From Talos, with Love
"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."
Chapter 6—Not the sanest path
8-8
7th of First Seed, 4E 200.
Just over a week before the planting season begins. I've discussed my plans for Faldar's Tooth with Frey. He was most amused when I spoke of producing greef for trade with Solitude. Even more so in mentioning my plans to renovate the fort.
I expected resistance, or at best him demanding his cut. Instead, he demanded a specific cave be cleared out, fortified, and made to generate revenue. As if that wasn't strange enough, he demands I earn the title of Thane of the Rift, and that I train the bandits I captured.
He wants an army. That's why he needs me. But he didn't know that beforehand. Why did he need me in the first place? It doesn't matter.
Sofie starts her training today. Dinya Balu assures me she won't need to take any vow to Mara, their cult, or their temple. The only vow she must take is that she only ever use her talents to save lives—something Sofie is all too willing to do. If my brunette offers her Restoration training half the energy she has been offering her Alchemy, I'm sure she'll do well.
Ulen's still a stuttering mess, but he earns his keep. The manor is in pristine condition, and no meal has been late since his arrival. He even helps out in the garden—a boon if ever there was one, given how easily I tire these days.
The three pester me more and more to rest, but there's so much to do. Rest will have to wait, at least for now.
8-8
"Ah, Serjo! I was hoping you'd stop by," Brand-Shei greets us as his stall's only patrons once again. Maybe it's because he's closing up for the day, but really I've never seen too many people at his stall, no matter what time we're here. "Your order came in this morning. Six crates in total. When would you like them delivered?"
"As soon as possible," Scarlet says, looking to me, just in case. "As well. We need to buy all the glass, straw, goat horns, leather, and leather strips you have."
"Hmm? Sound like Serjo is getting into homesteading."
"Renovating, actually. She now owns Faldar's Tooth, and we need to make it to her liking."
"You're…you must be joking." Brand-Shei takes a step back, his eyes wide and shoulders tense. "There's no way you four could take out those bandits alone!"
"The four of us?" Scarlet looks to me, smirking with a cocked eyebrow. "Honestly, we were little more than decoration. Now, about those materials?" We take our time, discussing quantity and prices, and he agrees to deliver them with the rest of our order—payment on delivery, of course.
With that handled, we head over to Marise's stand for something yummy for dinner.
"Hold fast! In the name of the Jarl!" I turn, finding three Dunmeri surrounded by guards—the two women that helped me spread the word the other day, and there's a boy with them. Well, he looks to be in his mid- to late teens, but with an air of entitlement that tells me he's a major brat.
"We've done nothing wrong!" the boy claims. This could be interesting. No one's fool enough for a shake down in plain sight like this.
"Nothing wrong?" The guard sneers, his colleagues moving around to block the woman's escape paths. "Oh, then I suppose you slipped, fell, and your hand landed in that woman's coin purse."
Now let's see. The fine for that was always twenty-five septims. Not a lot, but more than most have on hand—and certainly more than those three would have.
"What say you in your defense?" Definitely not a shake down.
"I almost feel bad for her," Marise says, her tone hinting at the long borne annoyance with this scene. "Dunno what she was expecting, though."
"What do you mean?" Scarlet asks. "Can't they find work?"
"Oh, if only it were that simple. The ones in trouble are Shelth and her brother Nals. She's always in trouble and no one'll hire her for it. And he's too much her pet to do anything without her. The one with her is her girlfriend, Ane. Just started working at the fishery this morning, but I know that song. Shelth will spend all her coin on ale and paying fines, as usual. They can't even afford bed and board at the bunkhouse because of it."
"No. Three of you. That's seventy-five septims."
"Hey! Don't involve me in this! I was working at the fishery all day!"
"And the attempted pickpocketing happened to take place…at the fishery. Isn't that right, Dunmer?"
"You did what?!" Ane is beside herself, her balled fists trembling with anger. "Shelth you know I need this job! What do you think Bolli will do when he hears about this?!" Fire you. On the spot. Without pay, to boot. So that means you likely don't have money, and all three of you are sleeping behind bars.
"You worry about him after you pay the fines," the guard insists. "Or would you rather serve time rotting in the dungeon?"
There are some muttered words, nothing I can make sense of, but I assume they have enough for one or two of the fines and they're debating who's drawing the short straw.
"No! I'm not losing my job and going to jail for you!" Ane seems to be at the end of her rope.
"It's about time." Marise's relief is more than obvious, but I doubt this will go quite that smoothly. I look to Dovyn and Vilvyni, but they're already moving that way—I'm willing to bet one of them has a thing for this Ane, and given that one's current relationship…?
"Forget it!" Shelth draws her dagger, and her brother is quick to join her. "I'd rather die than—"
My chap'thil conjure daggers against the criminals' throats. I nudge Scarlet, letting her know to speak.
"Choose your next words carefully, fetcher," Scarlet says, staying by my side, just to be sure. There's a wave of surprised gasps—apparently, no one saw my people moving into position. "Or your death wish might well be granted."
"Even the n'wah is against us, huh, Nals."
"Seems that way. Well. It's not like we have anything to lose."
Scarlet looks to me, but I shake my head. If they're so eager to die, who am I to deny them? And calling me that name certainly tips the scales against them.
"No!" Ane turns to me, for some reason. "Serjo, please. Don't hurt them."
"We only aid in a lawful arrest," Scarlet soothes. "We have no stake in this, if they go quietly."
"That's where you're wrong." Shelth sounds amused. "If we go down, she goes down with us. Ain't that right, honeypot?"
Vilvyni bashes her pommel into the back of Shelth's skull—unconscious or dead, either way's fine—and she grabs Ane's wrist, dragging her over to me.
I smile. Figuring this out isn't difficult.
Dovyn comes right along, leaving another unconscious criminal behind. Well. I assume that one's unconscious. Don't care enough to check.
"What say you, guard? We apprehended the guilty parties for you. Will you allow this one to walk free?" Scarlet, you silver-tongued little sneak! Kyne, I'm glad to have you along!
"We appreciate your assistance, citizen. But the law is the law. She pays her fine, or she comes with us."
I nod, figuring as much. I fish out five of the larger coins, giving them to Vilvyni before she asks. My dear, sweet, gentlemanly Vilvyni strolls up to the guard with a spring in her step and Ane as arm candy, and pays the fine.
"Smart choice. Be sure to keep her outta trouble. And don't you worry about those two." Four guards come, grabbing the criminals by their hands and feet, lugging them off like sacks of potatoes. "The Jarl will hear of their resisting arrest, and your assistance in apprehending them."
I bow to the guard, turning back to Marise to buy our dinner. Sun's almost set, and Ulen will start getting antsy about getting the ingredients on time.
Why do I feel like eating saltrice? It should be delivered soon, but I'd rather plant them and grow more—for the saltrice dinners of tomorrow.
I must be missing Sylben's campfire meals. Or something.
8-8
We sit down to dinner, they thank Ulen for another meal, but I still don't talk around him. Still, I bow my head in silent thanks—he gets all flustered all the same. The food isn't anything spectacular, just baked potatoes, steamed leeks, and flame broiled venison. But it's all delicately seasoned, and tastes divine to a hungry tummy.
Ulen and Ane share a look, both nervous. Ulen isn't used to eating with his Serjo, he expressed as much and clearly isn't over the novelty of it. Ane I'm not so sure about. Maybe it's how we sit downstairs, in the meeting room, with two men dressed in thief's garb, along with us who are all dressed elegantly—even Ulen. I flatly refuse to allow any who would be loyal to me to wear anything trashy, so even fidgety Ulen is wearing fine robes fit for dining with the Jarl; no matter how he argues he should wear cook's clothes and hat.
A smile tugs at my lips, seeing even Frey's boys enjoying the simple, home-cooked meal.
Loud thuds. Someone's hammering at the front door. Ulen jumps to his feet, but freezes when I raise my hand. I motion downwards and he sits. The rapping at the door continues.
Does no one respect eating time? I stand, tapping Scarlet's and Dovyn's shoulder as I pass them, indicating they are to come with me. Unsurprisingly, Vilvyni comes without being prompted.
I shove the wooden barricade up, swinging it out of the way and jerk the door almost off its handle, only to find two guards standing there like they own the place.
I glare, licking the sauce off my fingers.
"The Jarl has summoned you. You're coming with us."
"It'll wait till morning," Scarlet says as she lays her hand on my shoulder to calm me down.
"No. You'll come now," the same guard demands, taking a step forward and reaching for me.
I conjure my bow, nocking an arrow. My chap'thil conjure their daggers, ready to dismember the fool.
"If you're here to order Serjo around, you should have come with an army," Scarlet warns, her tone as sour as the look on my face. "Either you explain what the Jarl wants, or you wait until we're good and ready."
"I don't—"
I draw and loose the arrow, its head buries in the wood between his feet with a thock.
"Why you—"
I nock another arrow, aiming for the speaker's face this time. His colleague grabs him and shakes his head.
"Please come at your earliest convenience, citizen." I loosen focus, letting the bow fade, and slam the damn door in their faces.
8-8
Four hours later, I storm in the Mistveil, presenting myself and my usual three before an empty throne. I cross my arms, tapping my finger against my biceps impatiently.
"Where is the Jarl?" Scarlet asks with an annoyed tone, as instructed.
"She's gone to bed, obviously," the housekarl says, eyeing us like we're a bug he's meant to squash.
"Then rouse her. She should be expecting us. We were summoned, after all."
"You were summoned four hours ago."
"Then you will understand why she should be informed immediately. Or is the reason of our summoning not worth being discussed with haste?"
"It'll wait till morning."
I snort, shaking my head.
"Ah, a logical stance. One your guards didn't take well to before threatening us. Now either summon her, or we assume the guards sent to pry us from our dinner table were assassins that need to be culled. Your call, housekarl."
"And which guards were those?"
"You don't know which were sent to us? Oh well. I guess we'll have to assume that every man wearing the uniform of your Jarl's army is possibly the guilty party. I wonder. How many will we cull because of your idiocy?"
"Watch your tongue!"
"Fetch your master, housekarl. Now."
"What's going on?" Law-Giver comes through a door from behind the throne. She's still in her usual outfit, so she likely just left to go to bed. "What's the meaning of this?"
"Jarl Law-Giver. You summoned us. Why?"
"We'll get to that. First I'll hear your reason for storming into my keep and threatening my men."
"Perhaps you should ask the guards you sent to summon Serjo, the one that ordered us to come at your bidding. And more importantly, the one that would not listen to reason when we agreed to come in the morning. So if our presence is so damned important, speak."
There's a long silence as Law-Giver walks to, and sits on, her throne.
"Unmid. Take your leave for the evening."
"But, My Jarl—"
"She responds poorly to threats, Unmid. Are you any different?" The pair of them exchange looks, no doubt an expansive conversation only possible when you've known someone for years.
"Very well, My Jarl. But at least let me station some guards."
"Serjo will not speak knowing a man will hear her," Scarlet says, her tone sour as she once again lays a hand on my arm to calm me down. "But she would not object to any number of women you station here."
"There, see. A peaceable agreement. You have five minutes to station whatever guards you wish, Unmid."
There's shouting and orders being dished out right and left. In just over a minute, two dozen women in full armor stand as if statues placed along the walls and supposedly blocking the door behind us. The housekarl gives us one last wilting glare as he fucks off with a huff.
"I am not your slave, Riftkhan." My tone is harsh as the winter's frost, my eyes not hiding a drop of my fury. "The next of your reavers to threaten me, will be sent back to you in pieces."
Vilvyni and Dovyn lay their hands on my shoulders, the gentle squeezes telling me to calm down.
"I assure you, Lady Reyda, my men will not dare repeat such an offence. And this one will be punished in accordance with the severity of his crime."
I sigh, biting back whatever my anger tries to slip past my lips. "Very well, Riftkhan. For what urgent matter did you send for me?"
"Maven Black-Briar. Her son and heir has been abducted. The ransom note says he's being held in a cave nearby. She has already provided the ransom, but I do not barter with bandits. I would have you go to the meeting tomorrow. Kill the bandits and return here with Hemming, and you'll not only receive the ransom, but a handsome reward from me as well."
"I'll need to know the location of this cave, time of the scheduled meeting, if there is one, and a description of Hemming, so we'll know who we're meant to save."
A guard walks up to Law-Giver, taking something from her. A money pouch. She comes to us, handing it to me. Scarlet takes it, checking it.
"Feels like three thousand." I nod.
"That's just the ransom. Do we have a deal, Lady Reyda?"
I nod.
"There is no set time. Only that it happen tomorrow morning. The cave is to the south-east, perhaps a three hour journey. You need to take the road east from the stables and follow it up between the hills. As soon as you start up the hillside path to the back of Riften, it's on your right. Maven has asked that Maul accompany you, so as to ensure Hemming return without a scratch."
"Have him meet at us at the gate for six. We leave with or without him."
I bow, turning to leave.
"Oh, Lady Reyda?"
I pause, but don't turn to her.
"Why is it you were in such a foul mood last time?"
"Someone in that place thought to control me." I walk, feeling my three follow me out.
Just as we're walking through the door, I hear Law-Giver muttering. "So ordering this one around is a death sentence. Interesting."
8-8
It's quarter to six when we stroll out of the gate. Maul is already here, wearing the same steel armors as before. He looks to be more brawn than brain, but he isn't my problem.
Maul's eyes narrow at the gleaming metal of our Elven boots, of Scarlet's full suit of Nordic armor, the Elven greatswords Dovyn and Vilvyni carry, but he says nothing.
We walk. Nothing gets said, and he seems focused on doing his masters' bidding. My people know the plan, so what more is there to say. Especially in front of an unknown, and a man to boot.
The air is crisp, given the early hour and that the ground is covered in snow again. The last snow of the season, I hope. Given a few of the trees are already sprouting leaves, I'd say it's a safe bet. There are some prints in the snow. Wolves by the look of it, maybe a pack of twelve. Chasing deer, too. Well, that's life for you. As long as they leave us be, they can hunt whatever they like.
We continue around Riften, and up the incline to the hilly backlands marking the southeastern border of Skyrim. From here, it's just over a day's travel to the border of Morrowind. Would be nice to go there someday, but I doubt they'd take well to me—even less so when they find out I'm dead-set on marrying Cylben.
I sniff the air. But nothing really stands out. I remember Cylben asking me why I sniff like some kind of wolf, but when he smelled the deer coming our way, he shut up right quick. They don't stink, exactly. But they have a scent you never forget. Wolves, bears, and trolls are much the same. You smell them before you see them, if you know what to look for.
"Smell anything, honey badger?"
I snap to Scarlet, finding laughing eyes smiling back at me. I shake my head, knowing she's just being her usual charming self.
"Hey, uh. Thanks, by the way." I look to her, narrowing my eyes. She shakes her elven warhammer. I smile for her, nodding.
The journey is uneventful, but being out in Kyne's nature sets me at ease, as usual. Even if it means looking over my shoulder ever few paces to ensure nothing's sneaking up on us.
A hawk screeches overhead. So they've already started coming back. There's just the one, but the great spring migration should happen any day now. Spring comes, the bane of farmhands across Nirn, and the boon of barkeeps who sell them ale and lends an ear to their simple woes.
I wish I could say I miss that life. But really, all I miss is Cylben.
8-8
"That's close enough!" Ah, bandits. Two stationed outside a rickety door in the hillside. This must be the place.
"We're here for Black-Briar," Scarlet says, holding up a coin pouch. "I trust he's in good health."
"He is. And he'll stay that way as long as you cooperate." I'm so scared.
"That's the plan. We have the coin. Let's see the goods."
"Not so fast! First I count the coin! Then you see Hemming."
"Yeah right. I'm not falling for that. I give you the pouch, you go inside to count it, and suddenly there's a backdoor you lot sneak out of. Then you demand more ransom when the coin runs low." She's good. I know she's acting, and I can't tell. "Either you bring him out, or we wash our hands of the situation and report that you killed him. We might even say we gave you the pouch, split the coin among ourselves."
The pair share a look. "There ain't no backdoor." So Plan A it is.
"And I'm half Khajiit. On my mother's side."
"How 'bout we let one o' you in. You can see Hemming, you give us the pouch, and everyone walks away happy." The bandit's eyes take us in, before landing on me. Predictable. "Like the brunette there. We promise, we won't even touch 'er."
I'm not offering you the same promise.
Dovyn and Vilvyni give me a look, their worries on display. I smile, nodding to them to show I'm not worried.
"Fine. But I'm keeping the coin until they're both back in one piece."
"Sure, sure. But Hemming ain't coming out till we get it."
I walk ahead, untying the strap of my knapsack and holding it open to show the contents—a change of clothes, an empty bowl, a clean towel, a washrag, and a small flask with lavender water.
The bandit checks the flask, before telling his co-corpse it's just flower water.
"Hey, boys! Got an unarmed woman coming in! She wants to help Hemming smell all nice for the trip home!"
I close the knapsack, walking up to the door. I enter the dank and dark cave, finding more cutpurses than candles to light the place. There are thirteen bandits. All with furred armors—typical. There's one with Nordic armor, the chief. He's up on a wooden deck, just at shoulder-height for me. He looks down on me, his tusks poking up and his dark skin looking menacing in the flickering candlelight.
Chief corpse orders one of the boys to show me to Black-Briar, and a chain with a ring handle is pulled. A false wall shifts and slides out of the way, revealing a hidden chamber. I walk inside, finding a table with a single candle affixed in a goat's horn on it. It gives me just enough light to see the telltale scar on Black-Briar's left cheek, and the impotent anger in his eyes. His wrists are bound above his head with a leather strip.
I set the knapsack on the table, taking the things out and unstopping the flask of lavender water. The room is unoccupied save for us two. There are is only a wooden wall against which he's bound, and a chair to one side. Nothing else.
The air is stale here, so no vents to the outside. The dust almost makes me want to sneeze, so it isn't a recent thing. There's no way out other than the way I came in. Good.
There's another chain. I pull on it, and the door closes. Excellent. No surprises.
I untie Black-Briar, moving out of the way when he 'falls' in my direction. He looks up, surprised—and no doubt disappointed he didn't get to cop a feel. I stab my finger at the knapsack, wordlessly telling him to check it for himself. If he decides not to freshen up, that's on him.
I pull the chain again, and the door opens. I walk back out, pulling the outer chain and let it close behind me. Everyone's gaze is on me. Some lusty, most simply curious.
Thirteen bandits. Two have two-handed weapons. Six have sword and shield, of which only one has the sword chained to himself. Four have a bow in hand. Only one has an arrow nocked. Two have the bow tied to their forearm—unless they have a tattoo, which I doubt.
The chief has dual axes. He'll be the bigger problem.
The closer three are sword and shields.
No spellswords.
They're dead.
I cast Telekinesis, jerking the shield from the closest one's forearm. I fling it at him with all my might, catching him off guard and throwing him back into his buddies.
I grab the bows next, leaving only the two with the bow strapped to his forearm armed.
"GaaaaAAAAAH!" The first two-hander comes rushing me. I tug his leg just before footfall, and he lands in a painful split. I tug his sword from his weakened grasp, flinging it at the only archer still with bow. He ducks, but his buddy behind him takes the blade to his face.
Arrow is nocked and drawn, he looses. I tug it right out of the air, conjuring my bow.
I nock, draw and sidestep, loosing the arrow right into his chest. Good. Archers are no longer an issue.
I nock, draw, and blaze three arrows in quick succession into the three that got bashed with the shield.
The chief comes, his war-grunt and stench drawing my attention before I even see him there.
I sidestep and mutely thank Kyne he overextended on the blow, sending him into the wall. I loose three arrows into the back of his leg, in his thigh where there's no steel. Hmm, one was a little off. Odd.
"We're routed! Fall back!" One of the cowards cries out, running for the exit. Six of them seem to agree, following suit. My people can handle them.
"She's only one!"
"Tell that to the last six guys she took out!"
I let my bow fade, casting telekinesis again for the two-hander coming at me. He takes one look at my glowing hands, and runs—no doubt deciding this isn't a fight he can win. I tug his foot all the same, letting him fall beside his co-victims.
I jerk the blade from his loosened grip, stabbing the tip in the dirt at my feet and leaning it against me. There are only four left now I consider a risk. The Orsimerii, two sword and shields, and a dagger-wielding Redguard with a crazed look in her eyes.
Hmm. I can manage this.
I rip the shield from one the closer of the two, and fling it at the Redguard. She ducks, and flies at me in a dead sprint. I tug her foot and she falls into a split. Only, her momentum isn't done with her.
The snapping of bones tells me she'll likely never use that leg again.
The thwang of bowstrings draw my eyes towards the exit, finding the two that couldn't decide if they trust attacking fall over, each with an arrow in their back.
"Ser!" My three come running. Another two thwangs, and the two-hander sports an arrow in each lung. Another two, and the Orsimer has one in his eye, the other in his throat.
Vilvyni comes right for me, checking me for injuries, while Scarlet and Dovyn go about decapitating every corpse to make sure they stay dead.
"You're not hurt, are you?" Vy's panic teases a smile from me. I shake my head, no. She still grabs my hands and checks me over, just to be sure. "Shit!" I narrow my eyes. A sharp pain in my leg.
Ah. An arrow hit me. I didn't know that.
The next thing I know, three potions are practically shoved down my throat and Vy carefully hoists me up onto her back and carries me out of the cave.
8-8
I'm not sure which is worse. That Scarlet keeps cursing my carelessness and swearing to learn some necromantic art or other to bring back the bitch that injured me, just so she can kill them again. Or that Dovyn and Vilvyni are too busy torching the corpses, after having pillaged everything not nailed down, of course.
On the one hand, Scarlet is quite graphic with what she'd like to do. On the other, those two are essentially torturing people—corpses, probably, but the scent of burnt flesh is still a bit much.
"Seriously, Serjo. We're not doing that again. You could have died!"
I cup her cheeks, smiling my brightest for her.
"I'm telling you, Hemming. That ain't a woman you wanna upset."
My smile inverts, my shoulders tense. Scarlet and I turn to find Black-Briar walking our way, a spring in his step.
"Hey, Dovyn! Vilvyni! Black-Briar's looking rapey!"
Howling tears out from the cave, and two ethereal wolves come flying out of door already broken off its hinges. Two avatars of death, a la Dunmer, come skulking out with greatswords drawn and death all but assured from the smoldering glare in their eyes.
I didn't know they learned to conjure a familiar.
With two ghostly wolves and three armed and pissed off warriors barring his path, Black-Briar chooses life and backs off. I should do something nice for my people—I can obviously count on them.
I murmur to Scarlet, "Do we have everything?"
"Yeah. Come on, let's go."
8-8
It's a tense journey back. The bears are more active with rising temperature, and they're hungry from hibernating. The trolls are irritable because one of their main competitors are awake and need to fight for hunting ground. And the wolves are knocked down a peg on the food chain—not something they take kindly to.
But in all this? It's Black-Briar's proximity to me that has everyone on edge. I don't get it. Trolls are much higher on the threat scale.
And why am I not allowed to carry the damn knapsack? No one had an issue with me carrying it on the way here.
Whatever.
Instead of worrying about that, I do my usual thing; sniffing and looking over my shoulder to check the footprints in the already melting snow, seeing what tales they tell me.
What do I do with those bandits? I mean. It's obvious we could use some skilled hands, but I don't trust them—then again, I started off not trusting these three. Hmm. Well, we have money enough to start really getting things done. We have enough people for some small projects. We have the weapons to properly arm them, and the spellbooks to start their training.
But what is my goal? Impress the Telvanni snobs isn't exactly a goal, it's a pipe dream. Becoming thane of the Rift isn't exactly a goal either, it's stated objective, given by a man I can't stand.
Hmm. I need to speak with my people. We need a proper direction, a clear goal, and to plan the most efficient path to getting there—or a path, at the very least.
For some reason, Marise pops into my mind. Well, not just her. Brand-Shei, Shelth, Nals, Engrien, La'Vaar. They yearn for something, something bigger than the hand life dealt them; a chance to not feel trapped.
What if we start a proper Dunmer settlement here? Truly start one. I mean, Cylben told me that things in Morrowind have settled since the Red Year, but nothing feels 'normal' there. Everyone's perpetually on edge, the certainty the Tribunal once offered has vanished. Blacklight was made capital city of Morrowind, but it's also the capital of Redoran land—a jab not lost on the other Great Houses, let alone the common folk who are under their yolk.
So what if we were to start a settlement here, free from that? Where being born outside of Morrowind doesn't make you lesser, where everyone has…
Okay, Reyda. Horseshit. You're not altruistic. So how about a more realistic approach? What if we were to start a settlement here, where no one tells me what to do or how to lead my life? Where the standing army's sole purpose is ensuring that no one comes in and tries to order me or mine around. Where the only goal is freedom.
Well. Freedom, and splitting the skulls of anyone that would take that from us.
8-8
Entering Mistveil Keep, I find the Law-Giver entertaining the Black-Briar matriarch. Unsurprising. She wishes to be here when news of her son arrives. The heir approaches his mother, with Maul right on his heels. Even as I approach, I can feel her anger rippling off her.
"I trust you slaughtered every last one of them?" the matriarch addresses Maul, for some reason.
"Didn't lift a finger. The half-elf did it for me." Maul tilts his head my way. Black-Briar's eyes snap to me, the calculating glint telling me I don't like whatever she's thinking. It would seem I am no longer a curiosity.
"It is done, My Jarl," Scarlet says as the four of us bow.
"Very good, Lady Reyda. As always, your work speaks volumes of your skill. Though, I am curious." I blink, wondering at the break in habit. "Your people are…possessively close to you. Did something happen?"
I snort, shaking my head even as I grin.
"It would seem Hemming has taken a fondness to Serjo. We simply wish her betrothed to have no cause for concern when they reunite. A stance Lady Black-Briar appreciates, I'm sure."
"Betrothed?" Black-Briar asks, cocking an eyebrow. I frown, tapping Scarlet's shoulder to interrupt.
"What Lady Black-Briar and her kin need know…is that romantic advances are undesired…and Serjo supports…our desire to keep…Hemming I assume? Ah, forgive me. Serjo supports our desire to keep all would-be suitors at spear's-length. Serjo is quite happy with Dovyn's and Vilvyni's reaction earlier, and would encourage them to act similarly in the future, heedless of offender."
Law-Giver looks curious, until Maul and the heir look uncomfortable—profoundly uncomfortable. Now all Law-Giver looks is amused.
"Ah, before I forget. Lady Reyda, as we agreed." Anuriel offers Scarlet a money pouch—we seem to have an abundance of them. "You have my thanks, and the thanks of the people of the Rift."
"It was our pleasure, My Jarl. Please, feel free to contact us if ever you need our assistance." We bow, turning to show we take our leave.
8-8
We approach the market, heading straight for Galvesu's stall. It isn't often we are in need of weapons or armor, but this has purpose.
The man himself smiles as he sees us coming. "Ah, Serjo. I was wondering when you were going to pay me a visit. Word is, you now own yourself a fort."
I smirk, but don't answer. His wares are sparse, to be honest. Some steel darts, steel throwing stars, and iron throwing knives. Some arrows and bolts too, though only iron. And three hunting bows. I motion to one of the bows.
"Feel free to test it. I assure you, my problem is a lack of material, not skill."
The weight is pretty standard for a short bow. I shift it and balance it on my index finger, finding the center of balance south of the physical center—just the way I like it. He lays a horse hair string on the stall top, so I quickly string it and draw without arrow to test her weight—feels to be between fifty and sixty pounds. Perfect for hunting in the Rift.
He offers me an arrow, pointing at the target set up against the building just behind his stall.
I nock, draw, and loose. The arrow buries itself in the dead center of the target. I nod, looking to Scarlet.
"Serjo wishes to inquire of your talents, sera," Scarlet says, her tone professional and polite, but not distant.
"I can replicate anything I've worked with. And I've worked with 'em all, Ser. Bonemold of the Three Houses." Of course a blacksmith would know there are only three variants, even though there are five Great Houses. And he carefully doesn't say which I would need. He's knowledgeable. "Chitin, netch, iron, steel, even ebony. And I work with the styles of Dwemer, Dunmer, and Nord. Don't touch the Altmer stuff, though. Not if I can help it."
I nod, grinning at the jab.
"Wife's a clothier. Son works leather if you prefer that, but he's a better bowyer and fletcher. He made the bow and arrow."
That simplifies things. I turn to Scarlet.
"If it helps, Serjo?" I cock an eyebrow, wondering at the uncertainty in the man. "I have three nephews. They're no good at smithing, but their pickaxe is never dull. And my sister's a spellsword. Keeps us fed even in these hard times."
I murmur to Scarlet. "Serjo is happy to hear this, and invites you to her fort so that we may discuss agreeable terms of your employment."
"When?"
I murmur to Scarlet. "We leave tomorrow at eight. It's about an hour's travel. And we'll be back in time for dinner. Lunch will be provided."
"We travel under armed guard?" he asks, sounding almost hopeful.
"Serjo deserves no less. But you may return without us if you prefer."
"Serjo, if I may?" I blink again, wondering at the clear distance he places between us—socially, at least. Physical distance is appreciated. "My nephews. They ache to feel a sword in their hands again."
I murmur to Scarlet. "Join us for dinner. Tonight. Serjo insists."
8-8
"I don't know why you're being stubborn about this." I roll my eyes, ignoring Scarlet. We've been shopping most of the morning and afternoon, and all I feel is the usual tiredness that plagues me lately. There's no reason to see a healer for injuries that are clearly not acting up.
"Really, Ser. Would it kill you to sit and rest? I'm not even arguing that you go back to the manor, just sit in the cart. That's all." I don't even react, walking towards the gate to go see a man about a horse.
The guards at the gate are snippy, but they don't react with overt negativity. We head to the left, over to the stables. A Redguard man tends to the horses, washing the ashy gray one furthest to the right.
"Ah, the famous Reydaserjo Marise is always on about," the man greets us, dipping his washrag into the bucket of what smells like watered down vinegar. "What brings you out to the stables?"
"We are in need of a horse. Preferably with a proper wagon, though we'd settle for a cart."
"You don't say." He sounds amused. "You have someone to tend to your horse?"
"We were hoping to hire them until we do," Scarlet says, looking to me. She suspects something, the curious glint in her eyes tells me as much. "After all, we as yet have no proper stable built."
"Ooh. Yeah. Hofgrir won't sell to anyone that doesn't have the means to groom his horses. Well, alright. It's five septims a day for the horse, and they need to be brought back before dusk. Longer trips means you need to hire me as well. And I'll need to know in advance how long, how far, and what route we take. The cart is two septims a day, and the wagon is five."
"Three blessings, Serjo!" I snap to the speaker, finding a Thalmor gaggle ushering a rags-wearing Bosmerii. I sneer, grateful they're still some twenty paces from us.
"Quiet!" One of the Thalmor guards bashes his fist into the Bosmerii's face, dropping the man to his knee. He grabs the Bosmerii's arm and jerks him back to his feet and shoves him into a walking rhythm again.
One of the Justiciars turns to us, spying our focus on their group. "Thalmor business, citizen."
The stable hand sighs. "They've been arresting people since I got here. Dunno what they did wrong, or where they're being take, but no one ever sees them again."
I look to Dovyn and Vilvyni, offering them my most vindictive and smug smirk, my eyes dancing with a dark joy they've never seen from me.
They nod, the look in their eyes matching mine perfectly. Without a word, they stroll off into the encroaching darkness.
I turn my focus back to the stable hand—my chap'thil know what to do, and they won't fail me. Not with this small a group and the wilderness to mask them.
"So. If we were to buy the horse and wagon?" Scarlet continues the conversation, ignoring the man's questioning gaze following Dovyn and Vilvyni.
"Depends. It's a thousand per horse. And we have two types of wagon, a one- and a two-horse. The two-horse is the fancy one. It's a proper coach. Seating for eight inside. Storage space on top and in the back. Room in front for the driver and two armed guards. And two standing spots on the back for guards as well."
"Sounds ideal." Scarlet looks around. "But it doesn't look like it's here. I assume you'd need to build it?"
"Naturally. Or does Reydaserjo not desire the best?"
I shrug, not really caring. I need it to carry heavy things long distances. "For now, we'll need a sturdy wagon. We have the bags and chests, but we're talking at least a ton of carrying capacity."
"Ah, homesteading, eh?"
"Renovating. You know Faldar's Tooth?"
"The fort across the lake. Bandits have been raiding the countryside from there."
"That's in the past. It's Serjo's now." Screams fill the air—not very manly screams either, so they aren't engaging in combat so much as they are being slaughtered. The screaming dies down as quickly as it started up. "She doesn't take well to scum. So I wouldn't bet on bandits or their ilk being a problem."
The last of the screams—half unintelligible begging, half abject horror pouring out of someone's face—stills mid-syllable.
"And Serjo is nothing if not efficient." I nod, agreeing. Those fools didn't even get a spell casted. If that isn't efficient, nothing is.
"And. How does this. Apply to those in Reydaserjo's. Employ?"
The Bosmerii comes walking our way, his hands still bound but pride in his gait and vindication in his eyes. He comes right to me, stopping a pace and a half away.
"Aren't you Engrien?" Scarlet asks. I blink, looking at the Bosmerii much closer. He grins, his eyes twinkling with delight. Ah, yeah, that's Engrien's shit-eating grin. "Aren't you supposed to be watching the fort?"
"Forgive me, Serjo," Engrien takes the knee, the grin only widening. "I was out hunting when they found me. They snapped my bow, so I was all but useless."
I motion for him to stand, but he only looks up at me. I motion again, but he only offers his bound wrists. That isn't what I mean, Bosmerii.
"Bosmer tradition, Serjo. Only the one that frees me from my binds is worth serving. Your nightblades sent me to you."
Hmm. I murmur to Scarlet. "And what does this entail, Bosmeri?"
"No, you stretch the I. A double I with races and peoples indicates singular thereof."
"Ah, apologies, Serjo. What does that entail, Bosmerii?" I nod, approving of the improved pronunciation.
"That I am yours to command. As long as I do not chafe under your yolk, my loyalty will always lie with you."
Scarlet and I share a look. She shrugs, showing she isn't sold. I murmur to her, "Winolalvios."
"Dunmer tradition. Until further notice, she isn't to touch or even speak to a man that will not serve her muthsera until death. So we're at an impasse."
"Oh, no. We're in full agreement," Engrien says, standing and jerking his hands apart. The binds fall apart, but the tear is too clean for it to be by anything but a blade. "I had to be sure this isn't an act." He bows so low it's a wonder he doesn't fall over.
"What do you mean?" That's a good question, Scarlet. What does he mean?
"I was merely curious if Dovyn knew his Serjo as well as he claims." I cock an eyebrow, wondering what Engrien's getting at. "Please understand. Nobility, especially Dunmer nobility, would have me killed for being captured by the enemy."
I shrug, unsure what to make of that. Killing your people for screwing up? That's pointless.
Then again. Who's to say the enemy wouldn't have turned them, and they conspire against you with the enemy that let them go? There are those who would do anything to get a plant in their enemy's camp, even if it means losing a few good men.
I murmur to Scarlet. She chuckles, her eyes lighting up with impish delight. "Serjo says that your history with the Thalmor is armor enough. But failing that? Dovyn would speak of your whole history to Serjo's muthsera."
Engrien baulks, his eyes swimming with fear. "A valid point. I'll be sure to never give him reason to doubt my loyalty." You do that.
8-8
End Chapter 6
8-8
A/N: Hmm. ^_^