Bjorn led them over the wild tundra of Skyrim. Eventually snow gave way to rich, green grass and Bjorn knew they had crossed into the Reach. For miles around, he saw fields full of wheat and barley. There were windmills turning in the western wind and cows, chickens and goats grazing in the heights.

When Bjorn had last walked these lands, they had been in the hands of the native Reachmen, Bretons who had crossed the mountain and settled here, but he had heard, while in Hammerfell, that Ulfric Stormcloak had taken the land back for the Nords, and a good thing too in his opinion. Skyrim had very little good farming land as it was, they could hardly afford to give away the Reach when it sat right on their border.

Bjorn's followers came after him, saying little. They were all of them tired by this time. It had been a long and exhausting day.

Night had long fallen by the time they arrived at the gates of Markarth. A small army stood on guard outside, many of them holding the leashes of great hounds. These dogs snarled and barked at Bjorn and his band as they drew towards the gates. The horses in the nearby stables shook their heads and stamped nervously.

One of the guards came forward.

'Halt,' he called to them. Bjorn was aware that the man's hand was tight on the hilt of his sword. As too were many of the others. One of the guards by the stables was trying her best to keep one hand on the haft of her battleaxe while she held onto the leash of a particularly eager dog with the other.

Something had them all on edge.

'Is the city closed?' Bjorn asked, trying to sound jovial. He just wanted food and a bed and he knew the best way to reach those things was to appear non-threatening.

The guard drew closer. Though his helmet obscured his face, Bjorn got the impression he was being examined. He tried his best to hide his frustration. He thought he might have left this suspicion behind. This was his homeland; ought he not find welcome here?

'Not closed,' the guard finally said, stepping back, 'but the jarl has ordered tight security across the hold.'

'Why is that?' Roxelana had appeared at Bjorn's side. Glancing to his other shoulder, Bjorn saw Jaiatu there, his face impassive. The rest had gathered behind them.

'There's a war on, girl, in case you hadn't heard,' the guard said, as if explaining something obvious to someone simple, 'and its to ensure safety against the Forsworn, of course.' He stated that last part as if it should have been obvious.

'You say Forsworn as if we should know who that is,' Jaiatu remarked, looking curious. The guard turned to him, and Bjorn could tell he was incredulous without needing to see his face.

'The Forsworn are a plague on the Reach, man,' he said, 'how can you not…'

'We have only recently come to Skyrim,' Goshawk cut in, 'much of recent events are news to us.'

The guard snorted at that.

'The Forsworn are hardly recent,' he told them, 'they've been plaguing Markarth since Jarl Ulfric took it from them.'

'The Forsworn are Reachmen?' Bjorn said, understanding now.

The guard nodded.

'Its what they call themselves, anyway,' he nodded towards the gate, 'it's clear you're not one of them, anyway. And even if you are Stormcloaks, I don't see what seven of you can do by yourselves.' He glanced at Ulwaar. 'Though I doubt Stormcloaks would work in company like this.'

Ulwaar turned his dark eyes on the guard but said nothing. The guard did not seem to notice.

'Go on in,' he said, 'but mind yourselves and keep out of trouble, or it'll be Cidhna Mine for the lot of you.'

Just what that was supposed to mean, Bjorn didn't bother to ask. He thanked the guard and led the others through. An inn was what they needed at the moment. For food, a bed for the night and maybe some news. By the sound of it, Markarth was no friend to the Stormcloaks. So perhaps buying carriages for Windhelm would not be a wise move. But they might find out where Imperial held land ended. If they could cover a good amount of distance, that would be better than nothing.

As soon as they were into the city, Bjorn saw the place. A large building, but then it seemed every building in the city was large, with a sign swinging above the door announcing it as the Silver-blood Inn.

'Looks as good a place as any,' Jaiatu said, speaking aloud Bjorn's own thoughts. The others agreed and followed when Bjorn led them into the tavern.

Inside was a hive of activity. Guests talked and laughed while, in the corner, a grey-bearded bard played a fast, merry song on a flute while a dancing girl twirled and jumped in time to the music. She was a pretty thing. She was an orc but, had it not been for the green skin, Bjorn would not have known. She was slender and beautiful, with long dark hair that fell loosely around her face. She wore a colourful dress that swirled around her as she danced. Bjorn could not help but stare at her.

That was until a dig in the ribs made him turn to see Roxelana, who was looking at him with a glint of amusement in her eye.

'See something you like?' she asked. Bjorn swept her up and kissed her.

'I certainly do,' he said, warmly. Roxelana chuckled but allowed the embrace to go on while she kissed him back.

'When you two are quite finished,' Jaiatu cut into their moment, 'the innkeeper's waiting for the gold.'

Bjorn turned from Roxelana to look at Jaiatu.

'So, pay him,' he said, impatiently. Jaiatu rolled his eyes.

'You're the one carrying the gold, remember?'

Feeling foolish for having forgotten, Bjorn pulled his coin pouch off his belt and tossed it to Jaiatu.

'There should be enough in there to cover rooms and food for all of us,' he told the Redguard, 'tell the others to ask around, see what you can find out.'

Jaiatu nodded and turned back to the bar, where an irate looking innkeeper stood, drumming his fingers impatiently.

Bjorn turned back around to see that Roxelana had already gone. Glancing around the tavern, he saw that she was already talking to a group of men who had the look of miners. In no time at all, she was sat on one of their laps, laughing and chatting away as she took drinks from their mugs.

Bjorn snorted and turned aside. Lesser men might be jealous, but he knew who's bed she'd be in tonight and it would not be any of those men. He had seen Roxelana use that tactic dozens of times and it had almost always yielded information.

He saw that the others had found food and drink and had gathered by the fire. Lorzuk and Ulwaar did not seem interested in talking to anyone, apparently content to eat and drink in peace. Bjorn supposed he didn't mind; he had hardly expected the elf or the orc to be much use in gathering information.

Alesne, Jaiatu and Goshawk were making themselves useful anyway, already chatting away with a couple of mercenaries. Likely comparing war stories. They had more than enough of those to go around after all their years campaigning in Hammerfell. Bjorn rather wished he could join them and relive some of their proud moments.

But that would have to wait for another day. He would have to do his part on his own.

'Ulfric Stormcloak?' a cracked, gravelly spoke up above the din of the tavern, 'doubt we'll be seeing any more trouble from him.'

Bjorn wheeled around. The voice was coming from the gnarled looking innkeeper who seemed to be addressing a small crowd of patrons.

'What are you talking about?' one drunkard piped up, his words slurred with numerous cups of ale and mead.

'What I'm talking about, Cosnach, is Jarl Ulfric's gotten himself captured,' the innkeeper answered, his voice thick with disdain, 'an imperial patrol took him near Darkwater Crossing just a few days ago. The Jarl got the news today.'

'So, how'd you hear about it?' Cosnach asked, sneeringly.

'Hroki heard it from one of her friends who works in the keep,' the innkeeper answered, obvious dislike in his eyes as he addressed Cosnach, 'Ulfric's been captured, I said. He's been taken to Helgen for execution. Likely its already happened. The war is over.'

Those words echoed around the tavern like the final stroke of a bell. Without even meaning to, Bjorn caught Jaiatu's eye from across the common room. He could tell that his friend was thinking the same thing as he was. Indeed, looking around, he saw similar expressions on the faces of all of them.

Ulfric was dead. Without him the Stormcloak's would never win. The war was over which meant they had come all this way for nothing. What were they supposed to do now?