Chapter 14
"I beg your pardon?"
The red-haired Nord grinned at Marcus.
"I said you've never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you're carrying, am I right, lad?" He winked.
This had to be Brynjolf. He fit the description Delphine had given them before they left, and there was no one else he'd met so far in this stinking rat-hole with that Irish-like brogue. "He'll probably call you 'lad', too," she'd said. "It's a quirk of his. Everyone is either a 'lad' or a 'lass' to him." Her eyes had softened, as if remembering something.
"Everything I have, I've earned legitimately," Marcus said now, stiffly.
A pained look crossed Brynjolf's face. "But it looks like you're a bit light on coin, lad," he insisted.
Probably, Marcus thought, but only because he'd left most of it at home. What he had on him was for traveling expenses only.
"I could use some extras hands for something I need done," Brynjolf continued. "And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid."
Well, it couldn't hurt to ask.
"What did you have in mind?" the Dragonborn asked.
"That's the spirit!" Brynjolf beamed. "I'm going to create a diversion, and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring that he keeps in a strongbox under his stall." He nodded slightly across the marketplace towards an Argonian selling jewelry. "Once you've got it, I want you to plant it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing." Here he inclined his head briefly towards a dark elf selling general merchandise.
"What? Marcus hissed. "You want me to break the law?"
Brynjolf blinked. Recovering swiftly, he bowed mockingly. "Sorry, lad," he said in a tone that implied he was anything but. "I usually have a nose for these things."
"Delphine said you'd help us find someone," Benor said before Marcus could stop him.
"Oh, Delphine is it?" the red-haired Nord said, eyes narrowing. "She of all people should know I never give away information for free."
"This is really important," Marcus said, persuasively. "The dragons are coming back, and we think this guy might know something about it." He deliberately didn't mention the Thalmor. No sense in spooking the man from helping them.
But Brynjolf had been in his "business" a long time, and it would take more than an appeal to a heart he didn't have to make him give up valuable information for nothing. Especially since he knew exactly who they were looking for, and that the old man had paid the Guild a lot of money to keep his whereabouts unknown.
"Sorry, lad," he said now. "It seems we both want something. You help me, and I'll help you, it's as simple as that."
Damn the man! A crafty look came over Marcus' face. "Dragons are bad for business, you know," he said, playing his trump card, but Brynjolf pulled a fifth ace from the deck.
"Passing on a golden opportunity is worse," he said flatly. "If you change your mind, lad, come and see me again."
Simmering, Marcus turned on his heel and stormed off, Benor in his wake.
"What do we do now?" his Nord companion asked.
"I'm thinking," Marcus said shortly. He blew out a breath. "Delphine said that Esbern might be hiding out in the Ratway," the Dragonborn said quietly, for Benor's ears only. "If we find this Ratway, we might find the old guy."
"How're we gonna do that?"
Marcus smiled grimly. "We ask."
"I dunno, Drahff," Hewnon Black-Skeever said doubtfully. "They'd skin us alive if they knew we were doin' this."
"Why are you always acting like such a big baby?" Drahff said scathingly. "I've gotten us this far."
"This far?" Hewnon snorted. The big, burly Nord waved around at the dripping, moss-covered walls of the Ratway tunnels. "You said we'd have a house as big as the Black-Briars' by now!"
His thinner companion scowled. "You worry about bashing peoples' heads in," he said firmly. "I'll worry about the Guild, okay?"
Hewnon grumbled, but nodded. "Okay, okay," he sighed finally.
Satisfied, Drahff said, "Good. I'm going to check the entrance to the Ratway. I'll be right back."
Knowing it would take a bit for Drahff to return, Hewnon went back to the corner where his bedroll lay and removed a small pouch of coins, carefully counting them out. Only a score or so. This idea of Drahff's wasn't paying out as quickly as he'd been promised. Intercepting people coming into the Ratway, intent on joining the Thieves' Guild had seemed like a good idea at the time, but they generally had little to no coin on them, and the weapons and armor they carried had little value to them.
Drahff had assured him that they'd be rolling in coin by now, but Hewnon was at the limit of his patience. Unless they got some real money, real soon, he was tempted to go to Brynjolf with the whole scheme and beg him to take him back.
A faint scuffling noise echoed down the tunnels, and Hewnon hastily put his coin pouch away, under the layer of straw beneath his bedroll.
"Drahff?" he called. "'Zat you?"
"Nope," Benor said, coming up behind the lowlife. "It's me." With one fluid motion, the man from Morthal slit Hewnon's throat, leaving him lying in his own spreading pool of blood. Marcus joined him then, wiping his own blade off with a piece of rag torn from Drahff's tunic.
"All clear?" he asked.
"So far," Benor confirmed. They proceeded around the corner and found the way blocked by a raised drawbridge of sorts. They would have to jump down to the lower level and see if they could find a way around it.
The two men wound their way through the maze of tunnels, and eventually emerged in a room on the opposite side of the drawbridge. Taking out the lowlife waiting for them was the work of a few moments only. The unarmored and ill-equipped rabble that inhabited the sewers beneath Riften stood little chance against their heavily armored and better-equipped adversaries.
Only one door remained unexplored, and that led into a large cistern area. Across the water from them, accessed by a stone perimeter walkway was the Ragged Flagon the guard had told them about. A beefy man stood at the "entrance" – though it was really little more than an opening in the wall with a ramp over the cistern. He glared at them and warned them, "Don't start any trouble, or there's gonna be trouble, understand?"
The two companions assured him it was the last thing they wanted, and asked if he knew of an old man hiding out down here.
"I don't know what you're talking about," the bouncer muttered. "You want rumors? Talk to Vekel." He jerked his thumb toward the bartender behind him.
Several other people were loitering about the Flagon; a thin blonde girl sneered at them; a Redguard woman looked them up and down appreciatively before retreating to a wooden platform over the cistern where a hooded figure sat, pensively meditating; a bald man watched them carefully, but advised them to "talk to Brynjolf" if they needed anything.
The bartender, Vekel, seemed the only one willing to talk. Of course, it required greasing his palm first. Marcus gritted his teeth as he handed the coins over.
"You know what? I think I do remember the guy you're talking about," Vekel said thoughtfully as he pocketed the septims. "He's holed up in the Ratway Warrens," he added, nodding towards a corridor ending in a door. "Be careful. You're not the only one looking for him."
Danger, Will Robinson, danger! Marcus managed to keep his face impassive as he asked, as casually as he could, "Who else is asking?"
Vekel shrugged, but it looked more like a shudder. "Dangerous-looking elves who didn't give their names," he said, repressing another shudder. "Draw your own conclusions."
Marcus did, and he didn't like them. The Thalmor were already here! He and Benor would have to proceed with caution.
"And that one, over there," Vekel murmured, for his ears only. He gave a brief nod to a shadowy corner. Huddled against the wall, doing his best to see without being seen was Gissur. Marcus' inner dragon howled. This was the stinking lowlife who had sold out Etienne to the Thalmor!
He strode over to the man, who blinked up at him.
"You," he said, not caring who heard him. "You work for the Thalmor!"
"What?" the man gaped. "Are you insane? No one in their right mind works for the Thalmor!"
"What does that say about you?" Marcus sneered. "You set up your friend Etienne. You told the Thalmor he had information they were looking for. Information they tortured him to get."
The denizens of the Flagon had all gone still, and they were all staring at Gissur now. It wasn't pleasant.
"You're mad!" Gissur exclaimed. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Fortunately, he was tougher than they expected, and didn't break," Marcus went on, relentless. "And when the head torturer Rulindil wouldn't pay you until they got it, you offered your services to extract the information faster. 'I can talk to him,' you said. 'He trusts me.' Isn't that right?"
Gissur's eyes bugged from his head. "How could you possibly—" he breathed, before clamping his mouth shut. "It's all lies," he said loudly. "I don't know you from Dibella's left teat. You're trying to slander me!"
"You 'ave been gone a while, Gissur," the bald man said speculatively. "An' you've been askin' questions you shouldn't even know to ask."
"Why don't we get Etienne in here?" the blonde girl smirked, clearly not liking Gissur much. "He just got back, and looks pretty beat up. He wouldn't talk at first, but I bet he could shed some light on this."
At this Gissur dropped his pretense. "He's alive?" he gaped. "But how? Rulindil said—" Cornered, Gissur suddenly lashed out, catching Marcus across the middle with his dagger. It was a deep cut, and burned like fire.
Benor roared and drew his battleaxe before realizing he had little room to swing it here without catching an innocent patron by mistake. He fumed in frustration, but he needn't have worried. Gissur never got far as the bald man, the blonde girl, Vekel and the bouncer all ganged up on him. It was short, ugly and thorough. The Thieves' Guild takes care of its own.
Marcus gasped, pinpoints of light crowding his vision as he felt his limbs go rigid.
"Easy now," the bald man said. "Gissur's blade was poisoned. Sure sign he expected trouble." He held something to Marcus' lips, but the Dragonborn couldn't move his arms to grasp it.
"Jus' drink," the bald man told him. "We've got ya." So Marcus drank, and eventually the paralysis wore off and his vision cleared. Another potion, and the wound sealed itself, but it was still sore and tender.
"Thanks," he breathed.
"You gonna be okay, Marcus?" Benor asked, crouching nearby.
Marcus nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I wasn't expecting that."
"Good," the big Nord rumbled. "'Cause Skyrim needs its Dragonborn alive and whole."
"Dragonborn?" several voices chimed at once, and Marcus shot Benor a sour look, but the big man was totally unaffected by it.
"Yeah, he's the Dragonborn," Benor grinned. "Keeps a low profile, y'know, but I've been traveling with him and seen him take a dragon's soul."
"Sapphire said there was a dragon attack this morning," Vekel offered, impressed. "I didn't believe her at first, but some of the guards were with her and confirmed it." He turned wondering eyes toward Marcus, who was now getting to his feet.
"They said he was an Imperial in carved Nordic armor," Vekel said in awe. "He killed the beast and took its soul!"
Murmurs of appreciation and astonishment surrounded him, and Marcus shifted uncomfortably, but he finally realized he'd better get used to this, if Benor was going to continue to open his mouth about it.
"Yes," he admitted quietly. "I'm the Dragonborn, and I'm looking for a man named Esbern who's said to be hiding out here. I need to find him before the Thalmor do. He's the only one who can tell me why the dragons are returning."
Well, him and Tamsyn, Marcus thought privately, but since I don't know where Tamsyn is…
"Then I think this is yours, Dragonborn," Vekel said, with not a little embarrassment, handing him back the coin purse.
"Anyfing you need, Dragonborn," the bald man said, "you just ask. I'm Delvin Mallory, and if I can help you beat the crap out of the Thalmor, just say the word!"
Marcus grinned. "Mister Mallory," he said, shaking the man's hand. "The word is given!"
The Thalmor never knew what hit them. One moment all was quiet, the next they were systematically being taken out by knives in the dark, a hand across the mouth from behind, and sharp raps to the head followed by cold steel.
Quicker than he'd hoped, Marcus found himself standing in front of an iron door that had a sliding viewport and no less than five locks in it.
Hefid the Deaf had given them little trouble. The crazy old woman spent her day in her hole of a room rattling off a list of random items, starting over every time she got it wrong. She made the mistake of attacking Vex when she felt the impact of so many feet coming her way. Clearly, she must have panicked, and Marcus felt sorry for her death, but Vex shrugged.
"Next time maybe she won't come at me with a knife," she said callously, and Marcus refrained from pointing out that for Hefid, there would be no next time.
Delvin took out Knjakr, an unsavory character who attempted to lure the unwary into his lair, where he butchered them, then fed on them. Marcus was not sorry to see him killed.
Salvianus was left alone. Delvin told Marcus the poor man had served in the Great War, but had been captured by Thalmor. They had broken him, and ever since he had been hiding out here, convinced they Thalmor would return to torture him again. Marcus looked at the man and saw what could have happened to Etienne, if he hadn't intervened.
"They were golden," Salvianus said, eyes lost in the past. "Even when they were dead. But their blood was red. I knew it would be."
Marcus felt nothing but pity for the man, and slipped the coin pouch Vekel had given back to him into the man's night stand unnoticed by all except Delvin, who said nothing.
"We'll go guard the tunnels," Delvin said, as they finished up. "We've got your back."
"Thanks, Delvin," Marcus said sincerely, clasping wrists with the thief. "I appreciate the help."
"We'll send ya the bill," Delvin winked, and Marcus wasn't completely sure the little Breton was joking,
Taking a deep breath now, he knocked on Esbern's door. The viewport slid open.
"Who is it?" a quavering voice demanded. "Go away!"
"Esbern?" Marcus called. "I need to talk to you. The Thalmor know you're here. We've got to get you out of here."
"Oh," the old man said suspiciously. "And I supposed you're going to try to help me, huh?" He snorted. "I wasn't born yesterday, you know. You're probably with the Thalmor, and will lead me right to them. Now go away!"
The viewport slid shut again, and Marcus ground his teeth in frustration. He knocked again. Once more, the port slid open.
"I said go away!" Esbern growled.
"Esbern," Marcus said, doing his level best to keep his voice even. "Delphine sent me. The dragons have returned—"
"Of course they've returned!" the elderly archivist snorted. "That's what I've been trying to warn you people about for years! And now you've captured Delphine. And me, too, if I was foolish enough to believe you!"
"She said to ask you where you were on the thirtieth of Frostfall," Marcus said desperately, before he could close the panel again.
Esbern hesitated. "Thirtieth of Frostfall, eh?" he said quietly. "Yes, yes I do remember." He seemed to come back to himself. "But it's no good, don't you see? It's too late! The dragons have returned. Alduin has returned, and there is nothing that can stop him. The gods have abandoned us. Go climb into a hole somewhere, young man, and wait for the end. It will come, soon enough."
Marcus felt an overwhelming sense of sympathy for the tired old man. He truly believed there was no hope left.
"It's not hopeless, Esbern," he said now, gently. "I'm Dragonborn."
"What?" Esbern stopped sliding the panel and peered out again. "You? But—can it be true? Dragonborn?"
The glimmer of joy he dared not give into trembled in his voice, and Marcus felt touched that all of this man's hopes rested on him. He hoped he could live up to the expectations.
Excited now, Esbern bid him wait until he could get the locks open…which took considerable time. Benor grinned at him and shrugged his shoulders until the door finally creaked open.
"Come in, come in, both of you!" Esbern urged. "Thalmor have been spotted in the Ratway you know!"
Marcus rolled his eyes.
Esbern closed the door quickly behind them and dusted off a chair for Marcus to sit upon. Marcus declined, since it seemed to be the only chair in the room. Instead he gestured for Esbern to seat himself.
"So," the old man said delightedly. "The gods have not abandoned us! You really are Dragonborn?"
When Marcus merely nodded, Esbern clapped his hands. "Oh! Thank the Divines! This changes everything!"
"I'm not sure I understand," Marcus said slowly. "What does my being Dragonborn have to do with anything?"
Esbern stopped and stared. "You mean—you mean you don't know?" he asked, shocked.
"I know the dragons are coming back, apparently, after a long hiatus," Marcus said. "I know that I can take their souls, and keep them from coming back…again…but I don't really know why that's so important."
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Esbern frowned. "What more needs to happen before you people wake up and realize? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said. The Bringer of the End Times; Alduin will destroy the world, and there's nothing we can do to stop him!"
He got up and began pacing back and forth in the small room. Benor pressed himself against the door to stay out of the old Archivist's way.
"I tried to tell them, years ago," Esbern fretted. "They just wouldn't listen to me. And now it's happening and it's hopeless! Alduin will destroy everything. You'd better just find a safe hole to hide in until the end comes."
"Esbern," Marcus said gently, stopping the old man in his tracks with a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's not hopeless. I'm Dragonborn. Just tell me what I need to do."
"Ye-e-ss!" The smile that grew on Esbern's wrinkled face was like the sun coming out after a storm. "Yes, of course! Dragonborn! Oh my, there's so much to do! You must take me to Delphine at once!" he urged. "Quickly now! I just need to gather a few things….can't leave anything here for the Thalmor to find…now where did I put my annotated Annuad?"
Marcus and Benor watched him in amusement as he sorted through his belongings. Marcus found several books Esbern discarded and asked the old Blade if he could take them. Permission was willingly granted.
"Anything here you think you can use, Dragonborn, just help yourself!"
Marcus grinned again and rummaged through the books, finally tucking several into his pack to peruse later.
"Hey, Marcus!" Benor murmured. "I think I'm hearing some fighting out there." He nodded toward the closed door.
"We'd best hurry, then," Esbern said. He heaved a reluctant sigh. "I guess that will have to do. Quickly now!"
When they were prepared, Benor opened the door to see four Thalmor agents battling Delvin, Vex and, surprisingly, Brynjolf, now wearing the same kind of leather armor as the other two. Vex was down on her knees, gasping as she attempted to pull an arrow from her thigh. Delvin and Brynjolf stood over her, blades whirling, trying to fend off magic as well as steel.
"I think I still remember how to do this!" Esbern grinned, and gestured. A warping sound echoed in the chamber, and a large, whirling cyclone of rock and lightning stepped through, targeting the Thalmor mage with its bolts of pure electricity. Marcus was surprised and impressed. There was more to the old man than he thought!
"I'll rip you in half!" Benor roared, taking the steps two at a time and attacking one of the soldiers from behind, who had to parry quickly to avoid being bifurcated.
"Cavalry's here!" Marcus grinned, drawing his bow and targeting anything in gold armor. With the reinforcements, they soon made short work of the Thalmor. Delvin saw to Vex while Brynjolf came over to Marcus.
"Sorry, lad," he said sincerely. "I know I brushed you off earlier, but when I got back to the Guild they told me what happened, and that you were the one who saved Etienne's life. I owed you one."
Marcus nodded and clasped the other man's wrist. "No harm done, really," he said, generously. "I'm glad I was able to save Etienne. He's going to be alright?"
"In time, I think so," Brynjolf smiled. "He learned he's tougher than he thought he was. He'll make a fine th—" Brynjolf broke off, embarrassed.
"Businessman," Marcus finished with a smirk.
"Aye, lad," Bryn chuckled. "That's the word I was looking for. If there's anything else you need, let me know. We look after our own down here."
"But I'm not one of you," Marcus pointed out. "I don't really want to be in your line of work."
"No," Brynjolf agreed. "I can see that now, lad. The Dragonborn shouldn't be in our line of work. Still, sometimes it's nice to have contacts in all quarters, right?"
"I'll take it under advisement," Marcus promised.
They made their way back to the Ragged Flagon, Vex being supported between Brynjolf and Delvin. Marcus, Benor and Esbern thanked the Guild again for its assistance and headed toward the Ratway.
"Watch your step out there, lad," Brynjolf called. "I saw a shady-looking Khajiit hanging around the market earlier. Didn't buy anything; didn't talk to anyone. It's like she was waiting for someone."
Forewarned by Bryn, it was easy to spot the "shady-looking Khajiit" waiting just outside the entrance into the Ratway. Benor and Marcus made swift work in neutralizing her, before dumping her body into the canal; not, however, before liberating her of the note with the seal of the Thalmor Embassy on it.
"I have good reason to believe the target will be coming to Riften in the next few days. Discretion is preferred, but elimination of the target is of the highest priority. The usual restrictions on exposure are lifted – you will be reassigned outside Skyrim if necessary, without penalty.
"Don't fail me. – E."
So, Elenwen thought she could send hired assassins after him, did she? We'll just see about that. His inner dragon rumbled approval. It was entirely possible that the assassin was intended for Etienne, but he highly doubted it. If Elenwen wanted a war with the Dragonborn, she was going to get one.
The trip back to Riverwood was uneventful, though Marcus and Benor kept a constant watch over their shoulders. They had taken the last carriage out of Riften, and Sigaar agreed to drop them off in Riverwood, since it was on his way to Whiterun, but only if they paid the full fare. Benor protested, but Marcus promised to buy him a case of Black-Briar mead if he'd just go along with it. He wanted out of Riften as soon as possible.
They got in to Riverwood just as the sun was coming up and headed immediately for the Sleeping Giant. Inside, Esbern and Delphine met again, after a thirty year absence, and Marcus noticed that both old Blades were blinking very hard, and dabbing at their eyes with a corner of their sleeves.
Delphine cleared her throat. "Come on," she said, leading the way. "I've got a place we can talk." Once safely down in her secret room – which Marcus had the feeling wasn't quite so secret anymore – Delphine spoke to her old friend.
"So, I assume you're aware-?" She left it hanging, gesturing towards Marcus.
"Yes," he breathed. "Dragonborn! This changes everything!" he said excitedly. "I need to show you…oh, where did I put it?" He began patting down all his hidden pockets.
"Esbern," Delphine drawled. Clearly, this was a characteristic of Esbern's of which she was very familiar.
"Just a minute!" he shushed her. "I know I have it here somewhere…the Blades' Archives held so much…I was only able to save a little…" The sadness in his voice went right through Marcus. Here was someone else who had lost much.
"Aha! Here it is!" The old Blade pulled a book from his tunic, Annals of the Dragonguard, and laid it on the table, opening it to a well dog-eared page.
"Right here! It tells how the Akaviri built their greatest creation, Alduin's Wall, at their fortress in the Karthspire, Sky Haven Temple."
Delphine looked at him blankly. "Alduin's Wall? What's that?"
Esbern frowned. "You mean to say you've never heard of Alduin's Wall?" he demanded. "Any of you?"
The three people in the room with him shook their heads.
"Let's pretend we haven't," Delphine said. "What does that have to do with the dragons coming back?"
Esbern rolled his eyes, as if lecturing a particularly thick-headed class of young recruits. Marcus had the distinct feeling, from the way Delphine was squirming, that he wasn't too far off the mark.
"Alduin's Wall was one of the greatest Akaviri feats of the time," he explained patiently. "Though it's forgotten now, it was where the Akaviri wrote down everything they knew about Alduin and the prophecy of the Dragonborn against the forgetfulness of years. A very foresighted plan, as it happens."
"So this Wall will tell us how to defeat him?" Marcus asked eagerly. Anything to give him an edge.
"Perhaps," Esbern allowed. "Its location was lost long ago, but I've found it again. You see? Not lost, just forgotten!" He pointed to a passage in the book:
"2812: We finally received permission from the Emperor to begin construction of Alduin's Wall. Craftsmen from Temples across the Empire have arrived at Karthspire and begun the great work, overseen by our own Master, as is only fitting, as she is unmatched in her dragonlore…
"2818: An auspicious year. Alduin's Wall was finished, a dragon located and slain, and Emperor Reman II visited to officially dedicate the Wall. The Blood Seal was consecrated in the presence of all the Dragonguard of Skyrim, a great honor of which few Temples can boast.
"—Annals of the Dragonguard."
Delphine seemed to digest this new bit of information for several minutes before she said, "Right, Sky Haven Temple it is. We can all go there together of split up, your call."
Marcus gave her a steady look. The last time she'd given him the option of traveling together or separately, she'd protested his choice.
"We might as well travel together," he said finally. "Safety in numbers, and all that."
Delphine beamed at him.
The trip out to the Karthspire had the usual hazards of bandits, wildlife and one rogue giant to settle. Remembering what Benor had said about the humongous humanoids, Marcus kept his distance and peppered it with the last of his Dwarven arrows. They finally brought it down, and were able to continue on their way.
They followed the road as far west as the bend near an unopened Dragon mound, where it bent north, and another road spurred off to head west. Now they were in the Reach, and it was the farthest west Marcus had ever been in Skyrim. They had a little trouble near Fort Sungard, which had apparently been taken over by Forsworn. Marcus thought they all looked like European versions of Native Americans, with their skimpy armor made of fur and bone.
"Who are these guys?" he asked, after the first skirmish.
"Forsworn," Benor said. "Natives of the Reach. They don't like the Nords, and will kill them on sight."
"I'm not a Nord," Marcus pointed out.
"They don't make that distinction," Benor shrugged. "Unless you're wearin' animal parts, you're an enemy."
"That's a rather narrow-minded view," Marcus said sourly. "Are we going to have to fight these guys all the way to Sky Haven Temple?"
"I hope not," Esbern said, "but we'd best be prepared, just in case."
Marcus said nothing, but wished he'd been able to stock up on more Dwarven arrows.
"They have little reason to love the Nords," Delphine said. "This land was theirs long before the Nords came to Skyrim. But the Nords see them as little more than savages. They have a history and a culture of their own, however. All they want is their land back."
Put that way, Marcus had quite a bit more sympathy for the natives of the Reach than he might have done, but he still wanted to be able to defend himself, if it came to a fight.
"Where did they come from, originally" he asked now.
"Some believe they're descendants of a mixture of Altmer and Breton peoples," Esbern explained, "who interbred with the indigenous Reachfolk of the First Era. I believe I had a book about them, The Madmen of the Reach, I think it was called."
"Yes," Marcus replied. "It was one of the ones you gave me."
"Ah!" Esbern said, "well, then, everything you would want to know about them should be in that book. There's another one that tells more, The Legend of Red Eagle, but I was never able to get my hands on a copy of that."
"If I find one, I'll bring it to you," Marcus promised. The old man was growing on him. Scatter-brained though he seemed to be at times, he was deadly in a fight with his atronachs and Destruction magic. Marcus at first had stayed close to him, protecting him from harm, but he soon realized it was unnecessary. The old Blade was more than capable of taking care of himself. Respect for him went up several notches. Though he was probably a good twenty years older than Marcus had been in his past life, the Dragonborn felt he could become very close to the wise old Archivist. They both had a deep-rooted love of history.
The sun was almost gone from the sky by the time they reached Old Hroldan. If Marcus had thought Kynesgrove was a "wide spot in the road", Old Hroldan looked as though the road had forgotten it completely. The only thing that it consisted of was an inn, for which the travelers were grateful. The innkeeper was even more so.
"I don't get many visitors," Eydis told them, happily opening up three rooms for them. Esbern and Delphine each took the two smaller rooms. By mutual consent, Marcus and Benor shared the larger one with the double bed.
"Tiber Septim's room," Eydis told them proudly. "He stayed here in this very inn, where he defeated the notorious Witchmen of the Reach, back in the First Era!"
"I can sleep on the floor in a bedroll," Benor offered after Eydis returned to the common room, but Marcus shook his head.
"I'm not into guys," he told his friend. "You're safe from me. Besides, we're both so exhausted that even if you were my type I couldn't get it up with a crowbar."
"You're not helping," Benor grumbled, but after an excellent meal served up by Eydis, everyone agreed to make an early night of it. Marcus noted with some amusement that despite his protests to the contrary, Benor fell asleep quickly and was soon snoring softly.
Unable, despite his fatigue, to sleep with that going on, Marcus remained sitting up with the candle burning softly on the night stand. A book lying there caught his eye, and he began reading The Battle of Sancre Tor.
He was just getting to the good part, where General Talos and his army were sneaking up on the citadel from behind, having scaled a cliff-face said to be impassable, when he heard a sudden scream from the outer room.
Setting the book aside and grabbing Uthgerd, Marcus dashed into the common room from one side while Delphine rushed in from the other.
"A ghost!" Eydis cried, apron to her face. "I swear I saw the Ghost of Old Hroldan there!" She pointed blindly down to the end of the common room.
As one, Delphine and Marcus turned to look down at the far end of the room. A glimmer of light flickered there briefly before dimming.
Cautiously, the two travelers approached; as they did so, the glimmer grew stronger until it resolved itself into the figure of a man, seated on a bench at the table, apparently waiting for someone.
"Is that you, Hjalti?" he asked before either could speak. "I've been waiting a long time," the apparition continued, chiding softly. "You promised we would be sworn brothers if I fought by your side. Give me your sword, that you may fulfil your promise to me."
"Uh, I'm not—" Marcus began, but Delphine shushed him.
"Where is this sword?" she asked. The ghost appeared not to have heard her, so Marcus repeated the question.
"Don't you remember, Hjalti? Back at the camp, where we waited before the battle. I'll wait here for you now."
So saying, the ghost faded from view. Delphine and Marcus looked at each other and shrugged. Returning to Eydis, they asked her about the Ghost, about the sword, and who was Hjalti?
"I've known about the Ghost for a while," Eydis admitted, "but I've never seen him before now. My husband thought he was a soldier in Tiber Septim's army before the battle against the Witchmen. They had a camp not far from here. If you have a map, I can mark it for you."
Marcus produced his map and Eydis considered it carefully before inscribing a small X. "There," she said. "It's right there. That's probably where this sword is that he's looking for."
"And who was Hjalti?" Marcus asked again.
Eydis blinked. "Don't you know?" she asked in surprise. "That was Tiber Septim's name before he was Tiber Septim; before he was even Talos of Atmora, he was known as Hjalti Early-Beard."
Delphine looked at the map. "Serpent's Bluff Redoubt? That's just east of here."
"Could we go there and look for this sword?" Marcus asked.
"We don't have time," the Blade insisted. "We need to get to Sky Haven Temple and find this Alduin's Wall."
"It doesn't look that far away," Marcus argued.
"There's a lot of rugged peaks between here and there, Dragonborn," she said. Eydis' eyes opened wide, and Delphine compressed her lips. She should have just called him by his name. Soon it would be all over the Reach that the Dragonborn had been seen at Old Hroldan. Oh well, there was no hope for it. The sooner they got to Sky Haven Temple, the safer they would all be.
"We don't have time," she said again, shoving the map back at him. "Get some sleep. We leave as soon as the sun is up."
Marcus looked down at the far end of the room where the Ghost had been, but could see nothing.
Fine. Alduin's Wall first, but then I'm coming back for the sword. At least I can lay one more ghost to rest.
Marcus really didn't want to fight an entire camp full of Forsworn, so he attempted a more diplomatic approach, using what Faendal, way back in Bleak Falls Barrow, had called the "Voice of the Emperor".
Benor, Esbern and Delphine stayed well back, close enough to help if things got hairy, but far enough not to risk intimidation.
As Marcus approached with hands lowered to his sides, palms outward and empty, he tried to ignore the willies creeping up and down his spine.
"That's far enough," the look-out told him.
"I wish to speak to your leader," Marcus said.
"You'll turn around now, or I'll shoot you where you stand," the woman said.
"I mean you no harm," Marcus insisted. "Let me speak to whoever's in charge. I just want to talk."
He threw everything he had into persuading the woman to put down her bow, and slowly she did.
"Who are you?" the Forsworn Forager demanded. "What name shall I give the Matriarch?"
Matriarch, eh? he thought. Alright, I'll see if I can charm the old biddy. "I am Marcus, called Dragonborn," he said.
He wasn't prepared for the Hagraven; a bizarre hybrid of bird and woman, she revolted him, but he schooled his features to remain stoic.
"Dragonborn," hissed the Matriarch. "So you've come to find the secrets of the ruins, have you?"
"With your permission," Marcus said, bowing courteously. "I don't want to fight your people, but my destiny lies inside the mountain, and I need the guidance I'll find on Alduin's Wall."
The Matriarch seemed to consider his words, pacing back and forth. "How do I know what you say is true?" she demanded finally. "My people have lived here for centuries, and none of us has ever been able to get inside the inner sanctum."
"I can get inside," Marcus said, with more confidence than he felt. "If you will let us in."
"Us?" the Hagraven said, dangerously.
"My friends and I," he explained, keeping his voice light. "An old man, a Breton woman and my friend, a Nord."
The Hagraven hissed and the rest of the Forsworn put their hands on their weapons.
"Please, please, calm down!" Marcus called, keeping his voice even and his hands at his sides. "He will not draw a weapon on any of you, if you do not offer harm first."
"He is a Nord," the Matriarch insisted. "They hate our kind."
"And he has reason to believe that you hate his," Marcus said. "Please, can't we set this aside, just once? What happened in the Reach between the Reachfolk and the Nord happened a long time ago."
The Hagraven cackled, and it was not a pleasant sound. "For you, perhaps, young Dragonborn," she said savagely. "But for me, and for many of mine, it was within living memory. We remember the Markarth Incident, even if you do not!"
Markarth Incident? Marcus wondered, suddenly nervous. He had been reading history books like a madman. Did this escape his notice?
"Look," he said now, "I promise you that Benor does not want to fight any more than I do. You say you've never been able to get into the inner part of the ruins. What if you sent some of your people in with us? You can see for yourself whatever it is we'll find in there."
"We will think on this matter," the Matriarch said. "Leave us for now. We will inform you of our decision."
Reluctantly, Marcus headed back to his friends. Delphine was not pleased.
"So we, what, just wait out here until they decide to give us an answer?" she fumed. "That might take days or weeks! That's time we don't have!"
"It would be foolish to wade right into a nest of them, though," Esbern said. "Maybe we should be patient just a little longer, Delphine," he advised. "They might come to a decision yet today."
"I'm not lookin' forward to fighting people that just want to get by and live their lives," Benor said, but if they tell us 'no', all bets are off."
"I'd rather do this in a non-violent manner, if it can be helped," Marcus insisted. "Let's wait and see what happens."
And he was prepared to wait for a day or two, except a dragon chose that moment to attack Karthspire Camp.
"Hurry!" Marcus called. "Protect the Matriarch!"
Not that she needs a lot of protection, he mused as the Hagraven sent off a screaming bolt of fire at the dragon. But maybe it will make a good impression.
It did indeed, as it turned out. The dragon had flamed the Briarhearts sworn to protect the Matriarch, and she suddenly found herself alone staring down the gullet of the elder wyrm. It took a deep breath, and she steeled herself to face its fire when suddenly the young Dragonborn was there in front of her.
"FUS RO DAH!" he Shouted, and the beast floundered in mid-air, scrambling for purchase and choking on its own Shout. Clawing its way through the air, it limped over to a bank nearby, crashing to the ground. Marcus leaped after it, Uthgerd drawn. He missed the look of surprise, admiration and cunning in the Matriarch's eyes.
In short order, the elder dragon was dispatched, and Marcus took its soul, to the amazement and awe of the gathered Forsworn. As he opened his eyes to the crowd around him, it parted to allow the Matriarch to come forward.
"So," she said speculatively. "You are not just spinning tales, young Marcus. You truly are Dragonborn."
She looked around at her gathered folk. "Go on back to your businesses," she ordered. "Tend to the wounded. Give the rites to the deceased. We will light their pyres at dusk. The Dragonborn and I have much to discuss."
She turned to Marcus. "Come with me," she rasped, her look including all of his friends as well.
In the end, the Matriarch, who introduced herself as Maiara, and Delphine hammered out a tentative arrangement that would allow the four of them, in addition to any and all Blades in the future, access to the Akaviri ruins within the mountain, in return for a tithe to the encampment. The Forsworn, or 'Reachfolk', as they preferred to think of themselves, had no love for the Thalmor, and took great delight in wiping out the occasional patrol of Aldmeri agents whenever they were foolish enough to cross their territory.
"I cannot speak for all the Redoubts," Maiara warned them. "Only the Reach King can do that, and he has long been away from us. But we will grant you safe passage under the terms agreed to."
Delphine wasn't exactly thrilled about the terms, but knew it was better than she could have hoped for, if they'd had to fight their way through. With Maiara and two of her hand-picked Reachguard in tow, they made their way up to the Karthspire and into the caverns that led to the ruins and Sky Haven Temple.
There were traps and puzzles to negotiate, which one of the guards admitted she had attempted to solve when she was a girl. She'd made it as far as the final chamber, with the huge, carved effigy of Reman Cyrodiil on the wall.
"None of us could get any farther than this," she admitted.
"This is the Blood Seal," Esbern said, standing on it, "so I'm not surprised it thwarted you. It can only be opened by blood. Your blood, Dragonborn," he added, turning to Marcus.
"Would you like me to do the honors, young Dragonborn?" Maiara cackled, flexing her claws.
"Uh, no thanks, Matriarch," Marcus said. "I'm honored, but I think I'd better do this myself."
"Suit yourself," she grinned, and in spite of himself, Marcus found himself returning the grin.
Three drops of his dragon blood fell on the seal from the slice on his palm, and it suddenly began to glow. Everyone gasped as the effigy of Reman Cyrodiil suddenly lifted and drew back, revealing a hidden entrance into Sky Haven Temple.
"Go ahead, Marcus," Delphine said in hushed tones. He noticed she used his name for the first time since he could remember. "You should have the honor of being the first to enter Sky Haven Temple.
Esbern must have thought he'd died and gone to Sovngarde, Marcus grinned to himself. The man kept exclaiming over the bas-reliefs carved everywhere on the walls and pillars of the Temple. And at the far end, flanking one side of a vast chamber, lay Alduin's Wall.
"I never dreamed something like this could be here!" the Matriarch murmured.
"Wow," said Benor in hushed tones. "Look how well-preserved this place is!"
"Does the Wall tell us how to defeat Alduin?" Delphine asked eagerly.
"Patience, Delphine," Esbern murmured, holding his torch closer. "All in good time. The Akaviri told their history in metaphors; they were not a straight-forward people."
He spent several minutes studying the wall, up and down its length, before announcing, "Yes, it's all here." He gestured to the far left end. "Here you see the people fighting against the oppression of the Dragon Priests and their draconian overlords." He moved to the center. "And here you see the First Tongues arrayed against them. Alduin's defeat at the hands of the First Tongues is featured prominently here."
"Does it show what they used against him?" Delphine could barely contain her excitement.
"Yes, yes," Esbern murmured. "You see here, issuing from the mouths of these figures? That's the Akaviri symbol for Shout, but there's no way of telling which Shout they used, or if indeed, it was one exclusive to Alduin himself."
The Breton woman's shoulders slumped. "So we're looking for a Shout, then? Damn it!" She turned to Marcus. "Have you ever heard of a Shout that could knock a dragon from the sky?" she asked.
Marcus shrugged. "I haven't, but maybe the Greybeards know."
"I was afraid of that," Delphine said sourly, watching as Esbern and Maiara put their heads together to discuss some of the other symbols on the Wall.
"Say, just what do you have against the Greybeards?" Marcus asked, his irritation with her returned in full force.
"If they had their way, you'd do nothing but sit up there in their monastery, talking to the Sky all day, or whatever it is they do up there."
"It's not like that, Delphine," Marcus said with an edge to his voice. "They just want to make sure the Voice isn't misused, as Ulfric's done."
"They're so afraid of power, they're afraid to use it themselves!" she argued back. "Think about it: have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin? No. And they're afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there's no need to be afraid." she continued. "Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he'd have founded an Empire if he'd listened to the Greybeards?"
The Greybeards haven't gotten involved in the war because it's not their fight, Marcus thought. They're pacifists, after all. And they haven't done anything about the dragons because…because… Here his loyalty and logic faltered. Why hadn't they done anything about the returning dragons? They were far more powerful than he was.
"I'm not afraid of my powers, Delphine," Marcus said hotly. Maybe I once was, but not anymore. "And the Greybeards have a point. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." It was an old adage, from another time and place, but it was undeniable truth.
"Only if you don't know how to use it," Delphine countered. Oh, she was really good at playing Devil's Advocate. "All the great heroes have had to learn to use their power. Those that shrank from their destiny….well, you've never heard of them, have you?"
"But I—"
"And there are the villains – those that misused their power, like Ulfric Stormcloak," she pressed on. "There's always a choice, and there's always a risk. But if you live in fear of what might go wrong, you'll end up doing nothing, like the Greybeards up on their mountain."
"I'm not afraid of my powers," he insisted again.
"Good," she smiled, convinced she'd gotten her way. "The Greybeards can teach you a lot," she allowed graciously, "but don't let them turn you away from your destiny. You're Dragonborn, and you're the only one who can stop Alduin. Don't forget it."
She turned back to the Matriarch and Esbern, who were still marveling over the Wall, and Marcus was left to ponder his own conflicting thoughts.
[Author's Note: Yes, I departed from canon here, because I have an enormous amount of sympathy for the Forsworn. I think in the long run, this will work better for what Marcus may have to do. No spoilers here. Not from me. Nuh uh.]