Plans and plots growing in her mind, Joslyn led her gang back to Hag Rock Redoubt. Emmard, the elite warrior she'd chosen to lead the cravens back, accosted her before she could enter the camp proper. There were archers on the walls, guarding the entrance. Forsworn bristling with blades and bones. Joslyn grinned. The glory days are within reach!
"There's about forty now that you're back," Emmard said, leading her up the Redoubt. Mathane, Sabsa, and Gerrick soon vanished among the tents, seeking those they knew. Joslyn let them go. It will do well for them to spread tales of my leadership among those who have not yet seen the future I offer. Briette peeled off to join someone else's fire. But Muriena stuck close.
"Borkul complains endlessly," Emmard was saying. "But him and me have been training 'em." The Redoubt thronged with movement. Everywhere Joslyn looked, figures in Forsworn armour moved about, eating, talking, and fighting.
"How's his support?" asked Joslyn.
Emmard shrugged. "Strong enough. He's got history. He served Madanach, fought the Dragonborn. Gets him respect."
Joslyn snorted. "He ran away from the Dragonborn." Her voice was loud enough to make several Forsworn look around. "There ain't nothing he can offer that I can't. And who is it that brought everyone here?"
"I know that," said Emmard, glancing around as they walked. "But some of the others might take some convincing."
But how long have I been away? A month, a little more. And look how the camp has changed, look how it lives! Emmard stomped off to find Mathane and Sabsa. Joslyn found Borkul standing with fists planted on hips, watching a few Forsworn that she recognised clacking swords in practice motions.
"Faster!" the big orc was saying. "You're trying to kill 'em, not ask 'em nicely to lie down and be dead."
He turned and saw Joslyn approach with Muriena behind.
"Took your damn time," he said. "Can't believe it took ya this long to round up these milk-drinkers."
Joslyn set her teeth. "They're Forsworn," she said. "And I found a hell of a lot more of them that you did. We're not sitting on our arses anymore. Change is here already."
Borkul grunted. "We'll see," he said.
Joslyn spat and moved away.
"He won't give up easy," said Muriena as they headed further up the hill, onto the ruins. "You got any plans for him?"
"A couple," said Joslyn. Still trying to work out one that doesn't end with him crushing my throat.
They came to Djanson, eyes still bloodshot, skinning a goat. His hands moved expertly and efficiently, very little blood falling onto the stones. It was not the skill Joslyn would have expected of a marked delusional, but the man's face was furrowed, intently focussed on his work. His head snapped up as they approached.
"Hail, Djanson," said Joslyn, priding herself on keeping apprehension out of her voice. "How's Borkul been treating you?"
"I've heard about you," said Djanson. "What you've been doing. Borkul just complains all the time."
"Complaints aren't going to win us any battles," said Joslyn.
"No," said Djanson. He stared at his hands in a way that might have been thoughtful. It was always hard to tell with him.
"Gerrick's got drink, if you're interested," said Joslyn.
"No," said Djanson. "My mind must remain pure."
A misstep, but Joslyn recovered, nodding sagely. "Of course," she said. "Clear for the war to come."
Djanson met her eyes then. "You understand," he said. "Borkul just laughs."
"Borkul is not true Forsworn," said Joslyn. She could see Djanson struggling with the dilemma, and she was about to interject further when Sabsa came up alongside.
"I was trying to tell some tale 'bout you," the woman said, "but most of them seem to 'ave made it here ahead of me."
And what has Borkul done lately that's worthy of a tale? Joslyn acted as if the news was nothing other than what she'd expected.
"It's not about the tales," she said. "It's about what we do to earn them." She paused, sensing a momentary uncertainty in Sabsa's expression. "And about how many Nords we kill along the way," she added.
Sabsa grinned and Joslyn allowed herself a silent sigh. A deep yell came from further down in the camp. Borkul.
"Joslyn!" came his voice. "Get down here! And the rest of you maggots!"
No, not now, I'm not ready. She turned to Muriena. "Have you got a knife I can borrow?" she asked.
Muriena frowned, but passed over a simple steel blade. Joslyn crouched out of sight and secured it in her left boot. Then she trod the distance towards the Beast. She'd expected the challenge to come, but not so soon, not when she'd barely rested her feet. Still, weeks living rough had brought her old wiry strength back to the fore. She rolled her shoulders as she approached Borkul. She stood a few paces away from him and did not take her eyes from him as the rest of the Forsworn gathered in a loose circle around them. Too many eyes.
Borkul waited for silence before he spoke again. Joslyn could see the coming violence in his every movement.
"What's this I hear about you callin' me a coward?" he said.
"So what if I am?" demanded Joslyn. She let her hand drop casually towards her axe. Borkul had a matching weapon at his own belt; no advantage to be found there.
"I'm in charge here, not you," he said. He took a half-step towards her, then undid the movement. "And I won't be called a coward by any under my command."
"Maybe some of us are tired of your command," said Joslyn in a low voice.
Borkul laughed, though none of the crowd were smiling. "This what I think it is?" he asked. "You ain't got the support to lead, and you ain't got the strength to take me down."
Joslyn smiled. She raised her voice so all could hear. "And who was it who brought the Forsworn out from the dark corners of the Reach? Who was it who formed them into an army once more?" She singled out Briette from the crowd. "Who was it who returned the last remaining Briarheart to our cause?"
There were murmurs from the crowd which Borkul attempted to cut across.
"And that all ain't shit if you don't have the strength to lead," he said through gritted teeth. Get angry, Borkul. You'll be so much easier to kill.
"I have more than strength," said Joslyn. "Already I have led Forsworn to victories your feeble intelligence could never have dreamed up. More than that, I have the blessing of the hagravens."
That got his attention. "The hagravens are all dead," said Borkul.
Joslyn was about to deny it when Gerrick's shout cut across her. "I saw 'em! And they named her leader!"
The murmurs among the crowd grew louder. "What would you do with my army, Borkul?" asked Joslyn. "Be content raiding merchants, killing bandits? You don't want to be Forsworn, you just want blades at your back. Under you we'd be nothing more than bandits ourselves."
Borkul's face was rent with rage and Joslyn knew she would only have the tiniest of windows to react when things came to their flashpoint. She spoke on.
"You were never Madanach's right-hand man. You were a bodyguard, glorified muscle, nothing else. You cannot lead us because you cannot dream. And when the Dragonborn came, what did you do? How did you survive?"
But Borkul had no time to answer, for a low growl came from the crowd behind him and Djanson pushed his way to the front.
"You lied to me," he said. Borkul did not turn. Djanson pulled the knife he'd been skinning goats with, took three steps forward, and buried it in Borkul's upper left back. Borkul turned then, and swung his fist at the side of Djanson's head, knocking him to the ground. Borkul drew his axe and hacked into Djanson's neck. The man screamed and spasmed as he died. The axe became caught on some piece of flesh and when Borkul cursed loud and pulled, the handle snapped.
There was silence in the crowd. Thank you, Djanson. Every cut is one I don't have to make. Joslyn took a half-step forward and drew her own axe, levelling it at the Beast.
"A leader does not butcher their own followers. Was he about to expose you?" she asked. "Reveal that you ran, that you hid. That you have a craven heart."
Borkul roared and rushed at her. Too angry to find another weapon. Perhaps years of bare-knuckle fighting in Cidhna Mine had sunk into his brain. Perhaps he intended to tear Joslyn apart with his hands. Whichever it was, she pivoted out of his way and swung her axe into his right shoulder. It tore from her hand as he went down, protruding from him.
Joslyn stepped away and drew her sword. Not her preferred weapon, but it would do.
"You would let this fool lead you?" she asked the crowd. Not enough time, not enough time. "This fool who would rather see you bleeding than reigning supreme over the Reach?"
Borkul rose and yanked out the axe. No sound escaped his mouth, only an unpleasant squelch as the serrated blades left his flesh. He rushed at her again, but her words had already had their effect. Other blades came at him, slashes and blows raining down on him as the Forsworn, Joslyn's Forsworn, attempted to surround him, to make him vanish under their assault. She saw Mathane cutting at a leg, she saw Sabsa rending at a spine.
Bleeding from two dozen wounds, Borkul roared and pushed through towards Joslyn. She turned aside his weapon with her own, but could not stand against his momentum. She was thrust backwards through a press of bodies. Figures slammed at her, drawn weapons cut at her. There was a thump and she felt herself slumped against a pillar of stone. He will not use my own as a weapon against me. These are my people, this is my Reach.
Joslyn looked up to see Borkul thundering down on her. She slid to the side, her movements sluggish against her wounds, but succeeded in turning away his axe. The next blow came from above his head and was of such force that it shattered both their weapons on impact.
She saw Gerrick slam his mace against Borkul's lower leg. The Beast dribbled blood but punched Joslyn in the face. She ricocheted back against the stone again and was only barely aware of hitting the ground. She felt rather than saw his knee pin her torso. But she regained enough sight to see his hands reaching for her throat.
Once she felt that grip, Joslyn knew she had only seconds to act. Attempting to break his hold would be futile. She was fuzzily aware of figures pulling, hacking at Borkul, trying to shift him. She saw Gerrick raise his mace for a strike at Borkul's head. Nobody takes my killings away from me.
Joslyn lifted her left knee up, her throat beginning to constrict, and drew Muriena's knife from her boot. Then she drove half its length through Borkul's right eye. He let out an impossible roar and she held her grip. She drove it further, into his brain. The roar ceased and the giant orc collapsed, half on top of her.
His blood streaked across her face, Joslyn quickly levered the body off her before anyone could come to her aid. Her breathing ragged, pain still lancing through her back and head, she surveyed the crowd. Her crowd.
"Anyone feel like joining him?" she managed to say. There was silence and she hawked thick blood. Just breathe. She indicated the corpse. "Then toss this somewhere the wolves will chew on it. Tomorrow, we move out. We have a Dragonborn to kill."