's seat and her face was pointed out the end. She then scooted herself back until her upper body was half-way out of the wagon. Then she unfastened her cloak and held it out over the snow, dragging it across their footprints. There was a sound of raised voices coming from the inn, and Sigrun quickly pulled her cloak back into the wagon and shifted herself around and back inside, trying to make herself as scarce as possible.
The door of the inn opened and Sigrun and Jonna held their collective breaths. It was all they could do to hope either that they had succeeded in hiding their tracks, or that their unsuspecting host would not be very observant. A few heavy footsteps slid through the snow; the two women bit their lips and remained frozen in place. Even the slightest movement could alert the Imperial man to their presence. The wagon jostled gently, then there was a cry and a crack of a whip, then the whole wagon began to move to the clattering sound of iron-shod horse-hooves. They were now underway, hidden in the wagon of the Imperial man.
Hours passed. The gentle jostling and rumbling of the wagon wheels upon the snow-clad road threatened to rock the two women to sleep, lying in the back as they were. However, they were determined to remain awake through the whole ordeal. Every moment they feared the wagon would stop, the Imperial man would climb off the seat and remove the tarp. Surely then the jig would be up and they would rather be caught awake than asleep. Also there was no sure way of knowing when they would arrive in Winterhold if they fell asleep. So they fought off weariness and tried to keep themselves silent but wakeful: as it turned out, this was easier said than done. They had no idea of how much time was passing outside the wagon. When they left the inn, there had been a cover of clouds between them and the sun that cast a dull gray sheen upon the world: now beneath the tarp, the light neither faded nor grew. The dull gray and the coziness of their hiding place threatened to lull them into sleep. As if that were not enough, the women kept their ears pricked for any sound or change that might take place outside of the wagon: only this way could they know if the wagon was attacked, or if the Imperial man might bring them to a stop. But aside from the clanking of the wagon wheels, the clopping of the horse's hooves, and a gentle whistling of the wind, there was no other sound to be heard: but even the serenity was hypnotic.
By and by, the dull gray slowly grew a shade darker. Furthermore, there were now sounds outside that they had not been heard a few moments ago. Footsteps were heard, a hubbub of conversation, clanking of steel weapons within leather scabbards and the distant sound of singing and revelry. A voice, clearer and nearer than the others, was heard outside the wagon; then, to the horror of the two ladies, the wagon came to a gentle, lurching halt. Outside they could hear words being exchanged between the new voice and the Imperial man: it seemed to be a guard making an inquiry on the Imperial man's goods.
Jonna made a gesture and, immediately guessing her sister's thought, Sigrun crawled backwards out of the wagon. Jonna followed after her and, as quietly as possible, made her way out of the wagon. Jonna was smaller and able to squirm out without incident, but Sigrun seemed to make enough commotion to make Jonna fearful that they would be discovered. Ever and anon Jonna cast her eyes to the front of the wagon, fearing that the Imperial man would look back at a moment and see them. Sigrun gave a final push and collapsed onto the snow. Jonna gave her hand and pulled Sigrun to her feet, then shot back down to the ground. In her attempt at climbing out of the wagon, the Thalmor folio had fallen out of Sigrun's cloak. Jonna stowed the folio into her own belt and then led Sigrun behind a tall longhouse made of wood with a thatched roof.
"We made it!" Sigrun gasped.
"Just barely," Jonna returned. "You need to be more careful with that folio. If it's as important as you think it is, it's damn dangerous to let it slip out of your reach."
"Alright, alright," Sigrun nodded. "So, where do you think we are?"
Jonna pulled the map from her belt and examined it. "Hmm. Well, if that inn we stopped at is the Nightgate Inn and we haven't stopped anywhere else along the way, this should be Winterhold."
"Then which one of these buildings is the College?" Sigrun asked. "We might as well start planning our entrance before it gets too dark."
Just then, there was a soft 'ahem' heard nearby. Both ladies spun about and saw a figure in a gray cloak, shorter than Sigrun but not as short as Jonna.
"Pardon my eavesdropping, sirrahs," the figure said, in a drawling accent which they had never heard. "But I couldn't help but hear that you purposed to enter Winterhold."
"Who wants to know?" Jonna asked.
"A friend," the figure replied. "But let's get indoors first. We can speak more safely there."
The stranger turned towards a small wood-shed that stood behind the longhouse. He opened the door and gestured with his gloved hand that they should enter in first. Slowly they made their way inside, but Jonna clutched the hilt of her sword. Once they were inside, the stranger closed the door but did not lock it, then turned about and removed his hood. To their surprise, they saw the dull-gray, red-eyed and bony face of a Dunmer.
"You're a dark elf?" Jonna asked.
"Aye, sirrah," the elf replied. "And you shouldn't believe all those rumors coming out of New Gnisis. We ain't all bad, and I happen to be one of the good ones. Arvyn Hlas is my name. If you're in the market for getting into the College of Winterhold, I'm your elf."
"How?" Sigrun asked.
The elf chuckled. "You two aren't from around here, pretties. The College doesn't let just anyone inside. That was always the rule, but things have changed lately. Arch-Mage Nirya has banned all Nords from entering the College, even those skilled in magicka."
"Then how can we get in?" Sigrun asked.
"That's where I come in," Arvyn replied. "I am a purveyor of sorts. If the mages of the College need anything, I can get it for them, much faster than Drusus Andronicus. I know ways of getting into the College that evade even the scrying of the College mages."
"And you'll just help us get into the College?" Jonna asked. "Just like that? I assume you'd want some kind of payment?"
"Oh, no more than you can afford," Arvyn answered. "I consider it a great honor, repairing the broken bonds between Nords and my people."
"That's all very noble," Jonna suspiciously stated. "But why all the secrecy? If you're an honest man, or elf, I don't see why you wouldn't operate openly."
"The time for open action is not yet upon us," Arvyn began. "Kraldar, the Jarl of Winterhold, was a friend of the College long ago and did his best to repair the relations between the folk of Winterhold and the College mages. But that was long ago, and now he has fallen into dotage. Whether by reason of age, plague, or some mischief, no one truly knows. He can no nothing for the College or the people of Winterhold anymore: all courtly decisions are carried out by his steward, Elsa Raven-Lock. A pox upon that black-haired and black-hearted fetcher!" With that, Arvyn spat on the ground.
"She has an ill name here in Winterhold, and in places near-about," Arvyn continued. "She is quite friendly with the Imperials and enforces the Emperor's edicts, which do nothing but breed more hatred and mistrust. Of course, the Emperor has been quite friendly to the College, and so they don't oppose his will either. Therefore we must work in secret, doing what little we can do to restore friendship between our people."
"So what's the plan?" Sigrun asked.
"I have a few spare mage robes," Arvyn stated. "You will be able to pass unnoticed into the College with these. The harder part will be casting spells: the College has tests that those new students who wish to enter must perform, or else they're barred." He removed from his bosom two scrolls and gave these to the ladies.
"A simple warding spell," he said. "This should allay the curiosity of the Mages without taxing the unlearned too greatly. But once you're inside the College, getting what you want will be even harder. The doors are locked and will only open with a certain spell known only to the gatekeepers. They are passed out to the other mages to allow the students access to their lessons, but are changed every night at midnight. If you wish to enter, we must hurry. Night is now falling and it will take long to find what you seek, I wager."
"How do you know how to get past the magical locks," asked Jonna. "If they're always being changed?"
"As I said," Arvyn replied. "I know ways of getting into the College. I have friends among the gatekeepers, and they share with me the spells of opening. But they are only good until midnight, when the locking spells are changed. If you wish to enter the College, I would go at once before the night grows old."
Sigrun asked for a moment, then she and Jonna turned their backs to Arvyn and began whispering among themselves.
"What do you think?" Sigrun asked.
"I'm not sure about him," Jonna shook her head. "A strange elf just appears out of nowhere and wants to help us just like that?"
"Listen to his words, Jons!" Sigrun said. "He could be a great help to us in our plans. People of means who want to change the way things are would be very useful. And he certainly seems nicer than old Havi."
Jonna sighed. "If you say so, then we'll do this. But I'm not entirely trusting of this elf. What cause does he have to just help us like this? I'd ask him specifically what he wants to charge us for his help."
They turned about and Sigrun spoke: "What would we be expected to pay for your services?"
"No more than you can afford," repeated Arvyn.
"We don't have much money," Sigrun said. "And we're on the road. Money is tight, so we need to know at the onset how much we'll be needing to part with for your help."
"There's no time!" Arvyn snapped, annoyance in his voice. He cleared his throat. "Apologies, my pretty ladies. We are in haste, and for that I spoke impatiently. But we have no time for dallying indeed. The longer you wait, the less time you will have to find what you seek in the College. If you're caught inside the College after midnight, the locks will be changed and you won't be able to escape. And I can't come to your rescue then, seeing as how there are wards that prevent teleportation in and out of the College."
"If you're friends with the gatekeepers," Jonna asked. "Can't you simply get the locking spells to help us out if we get locked in?"
"Not that early," Arvyn stated. "If the gatekeepers see me coming to them at midnight, asking for the newly-changed locking spells, they will be suspicious: and if they pry too deeply, my cover will be blown and I'll be banned from the College."
"Why would you be banned if you're doing good?" Jonna asked.
"It doesn't matter," Arvyn retorted. "Time is short. Are you with me or are not?"
Sigrun looked at Jonna, who gently shook her head. But Sigrun sighed and turned back to Arvyn.
"Alright," she said. "We'll trust you."
"Excellent!" Arvyn smiled. "I knew you were different than the common rabble that makes trouble for the College mages. Now, hurry, get these robes on and stow the spells somewhere safe." He then produced a small sheet of paper with markings upon it and handed it to Sigrun. "This shows the locking spells for each of the doors in the College. Like the scrolls, they can be used by those unfamiliar with magicka."
The darkness was growing deeper when Sigrun and Jonna emerged from the wood-shed. They were both clad in orange robes and, to all eyes, seemed to be no more than two College mages out late. They hurried on their way, their heads kept down to hide their fair skin: their hair was tied back and hidden beneath their hoods, and only looking up might give away that they were Nords. Only for a brief moment they would lift their heads to get their bearings, and then shift their gaze back downwards again.
It did not take long for them to reach the entrance of the College. An old Breton was standing at the gate, and they knew that he would be asking for them to cast their spells. The phrase that had been written in the scrolls of warding they had been given was a brief one, and they each, one after the other, repeated the phrase and marveled at the bright, shield-shaped flash of light that erupted before them. The Breton stepped aside and allowed them to enter.
They made their way up the narrow causeway that led up to the College's gates. It was old and broken, with no rail upon either side; what's more, their heads cast down, they could not help but see that this causeway hung dangerously over a great chasm that fell into the writhing sea below. What made this worse was that the night was growing deeper and they could scarcely see where the causeway ended and the chasm began. Slowly they made their way forward, until at last the causeway widened into a stony platform. The two women sighed in relief as they reached the end of the causeway.
"We made it!" Sigrun breathed.
"For the moment," Jonna returned. "But where do you think the sword could be?"
"No idea," Sigrun shook her head.
"So why don't we split up?" Jonna suggested. "We can cover twice as many rooms and faster."
"But we have only one copy of the locking spells," Sigrun stated.
"Grr!" Jonna growled. "Damn that Arvyn Hlas!"
"Let's get moving, then," Sigrun added, lowering her voice as she saw the silhouette of several other mages walking through the wide courtyard of the College. "We need to find the sword before it gets too late."
The two women moved through the courtyard quietly and inconspicuously. Ever and anon they would find a door, wait at it for a while until they were certain that there was no one watching them, then whispered the opening words to the gate. A soft click was heard as the door unlocked before them and they passed in swiftly. Most of the rooms were empty, for there were no lessons for that day. The women went about searching the rooms they found, hoping to find the sword with no idea as to what it looked like or where it may be hidden. The lateness of the hour gave them some space to look about the rooms without interruption, but for the moment they found nothing.
Door by door and room by room they went, searching everywhere they thought a sword might be kept. Sigrun made sure to remind Jonna not to leave a mess behind them; no one must know that they were about and searching the rooms of the College. This made their search even slower, but Sigrun insisted that it was necessary. Each room they searched proved a dead end. Worse still, some rooms had other doors leading to other places. In the dim glow of balls of mage-light spells hovering in niches and upon pedestals throughout the corridors, the two women checked and double-checked their key. They ruled out the dormitories, since it seemed foolish to hide an enchanted sword in a place where anyone could find it.
In one of these doors, marked by the mysterious phrase 'Midden' on their key, they found a winding staircase descending below the College. There was an eerie glow at the very bottom of the stairs, and a chill wind from below sent the hairs on their arms and the back of their necks standing on end. The ladies wondered just how far this winding stair led, if there was an end at all, and what horrors lay at the bottom. They quickly turned around and went back up the stairs: the fear of wandering in these seemingly haunted halls, perhaps finding nothing, only to be locked out once they reached the top again, was too great. If they were wrong and the sword were there, Sigrun reasoned that they would go back to find Arvyn the next day for the new password and try again in daylight.
After they had passed briefly into the door of the Midden, the women made their way back up into the main regions of the College. Suddenly they came to a halt: before them stood a mage with his hood removed, an old Breton man with a suspicious look in his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "The Midden is off limits for students."
"We were looking for the Arch-Mage," Sigrun hastily said.
"Well, she isn't here," the old mage replied. "She's at her quarters, where she's always at at this time of night."
"Could you tell us where that is?" Sigrun asked.
"Oh, new blood, eh?" the old mage returned. "Up at the tower she'll be found. But it's no use: the door is locked and only she knows the password. And she's not there either, busy with business of her own. Now off to bed to you both!"
The old mage let them pass back up the stairs, and the young women went on their way, almost as though they would do as they had been instructed. But once he was gone, Sigrun examined their key: the Arch-Mage's quarters was listed upon the locking spells listed there. Once they were sure they were alone, they made their way towards the shadow of the tall tower. Even in the darkness they could see it, glistening from the lights in the windows thereof and visible even at night. Quickly they made their way thither, pausing only if they thought they heard footsteps in the courtyard. Once they reached the door, Sigrun whispered the password: the door opened.
Both of them were shivering with excitement and fear as they quietly made their way up the steps. Any moment they could be caught, and then the jig would be up. There would be no explaining their business in the Arch-Mage's personal quarters at this time of night. At the top of the stairs, they found themselves in a roomy study with a small bed and chest at the far end. Immediately they went about searching the place, trying carefully to put back anything they moved into its proper place once they had thoroughly searched. Suddenly Jonna hissed under breath:
"Over here! I found it!"
Sigrun quickly crossed the room to the bed, where Jonna was holding a sword bound in a leather sheath. The blade slightly curved, and the hilt and pommel were black: upon the end of the pommel there was engraved in runes the name 'Havi.'
"Excellent!" Sigrun returned.
"Now, let's get out of here, Sig!" Jonna replied.
They hurried back down the stairs, Jonna securing the sword to her own belt and hiding it beneath her robes. At the bottom of the stairs, they passed out into the courtyard, walking slowly with heads bowed so as to not draw attention.
"Once we're out of here," Sigrun whispered. "You go on ahead. I'll find Arvyn and settle the matter of our payment."
"I think we should leave together," Jonna protested.
"No," Sigrun replied. "No. Once they realize it's gone, they'll start searching for us. We'll be easier to spot together than on our own."
"Are you sure about this?" Jonna asked, still unconvinced.
"Jons, you know I can outrun you," Sigrun stated. "Once I've settled our debt, I'll catch up to you. We won't be apart for long."
"Where will we meet?" Jonna asked.
"The Nightgate Inn," Sigrun replied.
"But it's dark and it's late!" Jonna returned. "And it's cold!"
"We left Dawnstar and reached the lighthouse alright," Sigrun stated. "And that was dark, late, and cold just as well. I'd rather not be anywhere near Winterhold once they start asking around for us."
Jonna sighed. "I know you know what you're talking about, so I'll trust you."
"Do you have the sword?" Sigrun asked. Jonna gently patted the hilt at her thigh, hidden beneath her robes. "Go on ahead. I'll be right behind you."
Once they reached the outer gate of the College, Jonna made her way across the causeway and vanished into the darkness. There was only the howling of the wind off the sea. Sigrun sat at the gate, looking this way and that, making sure they were not spotted. She had done her best to meticulously cover their tracks, and had sent the sword ahead of her in case they were captured. The rest was in the hands of the Nine Divines.
As the minutes after their departure ticked off, Sigrun then set out across the causeway. It was much scarier crossing in darkness, and she moved very slowly; sometimes almost bent over, groping with her hands like a blind beggar, searching for the edges. As she lifted up her eyes periodically, she could see the torches in the hands of the hold guards as they made their patrols: Winterhold must have been too remote for the Imperial Legion to bother sending troops to the hold. Once the tiny, bobbing orbs of light that were their torches and lanterns began to recede, she continued on her way across the causeway.
The old mage at the entrance of the causeway was not there when she arrived at the end. This was to her liking: there would be awkward questions asked and it would make finding them easier if she encountered anyone on her way out of the College. Now that she was back on solid ground, Sigrun rose to her feet and made her way towards the road. This was easier to find in the darkness, for the snow around the cobblestone road was shifted, moved and beaten by the footsteps of those who had walked upon it that day. Sigrun hurried down the road, trying to be careful not to make too much noise and alert the guards. All that she could remember of the layout of the town she tried to recall to her mind: she did remember that the entrance of the longhouse had torches outside, which she could see burning in the darkness. After that, she guessed that the wood-shed wouldn't be much harder to find.
As she came to the longhouse, she set herself as close to the wall as possible, following it until the very end. There she turned the corner and began walking into the snow on her way to the wood-shed. Twice she called for Arvyn, but no answer came. At last she found the wood-shed: upon trying the door she found that it was still unlocked. Passing inside, she found that all was dark. She called Arvyn's name. Then suddenly a strong blow struck her upon the back of her head and her whole world sank into darkness.
(AN: At last we got a chapter completed! A decent length, and lots of stuff happening. If you were wondering at the uncannily good fortune of Sigrun and Jonna so far, and in this chapter, then you will be pleased to know that is about to change.)