21: The Wait is Over

"Hit the wings," Mjoll yelled to the archers as the dragon swooped towards the wall. They were lucky to hit anything, Thorald thought. The guardsmen were city folk, used to shooting at stationary targets. He needed hunters. He needed Aela.

Bolts and arrows flew in a swarm towards the dragon. Most missed. The dragon let out a roar that was almost a squawk when a gaudy white arrow blossomed from his shoulder. He pulled up from his flight to the wall.

Of course, I do have Grelka, he thought with some satisfaction.

"Nice shot, honey," he shouted.

"I missed!" she shouted back. He wondered what she'd been aiming for. Probably the eye. He'd told her about the fight at the Western Watchtower and Aela and Irileth's pretty shots.

He had to keep reminding people to spread out, for groups made a better target for the dragon's breath. They'd already lost several guards that way. He saw Ingun Black-Briar run from archer to archer with a smoking bucket of poison. Several dipped their arrows in it.

"I wish she'd get down where it was safer," he told Grelka. "She's too young to risk herself this way."

"Says the Greybeard," Grelka said. "She's older than we are, Thorald."

"Aye, but she's no warrior."

"She's trying to help. Which is more than you can say for the rest of her family. Although I did hear Hemming is organizing the meadery workers into some sort of ground defense. Mara, I hope we don't need it. But Ingun told me Maven Black-Briar has left the city." She gave him a sideways look. "With the jarl."

He blinked with astonishment. "The jarl has left at a time like this?"

"That's what Ingun said."

Now a jarl's place wasn't right on the front line. Thorald knew that. But to totally quit the field? He tried to imagine either Jarl Balgruuf or Jarl Ulfric doing such a thing. Impossible. He shook his head. Riften. Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse.

"It's coming in for another run at the wall," Mjoll shouted. The dragon had finished his long sweep over the lake and was heading back towards the city.

"He looks angry," Thorald said.

"It has feelings?" Grelka asked. "How can you tell?"

"Dragons aren't beasts. They're intelligent. They have a language." There was so much he didn't know about dragons. Did they have a culture? Art? Did they feel love or friendship? All the old stories only spoke of their cruelty. Surely there was more to a dragon than that.

"Can you talk to it?" Grelka asked. "Can it be reasoned with?" That was the thing with Grelka, Thorald thought. Deep down, she thought everyone could be reasoned with. Even in the face of considerable evidence to the contrary.

"I'm not sure I know enough Words to have a conversation."

"Do they speak our language?"

"I don't know." When this was over, he was going to have to have a long talk with Esbern. The mage had been so busy helping Wylandriah with some project of hers that Thorald had hardly seen him. "I know the word for peace."

"Don't you think it's worth a try?"

He looked over at the opposite wall where several of the priests of Mara, with their robes flapping in the rising wind, were tending the wounded.

"Maybe," he said. As the dragon came closer, he gathered his will as the Greybeards had taught him and called out, "Dovah!"

The dragon pulled up in the air like he had hit a glass wall. He flapped his white wings like a bird while his gaze swept the wall. His great fierce snow-colored eyes seemed to pin Thorald in place.

"Dovahkiin!" he Shouted. Thorald now knew what that meant. Dragonborn.

"DREM?" he answered. He was pretty sure that meant 'peace'. All defenders on the wall had turned in his direction when they heard his thu'um. Half the town had been pestering Thorald to Shout, as if it was a party trick to be displayed for their entertainment. Well, he thought, now you've heard a Shout. Yay. The dragon continued to flap in place. And then he bent his long neck towards Thorald. He Shouted two words.

"DREM? NEH!" His head thrust out further. "NEH!" he screamed.

Thorald was used to Shouts but everyone else on the wall recoiled in pain. One of the archers fell down. Grelka dropped her bow to clap her hands over her ears. "What does that mean?"she yelled, half deafened. She snatched up her weapon but the dragon had flown straight up, as if heading toward the sun, and then streaked out of range.

"It means 'Never'," Thorald said glumly. High overhead, the dragon wheeled for another run at the wall.

The Black-Briar's enforcer, Maul, was sick of waiting. Don't leave until you hear from me, Maven had told him and so he waited on her convenience. His time meant nothing to her, of course. He'd have liked to have at least have sent the mead shipment on ahead. He and Maven would have no trouble catching up with four heavily loaded wagons, after all. But she hadn't mentioned the shipment one way or another and Maul had learned long ago that second-guessing Maven was a bad, bad plan. You did what Maven told you, exactly what Maven told you, or you were out. And with all that Maul knew about Black-Briar business, with all he'd done for her, there was only one way he could ever leave her service. And Maul didn't fancy himself as a corpse.

And that's what would happen. She'd send the Dark Brotherhood after him. Or worse, that creepy grandson of hers, Sibbi. Sibbi looked all right. In fact, he had a strong look of his da, who was considered handsome. But Sibbi was wrong in the head. In the privacy of his own mind, Maul didn't mind admitting that he hated Sibbi Black-Briar. Hated him. Maul found a certain satisfaction in putting people in their place when needed but Sibbi went far beyond that. Sibbi enjoyed hurting people, enjoyed killing them. He wasn't satisfied with a nice, clean kill, either. No, he had to drag things out. And he was a nasty little rapist as well. Maven found the boy useful but Maul thought he should have been drowned at birth. Maul was more than a little tired of cleaning up Sibbi's disgusting messes. Maven had finally tossed the little jerk in jail to 'teach him a lesson' but she'd soon relent. Maul doubted that boy was capable of learning any lessons, other than the disturbing ones he'd already mastered.

So they all waited on Maven. The guards and the wagons and the drivers waited by the side of the road in a shaded turnout not far from a shallow creek. They were so close to Riften that they could glimpse the city walls through the trees. The guards had their camp duties and the drivers had the horses to care for but Maul had absolutely nothing to do. Nothing to do but wait. Maul was not a man who liked to sit idle. He'd been sick of waiting a day ago. What he was now was a scowling vortex of impatience.

Was the whole world going wrong? Leaving Riften now was a good idea. Maul certainly trusted Maven's instincts on that. His own had been telling him to get out for some time now and he trusted his instincts even better than hers. His instincts had told him to leave the Thieves Guild when the old guild master had been killed and they'd been right on the mark. That's when the whole guild had gone straight to the pits of Oblivion. Going to work directly for Maven had certainly been a good decision. Maven had respect. Maven got things done. Mercer Frey might look down at his nose at everyone and brag about how good he was but his leadership—or lack of—was tossing the guild down the privy. What had the Thieves Guild done lately? They'd burned down a bee farm. And they'd stolen a horse. And they hadn't even stolen him, they'd swindled him away from his owner. A swindle that wouldn't have worked if Maven hadn't placed that brainless wood elf Anuriel as the jarl's steward. Mercer Frey. Some guild master he was. He was a swaggering fool. What else could you expect from a Breton?

The drivers and the groom from Maven's lodge had set up a picket line for the cart horses. The wagons, loaded with mead, were drawn up by the side of the road. Ready to roll whenever Maven got here. Maul gave the swindled horse an irritated gaze. He was supposedly a very valuable racehorse. Frost, that was his name. Maul had no interest in racing but gold, that was interesting. The horse was worth a lot of gold. Maven wanted him sent to Solitude to be sold. That damned racehorse had kicked up such a fit that they'd had to separate him from the other horses. No one had been able to ride him. He refused to be tied up behind one of the carts. Maul suspected his poor groom was going to have to lead him on foot all the way to Solitude. Or wherever he ended up. Maul didn't really care. He figured Maven would take about an hour of traveling at cart pace and then the two of them would end up riding ahead of the mead shipment. And that would be good. Because Maul could feel in his bones, they needed to get moving.

But what was taking her so long? The long-awaited messenger had finally come. A dragon had been sighted and Maven was on her way with the jarl. She should have been here by now.

One of the guards had sworn he'd seen the dragon attacking the city. Maul looked out over the lake towards Riften but he saw nothing. Maybe that so called Dragonborn had killed it. Dragonborn! Maul didn't think he looked so tough. Sure he was big but lots of Nords were big. Maul was big. He was pretty sure he could take Thorald Gray-Mane but Maven had told everyone to leave him alone. And Maven's word was law.

"There it is!" one of the drivers shouted. They all ran to look out over the lake.

"It's white," a guard said. "Dragons aren't white. You sure it ain't some strange bird?"

A frosty stream sprayed from the creature's mouth. That's no bird, Maul thought. They all continued to watch but they were too far off to see the defenders on the walls or any of the action. And then, from the city, they heard a strange cry.

"What is that?" a guard asked. "Is that Shouting? I wanted to hear the Dragonborn Shout but when I asked him, he told me to take a hike."

"That's what he told me, too. What's going on with these horses?" another guard asked. "That damned Frost is getting them all stirred up. Someone rouse up his groom. If he keeps pulling like that, he's going to get loose."

The cart horses snorted and shifted restlessly. The racehorse's eyes were white-rimmed and rolling in agitation. Maul turned a furious look on the guards. "That horse gets away and you're dead men."

His words were strangely, unwittingly prophetic.

A deafening roar came directly overhead. A dragon? It had to be. But they had just seen the dragon circling Riften. Maul stared. It was huge. It was white. It was on top of them.

Oblivion! How'd it get here so fast?

xxx

Frost's papers identified him as a mealy chestnut, a rather unpleasant name for a handsome horse with a creamy coat, a flaxen mane and a white blazed face that invited pats. Although he often rewarded pats with a crushing bite, he was certainly a handsome horse. He also had dark, expressive and intelligent eyes. Frost may not have been the fastest horse in Skyrim but he certainly thought he was. He'd won many a race through sheer wicked determination. And he may not have been the smartest horse in Skyrim but he knew a thing or two. He knew something bad was coming. Something really, really bad. If she caught him, she would kill him. But she would have to catch him first.

He finally pulled up his stake just as the Bad Thing he'd been smelling and hearing swooped down upon them. Men screamed. Horses screamed. Frost ran.

His every racing instinct told him to stick to the open road and run with everything he had. But darker, deeper instincts told him to run for the trees. There were branches and rocks to trip him and tangle him there. Wolves hid in the trees. The trees would slow him down. But he wanted every single tree he could find between him and that Bad Thing screaming overhead.

Sibbi Black-Briar held his lantern high and looked around, trying to get his bearings. It had been awhile since he'd been down in the Ratway and he'd never been there alone. The stupid guard had left him here, bleating nonsense about her duty, even though he'd commanded her to stay. At least he had her lantern and her weapon. He'd deal with the ugly bitch later. In fact, he had a few other scores to settle, when he got the chance.

But it was good to be out of prison. They said he was a murderer. Hah! His only crime was annoying his grandmother. She'd get over it. As soon as she needed him, she'd get over it. How many times had he killed for her, yet she balked at this? He'd tried to make her understand. It was a matter of honor! It was that silly fool, Svidi's fault. And he'd been ready to marry her, more fool him. She had the poor judgment to question him about his other activities. Ha. Like it was her business, what he did or who he did it with. She was lucky to be marrying into the Black-Briar family. Stupid little whore. But she'd heard about Svana and she'd sent her brother after him. Questioning. How dare he question a Black-Briar? How dare he speak to a Black-Briar in that threatening tone? How did Svidi think that was going to turn out?

It turned out like it had to, and the silly girl fled Riften right after the funeral. Crying about her poor, dead brother, no doubt. Idiot. Just as Sibbi was ready to track her down, his grandmother had decided to kick up a fuss. Scandal? What scandal? Who cared what happened to some nobody? Why in Oblivion would he need to ask his grandmother first? But she decided to be offended and she'd had him thrown in jail. For murder! Oblivion take her! He'd killed for her plenty of times, what was the problem? It's not like the boy was important.

Nor was his ex-fiancee, and Svidi was going to die, too. Oh, yes, she certainly was, and not quickly, either. Surely grandmother wouldn't expect him to go quietly back to his cell after this. In fact, maybe he'd leave Riften all together. He still had a stash of gold at the lodge and he still had his key. All he had to do was make contact with one of the Thieves Guild lackeys and they'd help him escape. Time to get out of this skeever hole of a city. Time to go have some fun.

After Shouting at Thorald, the dragon attacked in a relentless fury. Bolli and several of his workers dragged a heavy net up on the wall near where Thorald and Grelka stood. Thorald wasn't sure it would do much good. Bersi had another team of fishery workers standing ready in the market square. He wished they would all go down to the square to relative safety. Especially since the dragon now seemed to concentrate on the section of the wall where he stood. The archers were doing their best but they didn't seem to slow the dragon down. Grelka and Thorald dived in separate directions to avoid a frost blast that left an icy slick on the wall between them.

"What is that?" Grelka screamed. Thorald looked towards her outstretched hand.

The largest spider Thorald had ever seen leaped from the ground all the way onto the wall. Leaped. He drew his sword.

"Don't hurt it!" a breathless voice shouted. It was the court mage, Wylandriah, followed closely by Esbern. "It's part of the city defense!"

More spiders swarmed up the walls. A bolt rattled off the wall near the first one. Wylandriah waved her hands. "Don't shoot them! The spiders are your friends!"

Thorald heard Grelka swallow.

"I hate spiders," she muttered.

"Here it comes," Thorald yelled. The dragon swooped in. Close this time, very close, and headed right for him. Talos, he thought, he's going to try to knock me off the wall.

Wylandriah let out a yell. And suddenly there was a wall of web. The spiders leapt like huge acrobats and between them their glittering web, spun faster than imagination, spanned the air where the dragon flew. Web coated his wings. For a moment. And then the dragon tore right through it. More web covered his face and that seemed to bother the dragon more than the strands of web trailing behind his feet. Wylandriah and Esbern both aimed fireballs at the dragon. One of them passed harmlessly overhead and into the lake but the second one hit. A spider leapt onto the dragon's back and tried to bite through the scales. "Flying spiders?" Thorald asked.

"They don't fly. They jump really high," Wylandriah said.

"It's going down!" Mjoll shouted. "Archers! Concentrate your fire!"

The dragon Shouted something Thorald didn't understand. He was indeed going to land, right in the market square. Thorald pelted for the nearest stairs, using his whirlwind shout to move impossibly fast. The dragon's rough landing crushed several market stalls. His tail whipped around, sending more flying. People screamed and ran. The dragon pawed at the spider on his back. The spider ran up to his head. Web shot out of its backside over the dragon's eyes. The dragon roared and swung his head from side to side. Arrows and bolts rained down from the walls, striking rather often now that the dragon wasn't moving. Some penetrated scale, some drew blood. The dragon raked at his head again, trying to dislodge the spider. And then he saw Thorald thundering toward him, sword ready. The dragon opened his great mouth. Thorald, running too fast to stop, mentally braced himself for a blast. But the dragon cried out, "LOS VIIR!"

Dying, Thorald translated. And about time, too! Thorald struck him, hard, in the jaw. It felt like hitting a wall. Thorald was concentrating so hard on finding a more vulnerable spot that he was unaware of the shadow swooping over him.

"Stendarr help us," Jarl Laila whispered. "Are those spider eggs?" Webbing coated most of the walls and noises were strangely muffled.

"Surely they're too large for spider eggs," Anuriel said.

"This is ridiculous," Maven Black-Briar said. When she was jarl, she would certainly manage things better than this. Vermin, right under the palace! Right under the kitchens, ugh. She looked around for a suitable tool and found a long banner pole. She drove it through the nearest egg. It splattered with a little squelch. "Unmid, Harrald. Use your swords. Let's break these up before they hatch and we have a real problem." Unmid obediently drew his sword and hacked at an egg. Harrald hesitated.

"Looks awfully messy," he said, with a squeamish look of disgust. "Do we have time for this?"

Laila screamed.

All heads swiveled to her. "Something ran over my foot!" she shrieked. The jarl took several steps back the way they'd come. Extremely exasperated, Maven headed her off.

"Here," she said. "Take this lantern." The light flickered and jumped madly. With growing irritation, Maven realized Laila's hands were trembling. Shaking in fear over a stupid spider! And the Moot thought she was fit to be jarl? If they could see her now... Maven spotted a flash of movement. "There," she said. The creature was hiding in a pile of discarded barrels. It was almost the size of a cat. Maven kicked a barrel over and when the spiderling tried to escape—wham. She smashed it. "See how simple that is?" she asked Laila.

"There's another one," the jarl whispered. Maven turned. Sure enough, there was, creeping up the wall. She smacked it to goo. Unmid lay about with his sword as more spiderlings approached. Some of these were a bit larger. Harrald had his sword out but not in a confident way, more like he was going to fend off the little creatures. Did he share his mother's fear of spiders? Maven's mouth was a thin line of annoyance.

"There's quite a few of these things," Unmid said. His eyes rolled towards the jarl. "Maybe we don't have time to kill them all. Maybe we should just push on through."

"I suppose we can deal with them later," Maven said, even though this went against her life-long belief that one should never leave a problem behind one. She supposed she could hire a mage to clear the things out. "Nasty creatures, though. It's said they eat their prey alive."

"Yuck," Harrald said.

"It's true," Anuriel said. "Spiders paralyze their prey and wrap them up in cocoons. They don't have teeth, you know. Their poison dissolves their victims from the inside out. Later the spider can suck..."

Laila gagged.

"Shut up, Anuriel. Let's keep moving," Maven said. She positioned Laila ahead of her and let her keep the lantern. This slowed them down but she was afraid if she let the jarl take the rear, she would turn tail and run back to the palace.

Maven drove the group forward, only stopping to squash a spider or an egg if it got in her way. There was webbing everywhere but there was a clear passage through the middle. As if someone came through here regularly, Maven thought. The thought made her rather uneasy. This tunnel was supposed to be a secret. If the secret was out, that could be a weakness, later on. When she was living in the palace.

"What is that?" Unmid asked. The hallway had opened up to a cavern and in the middle was a large spider-wrapped bundle. Maven poked at it with her stick. Whatever it was, it wasn't alive. "Cut it open," she said. Unmid peeled back part of the webbing with his sword.

"It's a cow," Anuriel said. "And, ugh. It's fairly, um, fresh."

"A cow. Down here? How did a cow get into this cave? It couldn't have just wandered in. The exit is hidden and locked, is it not?" She gave Laila an accusing glance that turned to a glare when she realized the jarl was a gibbering wreck. Daedra take the woman!

"Those spiders we've been seeing couldn't possibly overcome a cow," Unmid said. "Could they? I mean, look at the size—"

Laila screamed.

"Now what?" Maven snapped. Laila's mouth was open and her eyes were pools of terror. Then the fool dropped the lantern. The globe shattered in a spray of glass and burning oil splashed the floor. Maven turned and looked up.

In the last of the dying light, she saw a spider descend from the ceiling. It was massive. Bigger than a cow. Bigger than a bear. Bigger than a troll. Unmid yelled and ran in, sword ready. The spider whipped one huge hairy leg and sent the housecarl sprawling. Maven took a better grip on her pole. It wasn't the ideal weapon but it was better than her dagger.

"I'm not afraid of you," Maven said.

There have been worse last words.

A/N: Is the action too choppy here? I wanted a frantic pace but I'm not sure how it's working. Please review or PM me! I'd be so appreciative! Two more chapters to go...