Chapter 10: Storm under the Cloak

As he was—rather rudely—shoved ahead towards Ulfric Stormcloak just dismounting his palfrey, Castorius' sense of worry gained momentum. The leader of the rebellion did not look like he was having a good day, and it was starting to look like the alleged spy soon wouldn't be either.

The sun beamed down with blinding brightness, still high up but already falling towards the west. The air had turned crisp and dry, and despite a fresh gust of wind there was a profuse smell of sweat hovering about.

The Stormcloak camp wasn't much larger than Torygg's throne room had been: a collection of six tents made of hides scattered in the midst of evergreens, a smithy to the side, a fireplace around the middle with a cooking spit and a skinned skeever carcass skewered on it, next to it a boiling pot of meager looking stew. Perhaps all together a score of Stormcloaks were positioned here and there, looking more soldierly than Castorius might have expected based on his earlier observations. This Hans fellow being the one possible exception.

Ulfric barked some orders to a pair of soldiers, who saluted and scurried away in haste. For all intents and purposes, it appeared as if the Stormcloaks were already preparing for war.

Hans waddled to his disgruntled leader, muttered something in his ear while gesturing towards Castorius. Stormcloak's frown gained a couple of extra furrows as his eyes met with the prisoner's. He nodded, and waved a hand. Hans promptly retreated. Or as promptly as was possible for him.

Castorius swallowed. Ulfric Stormcloak was not the kind of man whose habitus called one to lie to his face. He gave you a sense that he would never himself be dishonest with you—and that he would likely beat you to death with your own severed arms if he caught you being dishonest with him.

An honest man, Castorius thought with disdain. He'd known a few of those. Lying bastards every single one of them.

Ulfric had proud features in his unassuming man-of-the-people sort of way. A strong, prominent nose under slanted gray eyes. The eyes had a slight natural droop to them, and this gave them a certain air of sadness. That impression was further amplified by the world-weary quality in their gaze, which Castorius took for practiced. After all, the man was just barely into his early thirties—how much could there really be to be wary of? Or perhaps the look owed its origin to whatever had left those deep scars in the man's red-bearded cheek.

The most remarkable feature of Ulfric's eyes, though, was the way they gave you the acute sense of a sharp mind working behind them. There was that discerning watchfulness in the man's stare, like he without exception noticed and took note of everything you might do your damnedest to hide from him. Castorius supposed that was an actual feature of the man, and would indeed be hard to fake—though he also suspected Ulfric had a way of over-emphasizing it for dramatic effect. Either way, that look was the most prominent thing in the man making him seem so dangerous. That, and his calm, which appeared to hide behind it a highly tempestuous nature you wanted to do your best not to provoke.

Perhaps that's why they called him Stormcloak in the first place—because the man you saw on the outside hid away the storm within.

Or perhaps that was just silly.

As Ulfric approached him, Castorius—both his head and his heart pounding now—tried to hastily line up the back-story in his head. The details felt utterly lost to him, and the more he tried to fish for them, the worse they got dispersed. The stern look on the rebel-leader's face served to dispel all logical though from the head, leaving but the instinct to survive.

But instinct alone was not enough. It simply told him to run or fight, and neither of those was an option. Why had he ever agreed to this? He shoved back the all too obvious answer.

Ulfric stopped right in front of him and, to Castorius' shock and surprise, smiled. And it was not the predatory sort of smile, either, but one of warm camaraderie. He even went as far as to lay a large hand on Castorius' shoulder, drawing from him an involuntary flinch.

Castorius studied the shorter man's relaxed features in a state of outright confusion.

"My friend, am I glad to see you!" Ulfric said.

"You . . . are?"

"Yes, of course! How went your mission with Torygg?"

"I . . . " looking about, Castorius' was not the only confounded frown. He caught a glimpse of Kristen, whose jaw hung open a little. That gave him the boost he needed. "It, um, went very well!" he said.

"I'll say!" Ulfric laughed. "Hear you avoided the famed Axe of Ahtar, you did!" He patted on Castorius' shoulder with a heavier hand than seemed necessary.

"I was not aware it was that famous," replied Castorius.

"Well, not yet," Ulfric said, wrapping his arm around Castorius' neck. "Not yet. But I've a feeling it will be." He only then noticed the ropes still around his new pal's wrists. "Someone get these off of him!" he snapped, startling Castorius. "I will not have my important ally treated like a common criminal."

My what sort of what, now?

A Stormcloak swiftly came to fulfill his commander's order. Castorius, for all of his stupefied bewilderment, took the chance to shoot a triumphant glance at Kristin standing at the sidelines. She frowned back.

Castorius thus released, Ulfric prompted his supposed new ally to walk with him, a hand on his shoulder. When they were more or less out of earshot of the main group, Ulfric, still smiling, said under his breath, "What did you tell them?"

Castorius looked at the man, confused. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing. Just that I'm not an Imperial spy."

"And?" Ulfric demanded.

What does he want to hear? "And, well, that I escaped their execution and came here to join your cause?"

Ulfric nodded his head, satisfied at what he'd heard. "Good, so you didn't muck-up too bad."

"Sir?" The military mode of speech came mostly as an instinct.

Ulfric stopped to regard Castorius. His expression was somewhat sterner now, though there still wasn't any visible trace of anger in it. Most importantly, the man did not seem intent on commencing an execution of his own. At least at this very instant. "Listen to me: I want you to stick to that story, and only that. Don't go improvising any more. Is that clear?"

Lost for words, Castorius nodded.

Ulfric continued walking. "Good."

Castorius walked after Ulfric—who more or less appeared to be going in circles—while curious, and admittedly somewhat displeased, pairs of eyes all around the camp followed them.

After a moment of silence, Castorius said, "I must confess I'm a little confused."

"Hmm," replied Stormcloak absentmindedly.

"I mean, do you not believe me when I say I'm here to join you?" It seemed a particularly stupid question to be asking directly.

Without breaking stride or making eye-contact, Ulfric replied, "Does it matter?"

"Sir?"

Ulfric came to a halt. He looked Castorius up and down, taking his number as if he were just another piece of equipment. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Um," Castorius hesitated. This was one of those moments to not appear too thick. Nor too clever. "No. . ."

Ulfric smiled as if to a child. "You, my friend, are an ass—" his head abruptly snapped to the side, like something caught the corner of his eye.

An ass?

Ulfric turned his head back. "An asset, Castorius."

Ah. "How, sir?"

Ulfric's frown returned. "Are you playing with me?" he asked. Before Castorius could get a reply out of his opened mouth, he went on, "A man of your position—with your knowledge of the imperial army?" He laughed. "Why, we'd kill for a chance to get inside your head!"

Castorius couldn't help to swallow. "Uh huh."

Ulfric's hand was back on Castorius' shoulder, and he ushered him to walk on. "There really is no time to go over the fine details right now. I'm not planning an open move against the illicit Imperial rule for the better part of a year at least. So we can take our time."

So he was planning to turn this into an actual war. Torygg would be pleased to find out. Or perhaps he'd be furious. What was his policy with messengers?

Maybe he already knew?

Ulfric and Castorius had walked back to where they had started their aimless rounds. Everyone was where they'd left them, mostly standing around, waiting to be told what to do. Kirsten, sitting down for some grub, was eyeing Castorius with a furrowed brow, while clearly pretending not to. When Castorius caught her eye and smiled, she spat into the fire, then looked away.

Castorius sighed.

"Soldier!" Ulfric snapped.

Castorius jumped. To his mild surprise, Ulfric's eyes were on him. Instinctively, he assumed attention.

Stormcloak nodded approvingly. "Pay attention! We may consist mostly of regular people, but we are still running an army here!"

Driven by yet another instinct, Castorius made the Imperial salutation, flinching instantly afterwards.

Ulfric merely smiled at him. "We still need to get you used to the new command, but I'm confident you will become an integral part of this regiment."

What could you say to that? "Thank you, sir!"

Ulfric's military rigidity melted away, and he thumped Castorius' shoulder like an old buddy might. "We're all glad to have you here."

The quickest of surveys around the camp revealed that was indeed not the case. Castorius considered pointing this out, thought better of it, said, "I'm glad to hear that, sir," even flashing an obsequious little smile.

"Gunder!" Ulfric bellowed, and Castorius started once more. He would really have to stop doing that.

From out of nowhere sprung a soldier so upright, and so tight of form it looked like he might pop a vein at any second. "Sir!" he barked.

"See to that, ah, Corporal Castorius here is sufficiently briefed about his first assignment.

Corporal. Promoted so quickly! Corporal Castorius—he had to admit liking the clang of it.

"And . . . " there was a flicker of uncertainty on the young soldier's otherwise supremely composed countenance, "what would that be, sir."

"Why," Ulfric grinned shrewdly, "Operation Crimson Tusk, of course."

What was that? Surely nothing good.

The overzealous young man's heels snapped together. "Yes sir!"

"And prepare the man his horse. I believe I caught a sight of it grazing behind the rocks there." Ulfric's eyes went to Castorius' attire, and his nose crunched up a nearly imperceptible degree. "And won't you find him some proper gear. He cannot be walking around in his spy outfit, now can he."

Ulfric gave Castorius a wink, but it was difficult to decipher the intention behind it. Castorius felt uncomfortably much like being played for a fool.

"Dismissed!" Ulfric announced, waving his hand.

Now it was Gunder's turn to be shoving at Castorius, this time towards the tent where the paraphernalia was kept. As he took a quick glance back, Castorius could see Ulfric looking after them. The Stormcloak leader assumed an encouragingly assuring expression the second he caught his eye.

But what had that been in his eyes just a second before? Suspicion? Connivance?

Was Castorius simply being paranoid?

"We are glad to have you by our side," the young man said, interrupting his musings.

Castorius raised a brow. "Really?"

"Oh yes!" the lad's nod was a bit too ready and his face somewhat too earnest for him to be simply toying with Castorius. It was admittedly a good feeling to finally have someone unconditionally and without reservations welcoming him to this potentially—and in action quite concretely—hostile environment.

"Thank you," Castorius said.

"Yes, indeed!" enthused Gunder "It's an undeniably good thing to have a trained Imperial soldier at the forefront once the actual fighting will start!"

Castorius felt the infant of a smile on his face slide off, plop to the ground, and diffuse into the mud. "Oh."

"I'm sure you have lots of tricks up your sleeve to help us defeat those Imperial bastards." Gunder's eyes positively gleamed.

"Yes, sure," Castorius muttered.

Why not.