After breakfasting on bread and cheese, we broke camp. Of course, when I say 'we', I mean Eryka, because she had it down to an art, although I had to wonder why she took out a dagger and started punching holes along one edge of the tent. That mystery was solved when she beckoned me over and draped it over my head before threading leather laces through the holes.
"Not the prettiest cloak in the world, but it'll have to do," she said, assessing her handiwork. For a woman, she was rather tall—I am tall myself, and she was perhaps three inches shorter than I.
"I'll take warm over stylish any day," I replied. "Again, my thanks."
"It makes little sense to live through the night only to have you catch your death during the day," she shrugged.
"Which way do we go from here?" I asked, looking around at the endless snow.
"Dawnstar is about two miles away. You see the stone piles over there?" She pointed to the west of us. "They mark the road. There's a fine of a thousand septims if you're caught destroying one of them, and that's if the Jarl's feeling generous."
"I can understand why, " I said, following her as she started toward the nearest pillar. "Wandering off the road around here could be fatal."
The cobblestone road itself was mostly clear, swept bare by the scouring winds, but where wagon wheels, hooves and feet had packed the snow down, there was now ice. It made for slow going; whether we picked our way as carefully as we could over the ice or tried to walk through the thicker snow alongside the beaten path, we took at least two hours to get there, when if it were clear, it might have taken half an hour. It wasn't really possible to hold a conversation while walking, either. Too much slipping and lurching.
Finally: "This is Dawnstar, capital city of the Pale," Eryka nodded at the…city. To my eyes it was a small town made up of about a dozen houses, most of them simple thatched cottages, clustered around a harbor.
"Is this the typical size of most cities in Skyrim?" I asked, looking down on it from our vantage point on the road.
"No, it's called a city mostly out of courtesy to the Jarl. It is the largest settlement in the Hold, though. Come on, all this standing around won't get our feet warm!. We're paying a call on the blacksmiths, and their forge never goes cold." Erkya started down the slope to the 'city'.
The smithy was built onto a covered porch adjacent to one of the cottages, and it was warm enough for anyone. The smith who was at work when we approached was a large and bulky man with prematurely graying hair, muscles that strained the seams of his shirt, and huge calloused hands. When he saw Eryka, he set down his tools. "Ah, welcome back." He greeted her. "It's good to see you again."
"Rustleif," she replied. "The same to you. This is Anders. He's traveling with me."
"Anders," he nodded pleasantly before he turned back to Eryka. "I don't suppose you found it?"
"Yes, I did," she said, setting down her pack and pulling a book from it.
"That's wonderful." He wiped his sooty hands carefully on a rag before he took the tome and leafed through it carefully. "Night Falls On Sentinel. I don't know why they set such store in reading in Hammerfell, but it will make my Seren very happy."
"How is she doing?" Eryka asked.
"Much better now that she's not being sick in the mornings anymore. Starting to big up, too. I'm going to keep this for a surprise." The smith smiled, closed the book and tucked it out of sight behind his woodpile. "Now, how much do I owe you?"
"It cost me nothing, so you owe me nothing," she waved off any obligation. "I happened to come across it, that's all."
"But you remembered, and that means a lot to me. Here, what if I show you a few tricks with the forge I've learned over the years?"
At that moment, there was a loud crash from within the house, a simultaneous cry of pain, and then a visibly pregnant woman burst out through the door to snatch up a handful of snow and press it to her opposite forearm.
"Seren! What happened?" Rustleif rushed over to the woman.
"I was draining the grease off the sausages and splashed myself," she sobbed, mashing the snow against her arm. She had fine, clear dark skin and fine bone structure, quite a contrast to her spouse. "I'm so tired and clumsy these days."
"May I have a look?" I stepped in. "I might be able to do something." I could see the burn was already blistering. I took her wrist, gently turning her arm. The melting snow dripped down off her elbow; the burn was still full of heat. Should I truly be trying to do this? I recalled the mess I had made of the fireball spell when the bear attacked me. But I had healed myself without any trouble…I cast Heal on her arm, and yes, thank the Maker, there was the familiar golden glow flowing from me to the injury. The rising blemishes reabsorbed, leaving her arm unmarred.
"Oh! The pain's gone…A healing spell? Are you a priest?" Seren asked.
"No, I'm…." Would I not have to come out and say it sooner or later? "just a mage with some small healing talent."
"But that's a fine thing," Rustleif said heartily. "Skyrim needs more healers. And seeing what our friend gets into, she'll do well to have a healer close at hand. " He clapped me on the shoulder, staggering me. "My thanks to you, friend." That? That was how people of Skyrim reacted when they learned someone was a mage? Andraste, let me live here the rest of my life!
"And mine, twice over," Seren added. "Why don't you come inside while Eryka and my man do their bartering? I'm making kahve." If the smell coming from the cottage was any indication, what she called kahve was the very fashionable Orlesian drink caffee.
"Thank you, I'd like that very much," I said, following her into the house, "I'm Anders, by the way." It was a simple place, only one room, but kept very clean and tidy. By the look of things, they were preparing for the anticipated baby. Someone was halfway through building what had to be a cradle, and that had to be a stack of baby clothes on that cupboard.
"And I'm Seren, Rustleif's wife. Just put your cloak down on the bed and rest yourself by the fire, " Seren instructed, wiping spilled grease off the floor. "Do other Nords chivvy you much for being a mage?"
"Not so far," I said, slipping the tent-turned-cloak off and doing as I was told. "But I'm not from Skyrim."
"Really? You look as Nord as any man around, if a bit on the lean side. Even your name is Nord...Uh, do you mind if I ask you, as a healer-," she paused.
"Yes?" I prompted.
"I don't suppose there's anything you can do about bad dreams, is there?"
"No," I replied. "I am sorry. Any potion that would make you sleep deep enough not to have them or not to remember them would leave you logy for most of the day. Also, it would be bad for your baby."
She touched her belly protectively. "That is the last thing I would want, but it isn't only me. It seems as though everyone in Dawnstar has been sleeping poorly of late. The Divines know there are reasons enough to give us all bad dreams-the war, the dragons, our port getting a bad name among the sailors, yet this seems-. But those are our troubles and not yours. Have you been traveling with Eryka long?"
"Not long," I said.
"Well, I can tell you're already an improvement over either of the others."
"Others?" I echoed.
"Yes. The last time she was here, she had Uthgerd following her. That woman was brutal and stupid with it. The tale she told about herself! She killed a man, a mere lad, while sparring with him—it was only supposed to show off their fighting form, but she came on too rough. Uthgerd had a grievance against him for dying.
"The one before that, Livia, Lynda—something like that—was snotty. Heaved a sigh whenever she was asked to help carry. Thought she was too good to be sworn to the Dragonborn. And that was right after Eryka slew a dragon that was attacking our town. I was there, and I saw and heard it all." While she spoke, she got down four glazed earthenware cups and spooned honey into them before carefully dividing the contents of a steaming metal pot among them.
"Eryka slew a dragon?" That would make her the second dragonslayer of my acquaintance.
"Yes. You truly haven't been traveling with her for long, have you?"
"I guess she hadn't got around to telling me about that yet." Dragonborn? What did that mean?
I might have asked had Seren not called out, "Kahve's ready!"
"Ah, that's good," Rustleif said with satisfaction as he entered the cottage. "Kahve's something I brought back from Hammerfell with me, same as I brought Seren. Ha, there are those who scoffed at me for liking kahve because they think any drink that's not fermented is the same as milk, but these days, we're all living on the stuff. Call me a milk-drinker now, will they?"
He accepted a cup from his wife, who passed others to Eryka and to me, saying, "We're lucky we live on the trade route. We can always get tea and kahve. So—what was it this time? Bandits? Bears? Another dragon?"
"An ancient tomb full of necromancers and draugr, and I didn't even get what I went there for," Eryka sipped carefully at the fluid in her cup, and I followed suit. I'd had Orlesian-style caffee a few times, but in Orlais they mix it with hot milk. Hammerfell-style kahve was bittersweet and almost thick enough to eat with a spoon.
"What, and you had to fight your way through both?" Rustleif exclaimed. "Joining forces with a healer may be the first sensible thing you've done in months."
"No, it wasn't so bad," Eryka denied, "because the necromancers had got there first. They and the draugr were killing each other…"
I fear I contributed little to the conversation, but on the other hand, I couldn't have done too badly, for they invited us to stay and share their noon meal. Justice/Vengeance lurked quietly throughout, but I could feel him observing everything, considering. Eryka declined the offer of lunch, saying that we had to leave for Whiterun if we were to reach it before dark.
"I gather I passed the test?" I asked as we went to hire a carriage.
"So far, yes," she said, and to the driver, "Two for Whiterun, please."
"That'll be forty, and climb on up," he said, curtly. "Ye are lucky I've not switched to the sleigh yet, since Whiterun won't get the snow for another month, like as not. I can still get all the way through."
"Thank you," she said, and we climbed aboard.
I looked around as we began the climb back up the hill to the main road. Still nothing but snow, rocks, ice, and some evergreens. Beautiful, yes, but lacking in variety. "So, since it seems we've a long ride ahead of us, may I ask a few questions?"
"If I may answer or not as I choose," she replied smoothly, a hint of a smile tugging at that generous mouth. "Mind you, a question I find impertinent now may be all right to ask in four hours time."
"Do I get a warning before you kick me off the back of the carriage for getting too personal?" I returned.
"How personal were you planning to be?" she asked, the hint growing into a dimple. Maker's breath, we were half-flirting. When did I last flirt with anyone?
"Not that personal," I stifled the impulse to draw it out, lead it (and her) on. I couldn't do that—I couldn't be intimate with anyone. I could not want to be intimate with anyone. If she knew she would be revolted and if she didn't she could be in danger. I still had a right hand and an imagination, and that would have to suffice.
Wait a moment, how had she dealt with my—with Justice's little lapse last night? Realizing that she was staring at me with a puzzled expression—and perhaps a bit disappointed as well? No, I should not go reading things that weren't there. "Ah—to begin with, what exactly are draugr?"
"They're guardians of ancient Nord tombs," she replied. "Once they were the living servants of powerful, corrupt priests, sacrificed and made undead with necromancy when their masters died so they could go on serving them. Now they're animate corpses which patrol the crypts, attacking any intruders. Very persistent and sometimes very powerful—they have all the skills the body possessed when it was alive. Luckily they go up like tinder—shoot fire at them or hit them a few times with a torch, and they're done for."
"Necromancy is bad, I agree with that, and these draugr sound unpleasant, but I've encountered as bad, or worse. Do you ever get people who are possessed? While they're still alive, that is? Mages who make bargains with demons and change into monsters?" How different was this place from my home?
"Change into monsters? No—well, there are werewolves, but I never heard that they had to be mages. I never heard of daedra just taking over someone. I don't think they could. Is that something that happens where you come from?"
"Incessantly," I said grimly. "But I don't want to talk about that. So, is that what you do for a living? Kill draugr and necromancers?"
"When necessary," She played with the hem of her cloak, pleating it between her fingers. "I have never killed anyone or anything that wasn't out to kill me. What do I do for a living, exactly? I suppose 'adventurer' comes as close as anything can. I haven't been an adventurer for very long. Up until a few months ago, I was working as a potter for a kiln in High Rock. Those cups we drank our kahve from came from there."
High Rock was another country, I remembered. "Really? That's—Somehow I don't see you doing that. You seem more suited to adventuring."
"I am, more's the pity. I did enjoy being a potter. I chose to become one because it would be a very quiet life, and I wanted peace. For a few years, I got it." She turned and looked out over an icy vista.
"What happened?" I asked.
"What happened that I wanted peace so badly, or what happened to cause me to become an adventurer after all?" She turned back to meet my eyes.
"Either. Both."
"I…am not quite ready to confide that much yet. Ask again me in a while."
"As my lady commands," I joked. No! I couldn't do that! "Then, who were Uthgerd and Livia?"
"Livia? You mean Lydia?" Erkya's brows quirked together. "How—oh, Seren must have told you. Lydia was my housecarl. Do you have those? It means she was my personal guard, at home and out and about. She and I didn't get along from the start, but the Jarl of Whiterun assigned her to me. I think she envisioned serving some noble knight in his castle, not a nobody in a small house.
"It got to the point where I paid her off and released her from my service. The last I heard she was headed to Cyrodill. I don't like traveling alone—it's not good for me to be alone too much—so after Uthgerd and I got into a brawl and she decided we were friends, I traveled with her for a while. It didn't last. I tried traveling with a few others, mercenaries I met in taverns, but it's never worked out. Not so far, anyway."
"At least you had the choice to walk away," I said, remembering some of the Grey Wardens whose company I'd had to endure. "Seren said something else. She said—more implied, to be honest—that you were 'Dragonborn'. What does that mean?"
"That's a long story, and it encompasses why I've become an adventurer." She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, since as soon as we reach Whiterun, half the guards will be addressing me as 'Dragonborn', I may as well tell you."
TBC…
Thank you to my lovely reviewers, especially Lisa. Reviews are so inspirational! Virtual chocolate chip cookies for everyone!