18

The village of Thirsk lay in a narrow valley across the ridge from a frozen lake a few miles from the eastern shore of Solstheim. It was nestled in a clearing surrounded by dense fir trees, and I was certain that without Reinhardt to act as my guide, I would never have found the place. There were only about two dozen buildings, most of them one- or two-room family houses. From our vantage point up on a hill to the south of the village, I could see what appeared to be a blacksmith shop and one large building that had to be the village mead hall. Thin wisps of white smoke drifted into the gray sky from two large chimneys.

"Welcome to Thirsk," Reinhardt said, not sounding excited about it.

"I was expecting a larger community," I said.

"You asked me to take you to the nearest village," Reinhardt explained. "This is it. The other villages on the north side of the island are much larger."

"Okay, let's go on then."

I hefted my backpack up, which had begun to slip, making my shoulders ache. I was tired and hungry from the long trek north, but I was in good spirits. However, I was glad to finally be here, and looked forward to taking a seat at a warm fire and maybe getting some hot food. I began to walk down the snowy slope toward the village, but Reinhardt did not follow me. Instead, he remained at the top of the ridge, looking uncertainly down at the village.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"I think maybe you should go down there by yourself."

"What are you talking about?"

Reinhardt sighed and stamped his feet into the snow a few times. "Remember when we talked about trust a little while ago? Well, as it turns out, the people of Thirsk don't trust me either. It would be best if I stayed up here and waited for you."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"I didn't think it mattered. You wanted me to take you here, so here we are. I never said I could enter the village with you."

I turned away from Reinhardt and shook my head, chuckling to myself in disappointment at the situation. "Why don't they trust you? Or do I want to know?"

"They think I'm an Imperial spy," Reinhardt said after a pause. "They think I'm secretly working for the Legion because I go to the fort so often."

"That's funny, since most of the guards at the fort think you're a spy for the Nords. What's it like to be distrusted by everyone?"

"Kind of frustrating, actually."

I looked back down to the village and wondered if the people in Thirsk knew something that I didn't. It bothered me that Reinhardt had not told me ahead of time, but he was right that it really didn't matter, since I wanted to talk to these people anyway. Maybe while I was there, they could give me some more information about him.

"You sure you want to stay here?" I asked.

He nodded, although he clearly wasn't happy with the arrangement. "It's probably better if I do. If I go with you, they won't believe anything you tell them."

"Well, is there anything I should know before I talk to them? Are they friendly toward the Legion at all? Will they listen to what I have to say?"

"Their clan chief is a man named Skjoldr Wolf-Runner, and he's a hard one to deal with, but he's not a fool. If he thinks that Thirsk might actually be in danger, then he'll probably agree to help us. I think he's a good man, but he's very stubborn. If you can talk to his wife Svenja, you might have more success."

"All right, I'll keep that in mind."

I headed down the hill, walking through snow that went up to my shins and reached my knees in some places. It was very cold outside, but I was fairly warm from the long walk. I used to walk miles through snow like this, and became accustomed to it quickly. As I reached the edge of the village, I pulled down my hood so that any of the villagers could get a better look at me if they wanted to. I didn't want to seem like I was trying to hide anything, and I made sure to keep my hands in my jacket pockets or holding onto the straps of my backpack, keeping them far from the handle of my blade.

This was the first real Nord community I had entered since my release from prison, and I had conflicted emotions about it. I felt at home, but at the same time I felt like an outsider. Solstheim, despite its similarities, was not Skyrim, and the Nords here were not the same as the people I grew up with. There were distinct differences between the different Nord territories, although a foreigner would not have noticed them. The Nords from Solstheim were more insular, more traditional, and more resistant to change than the Nords of the mainland.

Grilda, the Nord woman who worked at the fort and was killed in the attack, had told me some of this. But each separate village reacted differently to outsiders. It usually depended heavily on the disposition of the clan chief.

I passed by a pair of small houses and continued into the central area of the village. Most of the snow here had been stamped down by people walking around, and the snow mixed with frozen bits of mud. Another building lay in between two tall trees. Two deer were hanging from a line between the trees, their stomachs cut open and the innards removed. The snow underneath them was smeared red with blood, and red footprints went back and forth from the building's main door, which was wide open.

A man wielding a large cleaver appeared from the front door, wearing a brownish apron that was also smeared with blood. He didn't notice me at first and flinched suddenly, startled at my unexpected appearance.

"Oh, you gave me a start," he said, peering at me with cold gray eyes. He had long blonde hair streaked with gray, and a full beard.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. My name is Marya Cold-Spring," I lied, having thought up a new alias earlier. "I'm not from here, but I need to speak to your clan chief. I have important information for him."

"Come from the fort then, have you?"

"I was at the Legion fort recently, yes. But I'm not an Imperial."

"I can see that," the man said, thinking it over. He brushed frost from his beard with his free hand, and then pointed toward the mead hall with his cleaver.

"Our chief is Skjoldr Wolf-Runner. You can find him in the mead hall there. You should be able to talk to him, I don't think he's busy right now."

"Thank you very much," I said politely.

"You're welcome. We don't get folks from the fort much around here. We leave them alone and they leave us alone, you might say," the man said as he walked toward the two deer. He began to chop away as I walked off toward the mead hall.

I saw two young men chopping wood, who stopped their work to watch me as I went to the front doors of the mead hall. As I approached, I could hear people talking and laughing inside, and I could smell cooking food, which made my stomach rumble.

The mead hall was always the largest building in any Nord community, and usually contained a large town hall and gathering area, with seats and tables for most of the villagers, as well as a large kitchen to serve their meals. Many Nords spent the majority of their free time in the mead hall, where they could tell stories, play music, and discuss current events, as well as drink mead and socialize. The mead hall was also typically the home of the clan chief and the location of his traditional village throne.

The mead hall in Thirsk was relatively small, but it was a small village. However, even a small mead hall like this one was still two stories high, the front half containing the town hall, and the rear half housing the large kitchen on the main floor, and single rooms up on the second floor for villagers to stay in if they didn't have their own house, which many did not. This one also probably had a basement, where their armory was held, and perhaps prison cells, although that was more rare. Nords typically did not imprison their criminals; they either banished them or executed them outright.

I pushed open the main door and a wave of hot, smoky air rushed past me, making me shiver. Gratefully, I stepped inside the warmth of the mead hall, letting it soak into me, draining away the lingering cold. Smoke from a couple of small cooking fires drifted up to the holes in the ceiling where the chimneys were, giving the air a hazy look.

There were people everywhere, sitting around and talking, or wandering around with cups in their hands. Men and women, adults and children. Most of them dressed in simple leather tunics and pants, although some of the men wore fur, and I spied chain mail on a few of them, probably the village warriors or the chief's guards.

A few of them noticed me in the doorway, but to my relief, most of them did not seem to mind. I saw a woman sitting in a man's lap at the closest table, but they only looked at me for a few moments before returning to their previous activity. Far across the room, I could see the chief's throne and the man seated there.

"Who are you?" a young man said, coming toward me. He wore a fur cloak, and the handle of a longsword stuck out over his shoulder.

"I would like to speak with your chief," I said. "I have important information for him."

"What village are you from?"

"I'm not from Solstheim. I've actually come from the Legion fort."

"Ah," the man said with a sideways glance at me. "Come on then, might as well get this over with."

He led me through the hall, and people moved out of the way for us as we approached the chief, who lounged comfortably in his throne, talking lazily with two women standing nearby. A few more guards stood at attention behind him, hands on the hilts of their swords.

Skjoldr Wolf-Runner was in middle age, but seemed healthy and fit, with wide shoulders and strong hands. I had seen many clan chiefs with bulging bellies from years of gluttony and laziness, but Wolf-Runner was clearly not such a leader. He wore a thick fur vest, leather breeches, and large fur boots as well as fur bracers, his arms otherwise bare to show off his muscled biceps. A long sword was propped up beside his throne, within easy reach.

He turned to glance at me. He had a scraggly beard with streaks of gray, and his long blonde hair was tied into several knotted braids. He had a prominent brow and a flat nose, with penetrating blue eyes. It was easy to see why the village chose him as their clan chief, he was a very intimidating man.

"Chief Wolf-Runner," I greeted him, bowing a little. "My name is Marya Cold-Spring and I have some information for you."

Skjoldr glanced steadily at the man who had brought me over, and then gave him a short gesture, and then man promptly departed. The two women who had been talking to the Chief also made themselves scarce. The guards, however, remained.

"And I welcome you to the warmth of my home" he asked gruffly, giving me a common Nord greeting, although he didn't sound sincere about it. "The name Cold-Spring is not known in this area. You are an outsider?"

"I grew up in Skyrim," I said honestly. "But I have traveled across many lands in my time. I arrived on Solstheim not long ago. I've been staying at the Legion fort."

Skjoldr studied me carefully with his intense blue eyes for several moments, as if trying to detect a lie. "The Legion is no friend to us," he said. "But we tolerate their presence in our lands. Why have they sent you here?"

"They haven't, not exactly."

"Explain yourself."

I looked at the impassive faces of his guards and said carefully, "The Legion fort was attacked yesterday. A large group of men wearing wolf skins attacked it and killed many of the soldiers stationed there. They left only a few survivors."

"Truly?" Skjoldr said in surprise. He leaned back in his throne, a genuinely stunned expression on his face, and then he broke out in a smile and chuckled to himself. "Perhaps the Legion is not so strong as it believes, if a gang of untrained thugs can do so much damage. It seems they can't even defend themselves against wild dogs."

Skjoldr laughed and his men laughed with him. I didn't blame them for that, since once upon a time, I would have laughed as well. So I kept my expression neutral, lest Skjoldr think that I disapproved of his amusement.

He leaned forward, a rough smile on his face. "I thank you for bringing me this news, Marya Cold-Spring. It has brightened my day."

"I didn't only come here to tell you that," I said. "You should know that the Legion suspects that the men who attacked the fort were Nords. Right now, they are sending for more men from Morrowind. When those men arrive, they will seek to get revenge."

"Let them get their revenge. Why should that concern us? We did not attack them. We have signed a treaty with their commander."

"Their commander is dead," I said, feeling a lump in my throat. "And any agreements you had died with him. The Legion thinks the Nords are responsible, and they will seek revenge from anyone they can. This village is the closest village to the fort, so your people will be the first ones in danger should the Legion come north looking for their vengeance."

Skjoldr's face darkened. "Are you saying that the Legion will break their treaty and attack the Nords of Solstheim?"

"I am alerting you to the possibility," I said. "Unless you can give them assurances that you were not involved, I fear they may do such a thing. I came here to warn you, and to ask for your help."

"Help?" Skjoldr scoffed, slouching back in his throne. "Why should we help the Legion, if they plan to attack us?"

"If you could tell me where to find the ones who are responsible for the attack, then this danger may be averted. We need to know where to find the Nords who dress in wolf skins. I've heard that it may be a cult of werewolf worshipers."

"They are not Nords," Skjoldr spat. "And they are no cult, they are just common criminals."

"Do you know where can I find them?"

"No," Skjoldr said bitterly. "Somewhere on the west side of the island, or up in the mountains."

"Okay," I said. "I will do my best to convince them that the Nords here are not responsible for the attack. But they might not listen to me, since I am also a Nord."

"If they will not listen to an outsider like you," Skjoldr said, "then they will not listen to me either. So why bother to protest our innocence, if we will only be ignored?"

Skjoldr reached out and took hold of his longsword. Leaning back in the throne, he set the blade on the armrests so that it sat horizontally in front of him, holding the hilt of the sword in his strong fist.

"If the Legion dares to attack Thirsk, or any other village, then they will invite total war from all the Nords on Solstheim. If they would risk such a thing, then let them. We will fight them and we will defeat them. We have tolerated their presence on our lands long enough."

"I wish to prevent war," I said, feeling desperation creep up on me. "A war with the Legion will solve nothing. If you could help us discover the identity of the criminals who attacked the fort, then there would be no need for war."

Skjoldr looked down at me with a forceful stare. I didn't see anger in his face, or hatred, although I'm sure it was there, lurking underneath the surface. There was only pride in his cold stare. Pride and determination, and the stubbornness of a man who would rather fight his enemy to the death than ever try to help them.

"If there is to be war," Skjoldr said darkly, his voice as cold as ice, "we are not the ones who will start it."

And that was the end of the conversation. I knew if I tried to continue trying to persuade him, it would only make him angry at me. So I took a breath and bowed once more.

"Thank you for your time, Chief."

I turned and walked away, feeling dejected and disappointed. At the very least, I had succeeded in informing him of the danger, and he had supported my suspicions that the werewolf cult was not made up of Nords but actually was a group of criminals. So the meeting was not entire waste.

But I had truly hoped he would be willing to help me, by giving me more information or at least pointing me in the direction of someone who could. Instead, as I had feared, he had taken my warning as an implied threat. Now, instead of trying to help or attempting to defuse the situation, he would prepare for the worst and allow his concealed hatred for the Legion sway his every decision.

I knew how he felt, and I had seen many men make those same decisions. And the worst thing was that, at the heart of the matter, Skjoldr was absolutely right. After all, if the Legion attacked the Nords without evidence that they were actually responsible, then they were the aggressor, and the Nords had every right to defend themselves.

But I also knew how that kind of thinking could warp logic. Right now, Skjoldr was thinking that the Legion was at fault and the Nords were perfectly justified in their actions. But such thoughts could easily be twisted. Soon, Skjoldr might feel that the only proper course of action was to attack the Legion now, as a preemptive strike, before the Legion had time to build up their forces. The attack would be justified in his own mind, since he believed the Legion intended to attack him anyway, then his actions were still justified.

I had seen it happen before. The Nords of Solstheim might very well attack the Legion first while believing that they were only defending themselves. And if they attacked first, then any chance of the Legion doing the right thing would evaporate. And without some kind of way to convince the Legion that the Nords were not to blame, then the Legion would probably go ahead and attack the Nords anyway. In either case, Solstheim would be embroiled in a war, and the Nords would end up on the losing side. I almost felt as if my life was repeating itself.

I trudged out of the mead hall, ignoring the curious looks of the people around me, and pushed the door open. A wall of cold air greeted me as I walked out into the opening, my arms hanging at my sides, and my head hanging down in defeat.

Well, I had tried. Maybe we would get lucky and discover the hiding place of the fake cult in time. Skjoldr suggested they were on the west side of the island or in the mountains. That was a huge area to cover, but it was the only hint we had so far. Of course, someone in another village might have more information as well.

I walked along the side of the mead hall and headed back to where Reinhardt was waiting for me.