5: Showdown at the Blue Palace

Thorald crossed the White River and Windhelm loomed before him like a surly old bear. The city loomed, there was no other word for it. Clouds hung over the river valley as they usually did. Snowiest city in Skyrim, the carriage driver said. Thorald had to shake off a feeling of insignificance as he left the Stone Quarter and walked up the long avenue, Valunstrad, toward the Palace of the Kings. How many times had Ysgramor walked this very street? How many of the original Five Hundred Companions? He wondered how it would feel to live in a city where history pressed down on one so.

He presented his letter to the palace steward, Jorleif. As a Companion, Thorald had done several jobs in Windhelm and Jorleif remembered him well. He was immediately taken to General Galmar Stone-Fist. The general looked him over and brought him to Jarl Ulfric himself. And so, with few formalities, he found himself a Stormcloak. Jorleif personally took him to the barracks.

"It ain't much," he told Thorald. "Just a bed and a chest for your gear when you're in the city." He grinned. "Fighter like you, chances are good you won't be sleeping here much."

"Fine by me," Thorald said. He was ready for action.

Action came sooner than he expected. That very afternoon, Galmar and Jorleif sought him out.

"Can you act?" the general asked.

"Can I act?"

"Jorleif here says you can mimic just about anyone. Can you speak in the jarl's voice?"

Thorald's eyebrows shot up. The steward gave him an encouraging hand wave. Thorald expanded his chest so he could drop to the jarl's range.

"Slow down, old friend, and explain yourself," he said in Ulfric's low rolling tone. "Can't you see this recruit is a bit lack-witted and confused?" Jorleif snickered and even the general cracked a smile.

"That's not bad," Galmar said.

"Not bad? It's perfect," Jorleif said. "Close your eyes and you'd think the jarl stood before us."

"Let me see your gear," Galmar said. Thorald opened his chest, totally mystified. Thank Talos he had taken the time to put his things away neatly, although he certainly hadn't expected an inspection from the general of the Stormcloaks. On his first day, no less. "A sword man, eh?" Galmar said. "Can you use an axe?"

"Aye," Thorald said.

"For more than splitting firewood?"

Thorald decided not to take offense. "Aye."

The general continued to poke around in his chest. He picked up a breastplate. "So this is that wolf armor I've heard about." Thorald's heavy armor was in the chest. He was wearing the light armor he had travelled in. "Can you ride a horse?" the general asked.

"I can," Thorald said. "I don't own one though." The Companions kept a small string of horses at the Whiterun Stable but he wasn't here on Companion business, of course.

"That don't matter." Galmar turned to Jorleif. "Think he'll do?"

"Yep."

"So do I. Listen up, Gray-Mane. Meet us at the docks at first light. Hope you don't get seasick. Wear that armor you've got on, not the wolf armor and not your uniform. Leave them here. And leave that sword, too. See the quartermaster today and get a war axe."

"But—"

Galmar held up his hand. "A friendly reminder, boy. You're no Companion here. You're a soldier. I've given you what we soldiers like to call an order."

"Yes, sir."

"One more thing. I ever catch you copying my voice, you're going to be talking out of the wrong side of your face."

"Understood, sir."

Galmar and Jorleif swept out of the barracks and Thorald shook his head. His first day in Windhelm. He'd sworn an oath and received a mission. Maybe soon he'd find out what it was. Or at least where it was.

The merchant ship took them to Solitude. Thorald was more impressed with the capitol city than he wished to admit. He knew Solitude was the center of Imperial corruption in Skyrim but he hadn't known it would be so big, so busy, or so clean and efficient. Corruption ought to be dirtier. Solitude made Whiterun seem small and rustic. Solitude made Windhelm seem dingy and battered. History oozed from Windhelm's pores, an austere history that looked down its nose. You're no Ysgramor, those ancient walls seemed to sneer. But Solitude—bustling cosmopolitan Solitude—was too busy to sneer. Here you saw all the races of man as well as high elves, dark elves, wood elves and even Argonians right out in the street. No one seemed to mind or even notice.

And the streets teemed, absolutely teemed with Imperial soldiers.

As ordered, Thorald wasn't in uniform, but he still felt as if he had Stormcloak branded on his forehead. In his pack was a rolled up tabard, the one Jarl Ulfric occasionally wore over his field armor. They'd come in quietly the night before. His first sight of the huge natural bridge where Solitude perched like a raucous sea bird had amazed him. And the bustling docks had opened his eyes.

"This port is where Imperial gold flows into Skyrim," the jarl had said. They entered the city without fanfare. Jarl Ulfric, Galmar Stone-Fist, Thorald and a few trusted men booked rooms at the inn but they didn't relax after the rough sail across the Sea of Ghosts. Imperial stronghold it might be but there were plenty of Stormcloak sympathizers in Solitude and many of them had information for Ulfric. Thorald's particular job had been to interview a couple of the maids who worked in the Thalmor Embassy. The embassy wasn't actually located in Solitude but in the hills nearby. The maids had arranged to come into Solitude and meet Thorald in the Winking Skeever's common room. Under the cover of flirting, they slipped him tallies of the guards and their shift schedule, as well as detailed lists of embassy personnel (from the First Ambassador Elenwen on down). Almost a third of the Nord staff at the embassy—the maids, grooms and other servants—were actually Stormcloak spies. Arranging that had taken months, Galmar told him.

"And now we move," the general said the next day. Thorald still didn't know what the plan was but the anticipation rolling off Galmar told him it was something big. "You know what you're to do?"

"Wait for your signal in the alley behind the inn," Thorald said. "Galmar, who are these men I'll be with?"

"They're true Nords. That's all you need to know. They'll be wearing hoods, as will you. We've got an urchin lurking at the Blue Palace who will run and tell you when it's time."

"Then I put on the tabard and leave conspicuously."

"Conspicuously. That's a good one. Yeah, make sure that tabard's seen but keep your hood up. You've got the height but that beard of yours will never pass for Ulfric's." Thorald gave his beard a self-conscious tug. "Ulfric made a point of speaking to the guards when we arrived yesterday so likely at least one will recognize his voice," Galmar continued. "If they do, that's icing on the sweet roll. At any rate, they'll know the tabard. When you go through that gate, you're going to be in a hurry. I've got a reliable man with the horses. Ralof. Don't know that you've met him. He rode up from one of our camps and has been here a few days, waiting for us. You all ride off to Dragon Bridge like the Legion is after you." He chuckled. "They will be, soon enough."

"Why? What's going to happen?"

"If all goes well, you'll find out. But I'll tell you this. Those who've tried to take the name of Talos from us, those who've shut their ears to our cause, they're going to be listening from now on." Galmar laughed like a boy with a prank all planned out. "They'll listen, all right."

"Once I get past the bridge, we disappear."

"Aye. The local men will slip back to Solitude. You and Ralof head east. Take the back roads. He knows the way. Avoid Morthal. I don't trust that witch sitting in the jarl's seat." Galmar eyed him. "You understand your orders?"

"Leave a conspicuous trail south, then disappear. Meet you back in Windhelm."

"Aye. We've got another way out of the city and a ship waiting snug in one of those pirate landings. If the winds are with us, Ulfric and I will be back in Windhelm long before you."

Thorald and the three local men lurked quietly behind the tavern. They probed him for information but he knew no more than they did. The men passed a bottle of mead around, pretending to be drunk. This goes on much longer, Thorald thought, they won't be pretending. He had a bottle but was too keyed up to drink. All I need is a nervous bladder from a bellyful of mead, he thought. Mucking up his first assignment wouldn't earn him a second one.

There was a loud roar in the distance. For a moment he thought it was thunder but the sky was clear.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Came from the palace," one of the men said.

"That was Ulfric," an older man said. "That was a Shout. Just like Markarth."

"Ulfric can Shout?" the first man asked.

"Aye. He can Shout, just like the heroes from the old tales."

"That was probably our signal," Thorald said. He slipped on the tabard and pulled his cloak over it. A moment later, a girl raced into the alley, her eyes stretched big with excitement.

"Da!"

"Is it time, lass?" one of the men asked. "What happened?"

"Jarl Ulfric went into the Blue Palace, right by where I was hiding. The king looked real surprised to see him. He said, 'Hail, Ulfric, well met. What brings you here?' People were standing around, dressed all fancy. The king was all fancy too, with a gold crown on his head. Jarl Ulfric said something about Talos and then he said—" She paused to take a breath. "He said 'I challenge you for the leadership of Skyrim'."

The men exchanged glances. Ysmir's beard, Thorald thought. When last had a High King been challenged?

"And the king said 'what?'. The king stood up. He looked real upset. Someone said 'you can't do that' and everyone started hollering all at once. Then the jarl stepped forward and a really loud yell came out of his mouth. It was so loud, all the fancy people fell down. The king flew across the room and hit the wall. His crown fell off and rolled away. The jarl pulled out his axe. He said something about Skyrim and freedom. Then he said 'stand and face me'. And that's when I ran away!"

"You've done well, child. Run off home, right now and stay there. Don't say anything about this to anyone. Not even your ma! Now go."

Thorald, mind reeling, made sure his hood was back in place.

"Ulfric challenged the High King?" a man whispered. "Did he win?"

"Of course he won," another replied. "Ever see Torygg? I have. Ulfric could best him with his eyes closed."

"Rally to me, men," Thorald said in Ulfric's voice. "We ride."

The staged escape went well enough. The locals had arranged to have the city gate opened, so there was no maddening delay to search for a gate guard. Ralof was at the stable, as planned, and the horses were saddled and ready. Thorald made sure to speak a few words in the stable man's hearing and flashed his tabard. And then they rode. At Dragon Bridge, Thorald was seen by a few bored guards. They had outpaced any pursuit. Had Ulfric made it safely out of the palace?

South of the ancient bridge, they split up. Thorald weighted the tabard with stones and dropped it into the Karth River. Now they were all dressed as ordinary travelers. The local men planned to take an extended hunting trip and turned their horses loose to find their own way back to the stable in Solitude. Ralof and Thorald reluctantly released their horses as well.

"Where we're going now, horses won't help," Ralof said. "We're going east through the swamps of Hjaalmarch. No one can track us there."

They followed game trails east until dusk, then holed up for the night in a shallow cave. They couldn't risk a fire so they munched on the cold rations from Ralof's pack. They didn't even speak, for fear their voices would carry through the silent scrubland. Once, far in the distance, they heard horses' hooves ring out on the road.

"That's the road to Morthal," he whispered. "They're too far south to find us." Thorald could see his grin gleam through his beard under the light of the moons.

The next day they crossed the swamp. It was a long tedious slog—wet boots, stinging insects and the occasional mud crab attack.

"We could lose an entire legion here," Ralof said with satisfaction. He seemed more willing to talk now that the sun was up. Although not much older than Thorald, Ralof was one of the jarl's inner circle. He'd traveled with him for years, as much a bodyguard as a soldier and he had plenty of tales.

"Did you know Ulfric was going to challenge the High King?" Thorald asked.

"Aye. He wanted to stride into the Blue Palace and call Torygg out before his own court. The Moot has much to answer for, putting that puppet of the Empire above all the other jarls. His father, Istlod, wasn't so bad but Torygg was fickle as the grass, blowing this way and that. Doing anything General Tullius told him, so long as the emperor's gold kept rolling in."

"We heard Ulfric's Shout all the way across the city."

"All Solitude heard Ulfric's thu'um. We heard him out in the stables. That will give Tullius something to think about." Ralof grinned. "Ulfric studied with the Greybeards years ago, up in their monastery in High Hrothgar. That's where he learned to Shout. The Greybeards call it the thu'um."

"I didn't know the Greybeards talked to anyone."

"They rarely do." Ralof squinted off in the distance. "That ruin up ahead is Ustengrav. They say it's full of draugr and treasure. We'll be crossing into the Pale before long."

"Good," Thorald said. Skald the Elder, jarl of the Pale, was one of Ulfric's supporters.

"We're not far from a Stormcloak camp. We can get horses. We shouldn't have anything to worry about now. Stormcloak territory from here to Windhelm."

"If Torygg is dead, does that make Ulfric High King?" Thorald asked.

"He will wait for the Moot to decide. For now, Ulfric wants to send a message to the jarls that the old ways are more than just a legend. The old Skyrim is stronger than this weak Empire, just as Ulfric is stronger than that milk-drinking Torygg they saddled us with. We need a High King who will stand up to the emperor and his elven masters. The jarls can stand with us and be strong. Or like the emperor, they can bend their knee to the Thalmor, who will stop at nothing until all men are their slaves and Skyrim is no more."

He wiped his beard and gave Thorald a grin. "Sorry, got a bit worked up there. I think Galmar said you're from Whiterun? You'll have to tell me what you think of Jarl Balgruuf sometime. Me, I'm also from Whiterun Hold. From Riverwood."

"We're practically neighbors."

They talked a bit about mutual acquaintances and Thorald finally worked up the nerve to ask if he knew Grelka. "Her da has a big horse farm near Riverwood."

"Oh, aye," Ralof said. "I know him. Don't remember her well. Little spitfire as I recall. What just happened to her da was a bad thing. The kind of thing that will be happening more and more if we don't get Skyrim back in the hands of true Nords."

"Something happened to her da? Recently?"

"Aye. Got this from the carriage driver in Solitude. They're always first with the news. You know her da has the best horses in Skyrim. Famous for it. He's been that nervous, ever since the war started heating up. Decided to leave Skyrim, and go somewhere safer. He ran into an Imperial patrol near the border and they took all his horses. For the war effort, they said."

"Imperials stole his horses?" Thorald asked. That was ironic, to put it mildly.

"They don't call it stealing. And they didn't just take the horses, they confiscated all the gold he had on him. But it's not stealing because they paid him and gave him a receipt. And get this, they paid him in scrip."

"What's scrip?"

"Imperial paper money. Ever since the Great War, gold has been in short supply in Cyrodiil. They have to pay their soldiers in gold or they'll desert. Ha. But everyone else gets scrip. They took everything he had and paid him in paper. No bank or merchant honors scrip at anything close to face value, if they even take it at all. The Imperials said if he didn't like it, he could petition the emperor."

"The man is a fool but he didn't deserve that. Grelka must be devastated."

They squelched on in silence for awhile.

"They say your da is Eorlund Gray-Mane."

"He is," Thorald said.

"But that axe you got, that ain't Skyforge steel. That's standard issue."

"Galmar made me leave my gear in Windhelm."

"Oh, aye, since Ulfric uses an axe. I'd heard Grelka was up in Whiterun, making a name for herself at the Skyforge. So I reckon you know her pretty well?"

"We were going to get married. Until right before I came to Windhelm to sign up."

"Ah. Sorry to hear that." Ralof gave a sympathetic look. "Same with me, I reckon. There was this girl in Helgen. Ever been to Helgen?"

"I've ridden through it on the way to Falkreath."

"Her name is Vilod. She has a tavern in Helgen. If you ever stopped there, you'd remember her mead. Makes a good living brewing and selling it to those Imperials at the fort. Your mead's wasted on those milkdrinkers, I told her. Come with me, I told her. But she wanted me to settle down in Helgen." He shook his head. "But I can't settle down. Not now. Not until we can live free in our own land. And the only way that's going to happen is if we fight for it." He sighed. "We're at war. It's no time to marry. No time to start a family. But by Talos, I wish it was."

"I wish it was," Thorald echoed.