Morning broke harsh and cold over Markarth the next morning. The bright, Last Seed sun could be seen through gaps in the cloud, but its spots of rich heat did nothing to warm the city, or Bjorn's mood.

He picked at his breakfast in the common room of the Silver-Blood Inn, without any appetite for the plate of bacon and blood pudding that Kleppr had handed him. The news he had heard last night was still echoing in his head, so much so that the noise of the other patrons, the workers of the smelter who were coming in for their breakfast, barely registered.

The rest of his band were scattered around the common room in groups of two or three. None had come to join him. Even Roxelana kept her distance. She had not even come with him to bed, instead sharing Jaiatu's room. She was sitting with him now, along with Lorzuk. Those three had known him longest, knew when he needed his space. But Bjorn knew they and all the others were all talking about the same thing. It was the same thing that thundered like the coastal waves in his own head.

Ulfric was dead. Their journey here had been wasted. They had left Hammerfell for no reason. Where were they supposed to go now? Where would he, Bjorn, lead them.

Was this really what Lord Hircine had wanted for him? Bjorn had been so sure that the Lord of Hunts had sent him here to Skyrim to join Ulfric, to hunt the Thalmor out of his homeland. Perhaps that had just been wishful thinking. But if not to join the Stormcloaks, then what was his purpose here?

'You have the look of a man in need of purpose.'

Bjorn looked up, right into a pair of eyes the colour of the clear sky above the tundra. These were set in a delicate, green skinned face that was framed by a cascading shower of dark hair. It took Bjorn a moment to recognise her as the dancing girl from the night before, now dressed in the uniform of a tavern worker.

The girl smiled and proffered the pitcher she held.

'Mead?' she asked, 'or would you prefer milk, this time of the morning?'

'Mead is fine,' Bjorn answered. He spoke gently but firmly. He might be lost and unsure where to go, but he would not let anyone imply he was a milk-drinker.

The girl giggled, rather prettily, before filling a cup on his table with the amber liquid.

'What did you mean?' Bjorn asked, 'about me looking like I need purpose?'

The girl raised an eyebrow at him.

'Well, just that of course,' she said, 'I've worked this tavern a long time. Plenty of men and women I've seen who are lost, trying to figure out what to do next in their lives. All of them wore that same face you do.'

'Is that right?' Bjorn asked, 'so do you have any advice for a man with this face I'm wearing?'

The girl shrugged. She was wearing several gold bangles and this movement had them all tinkling against each other.

'Not really,' she said, 'I was just making an observation. Though I have found that, often, we can find ourselves exactly where we need to be, if we just wait and watch.'

'Oi!' Kleppr shouted from his bar, 'I'm not paying you to flirt, girl! We have customers, get back to work!'

The girl jumped and turned to leave but, before she could, Bjorn slipped three gold septims into her hand.

'For the mead,' he explained, 'and the words.'

The girl gave him another pretty smile before turning to go see to other guests. Bjorn could not help but notice how her hips swayed with each step.

'She have anything much to say?'

Bjorn turned, surprised to see Goshawk standing behind him. He had been sitting with a couple of Bretons, who had the look of Reachmen, at a nearby table.

'Not a lot,' he admitted, 'just said I need a purpose.'

Goshawk sniffed.

'She's not wrong,' he said, 'Bjorn you know I'd follow you into Oblivion, we all would. Well, most of us,' he shot a glance at Ulwaar. The elf was sharing a table with Alesne, neither of them talking to each other. Goshawk went on, 'but we followed you to Skyrim because you said we could join up with the Stormcloaks. If they are truly finished, what do we do now?'

The mage had kept his voice low, but at mention of the Stormcloaks both he and Bjorn glanced around to make sure they were not being overheard. Kleppr and the rest of his family and staff were seeing to customers and no one was standing close enough to hear them over the noise.

It was as he was glancing that Bjorn noticed the rest of his band were stealing quick looks over at them. Clearly Goshawk was voicing the concerns of the whole group.

To stall for time, Bjorn picked up his cup of mead and took a swallow. It was very good. Rich with the flavour of honey and spice, just the way he liked it. He wondered which brewery it had come from. He remembered he'd always liked the Black-Briar mead of his native Riften when he'd been younger, but this did not taste quite the same.

'In truth, I don't know,' he finally admitted. No sense lying about this, he thought. They'd followed him here, it would not be honourable to lie to them, 'if we cannot strike at the Thalmor then I suppose it makes no sense to remain in Skyrim. We can rest up here for a few days and then head back west. Perhaps there'll be those who can make use of our skills in High Rock.'

He knew that would not work. He could not leave Skyrim. Lord Hircine had commanded him to come. But he could not well tell the band that. Most of them still held to their gods. In truth he did not know where many of them stood on the matter of Daedra worship.

What he could do now, though, was think. He'd bought a few days' time for that. In that time, surely, he could come up with some cause to remain in the province.

A sudden commotion broke across these thoughts. Bjorn looked up to see that a group of four people, all dressed in the garb of miners, had charged into the inn, looks of panic on all their faces.

'The Forsworn!' the one at their head, a large Nord with long, auburn hair shouted, 'they've taken Karthwasten!'

'What in Oblivion are you talking about?' one man slurred from the bar, Bjorn thought he remembered the man's name was Cosnach, 'you mean the Forsworn have raided?' He sniggered as he poured more drink into his flagon. 'The Forsworn have been raiding for years. That's all they do.'

'No, he doesn't mean raided, your stupid goat-turd,' a woman pushed passed the auburn-haired man to glower at Cosnach. 'The Forsworn took Karthwasten. As in, they took over the place. They killed all the guards and anyone else who got in their way. We're some of the few who were able to get away.'

Cosnach sniggered again, though Bjorn noticed that the man looked a bit more worried now.

'Tell the jarl,' Kleppr spoke up over the shocked silence that had filled the tavern, 'Igmund will send soldiers to retake Karthwasten, of course he will.'

'Ainethach has already gone to see him,' one of the others in the group said.

'Would have though the Forsworn would have let him stick around,' Cosnach muttered. 'Him being a Reachman and all.'

The woman who'd upbraided him before rounded on the drunkard with a distinct look of dislike.

'Are you completely stupid?' The woman spat at him. 'Madanach called Ainethach a traitor and a Nord lapdog. He was lucky to get out of there alive.'

Cosnach didn't reply, at least not audibly, instead he contented himself with muttering into his flagon. But no one noticed. At the mention of the name Madanach, there had been a gasp.

'Madanach?' Kleppr exclaimed, 'he was there?'

The woman nodded.

'He led the attack himself. I saw him skewer three of the guards on that longsword of his.'

'How many Forsworn did he have with him?' a Redguard woman, who had the look of a merchant, piped up from one of the tables.

The auburn-haired man shrugged.

'We didn't exactly hang around to count,' he said, 'there were a lot though. Hundreds of them. And they had witches with them, casting fireballs and ice spikes and sending Atronachs to butcher as many as they could reach.'

A collective shudder seemed to go around the room.

Bjorn looked over at Jaiatu. His friend caught his eye and smiled. Bjorn knew they were thinking the same thing.

Praise Hircine, he thought, for I asked for prey to hunt, and he has provided.

'How far is it to Karthwasten?'

The group looked taken aback as Bjorn pushed through the crowd.

'What?' the auburn-haired man spluttered, 'you're not thinking of going, are you? The place is overrun.'

'How far?' Bjorn asked again, calmly.

'You might as well just tell him,' Roxelana had appeared, as if from nowhere, beside the miner, 'he'll be going, one way or the other.'

The miner had jumped when Roxelana had first spoken, but turned back to regard Bjorn, he looked like he was trying to decide something.

'Its about a half-day's journey,' he said finally, 'just follow the road.' He looked on the verge of saying something else, perhaps another warning, but Bjorn walked back to his table and picked up his spear from where it lay.

He turned around to see his band were also standing and readying their weapons and belongings. Some might have thought it strange that not a one of them appeared anxious or even worried about the idea of facing down a whole army. But this was what they did, what they had done for years. Faced impossible odds. The hours they had been spending here, not knowing what their next move would be, that was more worrying to them than this. This was just getting back to business.

'We go to bring the fight to this Madanach,' Bjorn announced, loudly, 'any who would join us are welcome.'

For a moment, none moved or spoke. Everyone was looking at Bjorn and his band incredulously. Then one voice piped up.

'I'll be coming.'

Bjorn was surprised. It was the orc girl who had spoken to him, but she now wore not the uniform of a tavern worker, nor even the colourful dress she had danced in. She emerged from the crowd dressed in leather armour which had small plates of what looked like orichalcum stitched on. On her belt hung two swords of orc design while on her back hung a quiver and a bow.

'Shelha!' Kleppr exclaimed. 'You can't go! Its too dangerous!'

The orc girl, Shelha, looked at Kleppr, a fond look in her eye, as if she were looking at her own grandfather.

'I've enjoyed working here, Klep,' she said, cheekily, 'but I'm afraid its time for me to move on. Hopefully I'll be back someday.' She turned away from her former employer and came to stand beside Bjorn, who noticed Roxelana's eyes narrow slightly.

'I'll join you too.'

A burly Nord, with blonde hair that had been cut short, almost to the scalp, stood up. He had the look of a hunter, wearing simple furs and possibly the biggest bow Bjorn had ever seen on his back.

'Thrsim Beararm,' the hunter introduced himself before adding, softly, 'I was told to watch for you.'

Bjorn understood immediately. Another follower of Hircine.

Three more announced they would join Bjorn in attacking Karthwasten. Two Nords who had the look of mercenaries and, the woman who had been speaking so hotly to Kleppr. She introduced herself as Fjotra.

'My friend Mena is still in the village with her family,' she explained, 'the Forsworn captured them and some others to work the mine for them. She named her daughter for me. If I can help save them, then I will.'

Bjorn looked around. Twelve, including himself. Well he had done more with less before. He caught Roxelana's eye as they left the Silver-blood Inn. She smiled at him; her eyes full of anticipation. He knew her blood was as hot as his own.

The hunt was on.