Chapter 12: Beyond the Bale
The sky shrouded in a layer of dark cloud, Castorius felt the first drops of cold water on his face. The wind was also picking up, blowing in from the ocean, carrying that tell-tale signature of salt and fish that always reminded him of what resided between a woman's legs.
In its way the association brought him some comfort, but was unfortunately not enough to dispel the gathering shadows from his mind. Step by step he became more convinced this would not end well, and that strengthening odor might as well have been the scent of his own approaching doom.
He felt like an idiot to have gotten himself into this mess, and scarcely felt heartened by the fact that the man in his company was likely an idiot also.
Castorius gave a scornful glance at Roggie riding abreast him. The air of confidence the man was putting out, that arrogant little smirk on him—they reminded Castorius of someone he knew.
Oh gods! he thought. Is that how people see me?
Roggie's grin widened then, his eyes still fixed in the distance. "Well, well. Look at those sorry bastards!"
About a fifty strides ahead, a somewhat miserable looking bunch of people huddled together against the ever rising wind. Four men dressed in town guard sat on horseback, protecting at the middle of them a man in a heavy, long overcoat.
As they approached the company, Castorius could hear the man in the middle heaping curses and scolds on top of the surrounding men, who took the words with calm composure bespeaking chastisement. Castorius recognized the expression on their faces, was in fact very familiar with it. Likely these were some hardened pairs of ears; used to it all and skillful in tuning out the actual content of the words, mindful only of the moment when they would stop pouring out.
It generally took quite a while.
Around the coast, trees were few and far between, and with the mountains left behind the wind had a free rein. Castorius looked into the near distance, could hear the ocean roaring and the seagulls screaming, but could not get a good visual due to the thick wall of mist that seemed to have come from nowhere.
The people did not notice Castorius and Roggie approaching. Close up, the man in the middle appeared to be an older fellow. "And wipe that smirk off you face!" he was crowing at one of the guards.
"Yes sir!" the guard replied, tight-lipped.
"Hey!" Roggie called, waving a hand. The man's scowling face snapped towards them.
The sight of them approaching did not seem to improve the man's mood. If anything the furrows of his already corrugated brow deepened further. He came across as one of those men with a perpetual expression like they were chewing on something sour, whose permanently displeased eyes never failed to find out each and every fault in what ever they saw. The thin-lipped tight line of a mouth—surrounded by a profuse stubble up to his cheekbones, making him look as if he'd been down on his knees, eating the dirt off the ground—was undoubtedly equally eager to make known the exact rotten nature of the details his eyes picked up.
A turquoise and silver circlet adorned the man's brow but did little to improve the visuals. In fact, it only served to further underline the utter misery of the visage underneath it.
The man scratched at his shaved head, its scalp equally shadowed by stubble, as he disapprovingly studied the newcomers. He chewed at the insides of his mouth, lips twisted as if he was doing his darnedest to keep from bursting into tears.
"Skald, my friend," Roggie said. "Always nice to see your sunny disposition!"
"You," the man, Skald, sneered. "He sent you?"
Roggie grinned. "Who else?"
"Absolutely anyone else, I prayed. Should have known, of course."
"Yeah, well. I am well versed in this kind of thing."
Skald scoffed. "Yes, who better to deal with crooks than another crook."
Roggie's levity would not be dented. "You said it. Get along with you plenty good, don't I."
Another scoff. "And who's this?" Skald gestured at Castorius, but would not deign to look at him.
"Fresh blood. Another trooper for the cause."
The old man's eyes flicked to Castorius; just long enough to be thoroughly unimpressed. "And can you vouch for him?"
Roggie snorted. "I can't vouch for you. But I've a pretty solid feeling we are going to need this fellow if we're to make this deal."
Skald gave Castorius a longer look now, though evidently it pained him to do so. "You got a name?"
"Cas—"
"Numskull. Got it." The old grump turned his attention to his men. "Alright, you nitwits. Let's get this over with, I got better things to do still today." Castorius did not find that to be too likely, whatever it was that they were about to do now.
Numskull?
As they started toward the shore, Castorius and Roggie fell a few steps behind.
"I don't like him," Castorius muttered.
Roggie let out a dry laugh, more like a cough. "No surprises there," he said. "Nobody likes him. I doubt he likes him."
"Who is he?"
Roggie looked surprised. "You don't know Skald the Elder, the Jarl of The Pale?"
"I don't follow politics."
"Oh, you should," said Roggie, "'cause what ever you do, it will follow you."
"If you say so."
Roggie gave him a long, sober look. "I'm going to have to teach you a thing or two, if you're to survive what's coming."
Castorius looked back. "What's coming, then?"
Roggie shrugged. "I don't know. But it's something big, I can feel it. And I'm not talking about just the potential Dominion invasion. Something else."
"Uh huh."
"Oh, you can scoff and ridicule," Roggie said, though Castorius had zero interest in doing either, "but mark my words: things are about to take a different turn. It may happen sooner, it may happen later, but the world you and I know?" He waved into nowhere. "It's going bye-bye."
"Not sure if I should be fearful or excited," said Castorius, even if it was a factitious reply on his part.
No matter how he might have felt about the general order of the world, it was one he was firmly rooted in. Change, almost any change, did not strike him as a desirable prospect in the least.
Only then did it strike him as odd that a Jarl of one of the holds was taking part in this. Did it mean he was openly supporting Ulfric? Surely not, for if anything, that would be tantamount to treason.
But if one of the Jarls was having talks with the man, well, what would stop the others? Despite Roggie's convincing, it was seeming more and more like Ulfric wasn't just blustering, but planning on open rebellion.
Icy water had started to whip their faces, small and sharp drops blown horizontally by the wind, as they came to a stop at the waterfront. The Sea of Ghosts was looking exactly as its name suggested— an eerie white veil hovering above the water, allowing for very poor visibility. Approximately a hundred yards' distance off the shore, the outline of a ship, a hull and a sail, could be discerned. A splashing came from a closer proximity, and Castorius squinted at the foggy water to spy a smaller vessel headed towards them.
Roggie, with his confident as to be arrogant smirk, unmounted his horse. Castorius did the same, as did the men of Skald's guard. The old man himself stared into the sea with his hands on his hips, frowning, as if the water itself failed to meet his standards. He stole a quick glance at Roggie, and Castorius could read a hint of worry in his expression. What was he wary of?
I don't know, Castorius thought. But it's not making me feel any better, that's for sure. He took a look at his old comrade-in-arms, whose aspect gave no sign of unease. In fact, the way Roggie smiled into the mist, one might have supposed it was a dear old friend he was expecting to see.
There were voices coming from the boat, mixing with the splashing of the oars in the water, the squeak of the oarlocks. There was a harrowing, gruff one dealing sharp words, accompanied by two quieter, obsequious ones. Perhaps it was Skald's long lost twin brother coming; that would go a long way explaining the man's visible vexation.
Castorius could hear the growl of horkers from somewhere behind him. He'd seen a pack of them lying around the rocky shore, and would have welcomed the strange animals' fat, tusked presence over his present company.
The rowboat beached, keel scratching at gravel. A short, skinny man hopped nimbly to the shore, and pulled the vessel in the rest of the way—surprisingly easily for his meager build. A slurred, ill-tempered mutter in a language Castorius did not recognize came from a dark-clad figure at the back of the boat, responded to by the gentler voice of another man in front of him—speaking the same language, but in a way that rang somewhat more familiar.
The small man did not wait for the others, but surveyed the welcoming committee with evident amusement. He was dressed in just a loincloth and leather gauntlets, but didn't appear to suffer from the chilly weather. Despite his slight frame, he was well-muscled.
After taking a brief survey of the posse in front of him, the man's eyes locked on Roggie. "Greetings! I take it this is the delegation sent by Ulfric Stormcloak." The man's surprisingly elegant mode of speech, delivered in a measured baritone, had a feel of playful irony.
"Indeed it is," replied Roggie, mimicking the man. "Welcome to the Pale, good sir."
The man eyed Roggie for a few seconds, then laughed. "Always nice to see you, Roggvir." he said, sticking out his hand.
"Likewise, Joric," replied Roggie. They grabbed each other by the forearm, like some kind of secret handshake.
"Wait, you two know each other?" Skald cut in, sounding as undelighted by the revelation as one might have expected.
Joric eyed the old curmudgeon with the amusement that came across as his permanent disposition. "And who is this?"
"This," said Roggie, gesturing towards Skald. "is Jarl—"
"Cardamom!" An angry voice interrupted. Or at least that's how the word sounded to Castorius.
"Oh, terribly sorry," Joric said, and reached back to offer a hand to the man stumbling out of the boat. The hand was swatted aside, accompanied by a sharp word that was more than likely a curse.
Joric turned back towards the so-called delegation, smiling. "Allow me to introduce you: Captain Mala—"
"Malaney!" The man himself barked, this time in more or less plain common tongue, and stepped up, pushing Joric aside. He straightened himself, a fairly tall man, and gave everyone there a sweeping look, which Castorius couldn't have characterized as anything but the most arrogant, high handed glare he's seen anyone ever give anyone before. And that wasn't just saying something. It was saying a lot.
The man was an impressive sight in his way. Shorter than Castorius but still tall, broad shoulders and an imposing bearing now that he stood straight. Long and tangled black hair, thickly braided, hung about his shoulders. The delicate elvish features of the Breton were still visible underneath the thickly bearded and threadbare face that had doubtless seen its rounds of scuffles and long nights—and likely days—spent with the bottle. His eyes were of a very dark brown, like a pair of black pearls shining from deep within the sockets, curtained by vaguely slanted lids.
When those eyes met with Castorius'—no matter how briefly—he felt a strange sensation, like something was slightly off. An ambivalent and hard-to-grasp feeling about the Captain that rendered him somewhat . . . unnatural, for lack of a better word.
"Captain Malaney," the man finished introducing, inclined his head a touch. "And who may I have the honor of speaking with?" Similarly as his earlier drunken demeanor had given way to a much more composed form, his voice also had softened from the harsh growl to a softer one—though there was certainly still a sharp edge to it. His politeness seemed the impatient sort.
Before Roggie had a chance to say anything, Jarl Skald, visibly disheartened by all these people acting like they were better than him, stepped in front of the odd seafarer. "My name is Jarl Skald the Elder," he proclaimed. "The Jarl of the Pale." He even smiled—an unsightly apparition. "Welcome to the Pale, Captain."
The silly welcoming had obviously not been intended as anything but an attempted reminder of whose turf they were on.
Malaney gave the surrounding the briefest of glances. "Yes, very lovely." He in turned gave the elderly man a wide, toothy grin. If Skald's likeness of a smile had been appalling at best, the Captain's expression was as becoming as the open maw of a shark just about to devour you. And not least because half of his teeth were black. "Where I come from we call this wasteland," he said. Somehow it came out exactly like a threat would.
Even the hard-bitten Jarl looked taken aback. He appeared to have a hard time replying.
Luckily, it seemed the captain was not waiting for a reply. "So," he said, spreading his arms. "I assume we were not summoned here simply for the beautiful landscape, eh?"
"No, Captain," Roggie started. "You see—"
"We are here," Skald cut in. He seemed determined to not be swept aside or intimidated, all the while coming across as somewhat sidelined—and positively frightened, "because Ulfric Stormcloak needs ships."
Well, that there about confirms it. How could Roggie possibly claim that Ulfric was not planning on open warfare, if he was persuading the Jarls to join in his cause? Castorius gave Roggie his best attempt at an inquisitive glare, but the man replied with nothing but the stupid simper sitting tight on his face. He then looked at Skald, who was doing his best to keep up the haughty air that had clearly suffered from the presence of the imposing—and likely unpredictable—Captain. Skald did not strike him as a man too easily convinced. What incentive could Ulfric have waved in front of his puckered face?
Captain Malaney studied Skald with his black eyes narrowed. A little contemplative smile played at the corner of his cracked lips. "That so, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than anything.
The Jarl, unsure whether or not he'd just been asked a question, simply nodded.
"Ah!" the captain then exclaimed, causing everyone to jump. "A man need ships to fight a war, does he not?" He looked around triumphantly, as if looking for confirmation for his brilliant and novel insight.
"Well," Skald said cautiously, "let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?"
The Captain frowned. "No?" he asked, a shadow creeping into his voice. "You find fault in my reasoning?"
"Well, no," hastened the Jarl. "Of course not. But one needs ships regardless if one is actually planning a war or not." He was clearly searching for the most diplomatic order for his words. "You know, if one is to have a credible military force." His sentence ended in a somewhat questioning intonation. He did not appear to be much of a negotiator.
"And what's in it for you?" Malaney asked. "What are you, a 'Jarl', is it? What's that even mean?" He gestured at the bare landscape, rain flitting down and wind tearing at haphazard patches of long grass. "You govern this particular shit-pile?"
Skald answered by swallowing so loud no doubt everybody present could hear it. He was not doing too well with this.
"Gentlemen, if I may," Castorius heard his own voice say. Shut up!
Too late. He now had everybody's rapt attention, including the still frowning captain. Castorius swallowed, more quietly, he hoped, then Skald had. He took a step up.
In the corner of his eye he picked up Roggie's widening grin. I'll deal with you later.
"I believe what Jarl Skald is attempting to say," he started, improvising like he apparently now was in a habit of doing, "is that not before a man has his forces in order, can he begin to assess whether or not he should actually use them." At least he managed to keep his voice level this far. More than could be said for Skald.
"And who are you, then?" A couple of the furrows in the captain's frown were clearly inspired by genuine curiosity.
"Nobody," the Jarl started. "He's just—" The sharply lifted hand of Captain Malaney shut him up.
"My name," Castorius said, his unruly heart beating any which way it felt like, "Is Janus Castorius." He held a pause. "Janus to my friends." And though saying that had greatly pained him, he smiled his best snake-charmer's smile.
Malaney replied with a knowing little smirk. "A pleasure," he said. "Castorius."
Castorius fumbled for a way to progress.
Gladly he did not need to, for Captain Malaney waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, enough pissing around!" he barked. "I was just bothering this fellow a little." He gave the Jarl a playful little jab that was clearly painful. He then fixed his gaze on the old man who managed to regain his balance, but not any of the little dignity he'd had. "I know precisely what you want."
"You do?" asked Skald, surprised.
"Of course! What, you fancy yourself special?"
"Well—"
The Captain did not listen. "No, you're not special. You want what every other man under these unforgiving heavens wants. I trust I don't need to spell it out for ya?"
The Jarl made one last attempt to gather his composure. "I want justice?"
The Captain's grin widened to reveal those blackened teeth again. "Oh?"
"Yes," Skald replied, and before he could be interrupted again, pressed on with the last wind of his self-assuredness. "The Imperial rule has run its course. And while I admit some obvious advantages have come from their reign, it has simply started to take more than it gives."
"For example?"
The Jarl cleared his throat. "I'm sure the matters of our province are of little interest to men such as yourself," He paused, as if to see if his words had caused the captain any offense. The had not appeared to. "But there are some things that are hard to overlook—matters too important for the people."
"You're testing my patience. Get to the point."
"The worship of Talos," said Skald. He was sounding less intimidated now, and even something like inspired. "The Empire would not have had to ban it; they went too far accepting that particular clause in the White-Gold Concordat. They should have fought the Aldmeri Dominion in that one. That they didn't says it more plainly then anything: they will always put the peace with the Dominion over the interest of their own people."
It was a pet-peeve of the Aldmeri Dominion, ever playing the most pure-of-faith people in existence, that men believed the Emperor Tiber Septim to have become a god. Another thing to rub them the wrong way was that humans had dared to raise one of their own into their precious pantheon. The Dominion had proclaimed it blasphemy, the idea that a mere mortal should be ascended to such a divine position.
Obviously the fact that it was Septim himself who had originally snatched the power over Tamriel from underneath the High Elves' upturned noses, had its part to play in the supposed religious outrage.
In any case, it remained one of the most controversial parts of the peace-treaty that the worship of Talos had been deemed a crime all across Tamriel. Especially here in the north, where many were deeply embittered about it—many still continuing to worship him in secret. By chance, that had given the haughty High Elves a good excuse to impose their power on the regular folk, arresting them based on flimsy accusations, and taking them into custody—most never to be seen again.
One ruled not best by legitimacy and popular opinion. One ruled best by fear.
"Makes sense to me," Captain Malaney said, as to offer confirmation to Castorius' thoughts, "those creepy, wax-skinned, yellow-eyed gangly freaks are not to be trifled with."
Skald almost looked slighted. "Well, it has certainly become evident the Empire is not able to handle them."
"So, Ulfric's going to throw the Empire out of Skyrim?"
The Captain's grin made it obvious he did not see that a viable option.
"I did not say that," replied Skald. "But one will find himself in a much better position to negotiate his point of view when one has the sufficient steel and iron to back up his word."
"Indeed." Malaney scratched his dirty hair. "Still don't answer my question, though."
"I beg your pardon?"
"What's in it for you?"
"I explained to you—"
"No." The captain gave his head a sharp shake. "That ain't it."
Skald stared at Malaney, nonplussed.
"What you want is a chance to improve on your own situation," Malaney said patiently.
"Perhaps . . . " It was increasingly starting to sound like a negotiation.
"What you want is to get out of The Bale."
"The Pale," Skald corrected.
"What ever."
Skald did not appear to entirely to agree. "Well, I'm—"
"Do not argue with me," Malaney pressed on. "You know I'm right, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's perfectly natural. I mean, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but we are all men who push against the boundaries given to us."
He waited for a while for someone to contradict him. Nobody did, so he went on. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with trying to better oneself. Nothing wrong with trying to reach—" He swept his hand over the view of the mountains in the distance. "—beyond!"
The last word was a dramatic half-whisper.
Something in the Jarl's eyes lit up at that, though he was clearly struggling to keep up his unimpressed exterior.
Captain Malaney clearly picked that up too, for his normally self-pleased grin took on even more swag.
At that moment, it finally came to Castorius as well. How had he not seen it? This man, Skald, was not so different from himself, after all. He simply sought to improve on his own position, to increase the advantages at his disposal.
Castorius looked at the man a little differently now. Less with contempt, and more with, if not solidarity exactly, then at least some strain of compassion. Or perhaps pity was the word. Likely his ambitions were, if not precisely the same, then at least similar to Castorius'. He clearly did not have the prestige he felt he deserved, and the years for him were only getting shorter.
Furthermore, Castorius could appreciate the risk the man was taking. If any news of his involvement with Ulfric's plot leaked to Torygg, he would suffer the consequences. Perhaps that was why he was so distrustful. Because, at that point, even if he'd managed to keep his life, what little position he could be said to retain in life would be permanently stripped off him.
He'd have nothing left but his own aging body.
A shudder ran through Castorius. What would be the point of living for a man who could not even lure young women into his bed? How would he himself take it? Of course, he would still have the pleasures of the palate, but thinking along those lines was akin to consoling a man with a strong disposition toward running, and who subsequently had come to lose one of his legs, by reminding him of the fact that the other one was still perfectly functional.
Well, close enough, anyway.
Of course, Castorius did not know whether the Jarl's ambitions went along the same lines as his own, but he'd known enough people of power to make an educated guess.
Captain Malaney caught both Skald and Castorius in the embrace of his long arms. His smell left a lot to be desired "The limits of your world are only as narrow as the limits of your mind," he told them.
The eyes of the two men met, and it became clear Skald's opinion of Castorius had not improved any. His contemptuous scowl was an old-man version of sticking out his tongue. Some folks you just could not please.
"So," said Roggie, smiling at the awkward sight of the two men in the erratic sea-captain's enfold. "We're all friends here, right?"
"Do you have my help, you mean to ask, " replied the Captain.
Roggie, his hands up as if surrendering, said, "I would never sell short a man of your caliber. You've yet to name your demands."
"My demands, huh?" Malaney gave a little chuckle. He let go of the two men, laid a hand on Roggie's shoulder with the wolfish grin still intact. "I am a man of simple needs, myself."
Roggie nodded. "Of course." Even he appeared a touch nervous now.
"So, do we have a deal?" asked Skald. It was as if he hadn't been listening at all.
The Captain seemed to take no offense. He looked at the old man. "The Blood Horkers will come to Ulfric's aid."
It was hard going for Castorius to keep his jaw from dropping. But of course! The Blood Horkers! Pirates—who else could you hope to buy for a purpose like this.
But . . . pirates? Had Ulfric truly lost his mind? Castorius understood if the man was desperate, but were ships really that important?
"However," Malaney added. "it is as golden-boy here declares. Negotiations are not quite done."
"Well, but—" Skald tried.
"No, no!" Malaney stopped the Jarl with an uplifted hand. "It's mostly a formality at this point. You, my friend, can go on back to your shi—, er, estate, and we will finish this up. "
"I'll have none of it—"
"Do you really think," Malaney said calmly. "that you want to get entangled in the details? A public official as you are?"
Skald though about it for a second. "These gentlemen have my full trust."
"Good. Smart man."
"I have your word then? Ulfric will have his fleet?"
Malaney lifted his hand anew. "My word of honor."
Surely that's worth all the gold in Tamriel, thought Castorius.
Skald nodded. "Good enough for me." Probably it was, too. He then gave Roggie behind the Captain a significant look. "The Commodore will likely not be pleased."
"That will be taken care of," Roggie said, nonchalant.
Castorius though it best to overlook that one for the time being.
"Alright, then." Skald patted his thighs. Let his eyes wander around the people again, in as haughty a manner as he could muster. There was that scowl again, as he got to Castorius. What does he have against me?
The Jarl then snapped at his men, who immediately sprung onto their horses. They surrounded their leader, and the posse started walking off.
Once the Jarl was out of earshot, Malaney puffed up his cheeks. "Finally! I was this close to putting my sword through the buffoon."
The span between the index finger and the thumb of his uplifted hand was not a large one.
"Unfortunately, though," said Roggie, "he's a necessary evil."
Malaney cocked a brow. "How is he necessary?"
"Like it or not, even in the future the world will need public officials."
Malaney hawked up phlegm, and spat on the ground between them.
Roggie gave a dry laugh. "My thoughts exactly."
"What's this about a 'commodore'?" asked Joric from behind them.
"We'll get to that later," Roggie replied.
"That being said," said the Captain, rubbing his hands together for the cold, "shall we get a bit more comfortable for the remainder of these . . 'negotiations'?" He gestured towards the ship sitting in the mist. "Why don't we board the Brinehammer, and we'll talk more over some food and mead, huh?"
That did not strike Castorius as a particularly appealing prospect. Unfortunately, though, his mind was leaving him hanging once more, and he could not for the life of him come up with a sufficient declination.
To add insult to injury, Roggie smiled like the Emperor himself had just invited him for a banquet, and perhaps thrown in an offer of a personal back rub. "Sounds good!" he beamed. "Doesn't it, Castor?"
Damned bastard knew exactly how Castorius felt about it, as was plain to see by his grin.
"Oh, sure," Castorius replied. "Sounds excellent." He eyed the dinky rowboat with distaste. Water was one of those elements he did not particularly care for.
"It's settled then!" said Malaney, grinning like he was about to have them for dinner rather than over for one. That was just about how it felt to Castorius, too, as they stepped into the boat. They barely fit in it, all of them.
I'm going to get you for this, Roggie, he thought as they left the shore. This I swear.