Chapter 6
206_v2

"I'm new to Skyrim. Who are the Companions?"

By the time Tariq had rounded about the mountain ridge of Deepwood Redoubt to last night's shelter in a cluster of rocks, Vorstag was roasting two rabbits and a wolf. The young Imperial woman was Companion Ria, and her contribution to dinner had been to find some wild garlic and asparagus.

Njada was good with a shield and arrogant about it, but he still thought Vorstag was better. She couldn't wait to get off Cairo and awkwardly slid off. She cursed loudly as she landed hard on the ground. Ria rushed to help her up.

After tending to Cairo and cleaning up, Tariq was ready for dinner and answers.

"Skyrim's oldest order of heroes. We were with Ysgramor when he led the conquest of the Snow Elves and took Skyrim from them," boasted Njada.

"Only the most famous warrior band in all of Skyrim. Have you been living with the horkers? When we arrive, blood is spilled and our blades sing to the glories of Ysgramor," said Ria.

"You're a poor excuse of a Nord if you didn't know that," sneered Njada.

"I'm not a Nord. I am Yokuda."

"You were born in Hammerfell? Adopted by Redguards you mean?" asked Ria.

"No. I am Yokudan."

"You don't look like any Redguard I've ever seen," said Njada. "Tanned white skin, green eyes? Every Redguard I've seen has dark skin and kinky hair. Though I will admit, there aren't many Nords as tall as you. You're tall like an Altmer."

Tariq squeezed his eyes shut and sighed loudly for patience. "Tariq ibn Ziyad al-Zarixa. We of the Zarixa clan of Yokuda's Isle of Samara are known for our light skin, green eyes, and size. There is no Nord blood in our family, nor —" his eyes flashed with warning, "—any Sinistral Elf blood."

Before Njada could say anything more, Vorstag interrupted.

"The existence of the Companions is why the Fighter's Guild never succeeded in Skyrim," he said. "And since they were not any jarl's personal army, not even the Jarl of Whiterun, the Akaviri Potentates could not force them to disband or make them illegal as they did all other personal armies throughout the Empire, which eventually gave rise to the Fighter's Guild when the Akaviri armies were overwhelmed with petty local demands for basic protections. Also, the Companions mean more to us than just being a place to hire fighters.

"The Companions were who followed Ysgramor of Atmora in his war against the Snow Elves. Many of the 500 died or gave up the name as they settled and founded towns or holds. One such group looking to settle founded Whiterun and have been based there ever since, choosing to keep the name of 'Companions' as a tribute to our history. Their hall is set near the Skyforge, the most famous forge in Skyrim, and built by unknown hands." Tariq gratefully turned to him.

"Unknown? So it was there before the Companions arrived? Possibly built by elves?"

"No," asserted Njada.

"The statue over the forge is a giant eagle, or possibly a sunbird. It would seem a symbol of the Aldmer," said Vorstag clinically. "Merethic Era, possibly even pre-Merethic, from the time of the gods. Calcelmo has speculated that it may have been built by the Ehlnofey and yet another form of Earth Bones, a forge point of the twelve worlds brought together to form Mundus."

Njada looked to further object so Tariq changed the subject. "What contract brings two Companions then to the largest Forsworn camp in this region?"

"A kidnapping. A silversmith returning to Markarth from Solitude," said Njada. "He and two other were taken. The rest of their travel party returned to Solitude and hired us to fetch them back."

"The silversmith is the one we were specifically hired to fetch back," said Ria, "since it was his wife who hired us. The other two… Well, it would be nice, but we weren't paid for them. And from what Vorstag told me, someone was already butchered. Hopefully, it's not our guy."

"Why are you here?" asked Njada.

"The Jarl of Markarth wants his father's shield recovered from the hagravens."

Njada snorted. "I remember that job coming in a couple years ago. Nobody wanted it. The pay was cheap and the cut for all that danger was less than 100 septims. What are you getting for pay?"

Tariq shrugged. "The Jarl's goodwill."

"You mean you two are doing this for free?" Njada exclaimed, disgusted.

"Of course not," answered Tariq calmly. "Vorstag is a professional and I've paid him. As for myself, I have my reasons. Chief among them is what I am. I am a sword-singer. If you do not know that term, it means I study to master the sword. Part of the study is to go on a walkabout, engaging as many varieties of foes to test and practice my skills as I seek perfection. I do not always demand pay for what I do; I am not a professional mercenary."

He studied the women's expressions. Ria looked interested, but bemused. Njada clearly thought him a fool. Well, even some of his people who knew the legends of the sword-singers were apt to feel patronizing contempt for those who freely endangered themselves for their benefit.

"So… You're like a Companion. You do this for honor and glory!" exclaimed Ria. "But, I mean, the pay is still nice. Gotta keep up the armor and weapons, and it's always nice to afford a warm bed and hot meal at an inn after a tough battle."

"Is that why you joined the Companions?" Tariq asked.

"I've wanted to be with them since I was a little girl," she gushed. "Haven't you heard the stories of Kodlak and Skjor fighting off the hundred-and-one Orc berserkers? Skjor says it was more like forty, but he's just being modest. Where else would I want to be but here? Learning with them, fighting at their sides. This is life. The struggle is what reminds us to draw breath."

Tariq returned her grin. "I don't demand pay, but I also don't turn down any monetary donations or services they offer to make towards my journey." He pointed to Cairo. "Such as my beautiful, fearsome warhorse, born of the finest Yokudan charger stock in Sentinel, and trained by masters. A gift for my services."

"Then maybe you should join us," said Ria. "Nobody in Skyrim would understand what a sword-singer does, and you can't just go around endangering yourself just to practice your sword fighting. You may as well get paid for it. And if you're with us, then you know the jobs you're going out on are worthy ones and you don't have to think if the person hiring you has some sort of political agenda they want to use you for. The Circle is careful about what jobs the Companions accept. And, besides, the best swords masters are the Companions! What better place to train up your skills? Njada here is the best with shields."

"You make it sound ideal. Vorstag, what do you think?"

"It would probably suit some of your needs. It's no good for me because I can't stay neutral. I'm not happy with Imperials or Thalmor, but I like the Stormcloaks even less, and I would join any fight against them if they showed up again. I lost friends when Ulfric and Jarl Hrolfdir took back Markarth. As for coin, Calcelmo always has plenty of jobs for me, and I can usually find escort jobs when I'm not working for him.

"But for you, Whiterun is centrally located in Skyrim, and you'll always have a place to stay at Jorrvaskr. It's central to trade, so if you want to learn about Skyrim, that's the place to pick up the most knowledge. Jarl Balgruuf shares the Companions' view of political neutrality so you'll find pro-Empire and pro-Stormcloak factions within his city. You'll likely get a chance to hear both sides of the issue.

"Balgruuf has rejected Stormcloak's call for a Nord-only Skyrim. He is too cosmopolitan to believe that kicking out every non-Nord would strengthen us. Also, he argues that the movement of secede from the Empire is an ill-considered, hot-tempered action. Ulfric has served in the Legion; he should know how much of Skyrim still is in the Legion and what this does to our homeland. And it is also known that he and Ulfric don't get along. Two alpha dogs in the same pack? Not a chance.

"Balgruuf has also denied the Empire's demand to allow a garrison there. Allowing the Empire its right to establish a garrison within the city also means allowing the Thalmor the right to establish a consulate because of the Concordat.

"Witness Solitude.

"And the Thalmor very much want Whiterun. They've taken the crown of Skyrim, now they want the heart of Skyrim." Vorstag was such a soft-spoken man. Tariq took note of the Nord's increased volume and the snarling anger in his voice.

"Sounds like a wise ruler. That's a hard line he's walking. Sounds a bit of a Companion himself," said Tariq soothingly. "It takes strength and courage to commit to peace, or to refuse to be drawn into a battle of mutual destruction. My home is similarly divided between Crowns and Forebears. The Thalmor love to encourage our differences. They couldn't' beat us in the Great War, so they encourage us to beat ourselves."

Njada snorted. They ignored her.

Vorstag calmed and allowed a small smile to lift one side of his lips. "Aye. Well, and you've told me the sword-singers of old needed to know how to forge and enchant their own personal weapons, their — what was it? Shehai? Spirit Sword? Each spirit sword unique to each Ansei. You can't learn that very well if you're constantly on the move and you don't have a forge and materials handy or a tutor. Well, you'll find no better place to learn than at the Skyforge and from Gray-Mane."

"Ah, you misunderstand," said Tariq, smiling. "When I say the Shehai is called the Spirit Sword because it's a manifestation of an Ansei's soul, that is meant literally. The design of the sword is drawn from the soul; the spirit, the edge; and magic, the power to interact with the physical world. But until I have reached the point where I can find such power within me, I still need physical swords. So, this Gray-Mane teaches?"

"Only Companions," said Ria. "There are other smithies in Whiterun for common goods, but the only other general weapons and armor smith of worth is Adrianne Avenicci. She's good, just not Gray-Mane good."

"Well, I'm interested. I will certainly look in on the Companions when I go to Whiterun in the future. But for now, let's talk about how we'll take that fortress."

…

Two days later they were ready. Vorstag and Ria would stay outside, moving and sniping and moving so that no one paid attention to Tariq and Njada (her pretty, shiny helmet and shield dulled with a good scrubbing with sand and dirt) sneaking into the gateway crypt of the Deepwood Redoubt that tunneled through the mountain into the magic-created world of Hag's End. He would rather have Vorstag covering his back, but the women argued that it was their contract. Ria was nicer company, but she was relatively inexperienced compared to Njada. Njada's close quarter combat skills were better, and she wielded her shield both defensively and like a second weapon.

He just didn't like her, and she didn't like that Tariq didn't automatically respect and defer to a Companion.

She was older, about 28 or 29, and he was 25, yet Tariq was confident his skills and experiences outstripped hers. She'd been well-trained in weapons as a Companions, but he'd survived solo missions since the first time when, at 12, he'd grabbed one of his father's old scimitars and set out to track robbers that had stolen a neighbor's herd of goats and the young goatherd, his long-time playmate, with them. He'd been on the Sword-Singer's path ever since. Njada had been a town guard at 18 until she'd joined the Companions when she was his age.

It had come to a fistfight to determine who would lead. She had power and technique, but a her emotional tempering was not as good. Tariq managed to goad her ego and rage so that she dropped her defense in favor of an all-out attack, and with that he won the match.

Still, it was a day wasted for the both of them to recover from the beating they'd given each other and to argue strategies.

They entered the tomb. There would be no walking dead here, for which Tariq was glad. Sword-singers were supposed to engage in quests of honor, but he had walked dangerously into the fringes of the Ash'abah, the Pariahs, who to took it upon themselves the unholy duty to be hunters of the damned.

Yes, he'd taken some sword lessons from the Ash'abah, and the Khulari Vampire incident almost ruined him once he'd left Shadymarch. Faleen didn't see it as Pariah work, but then she was a Forebear, and their views on the dead were the practical ones of a class that couldn't afford the elaborate ceremonies, the private family tombs, and the burial treasures as the Crowns afforded themselves. His own Crown family and teachers, however… Well, it had nearly gotten him disowned.

So his silver scimitar stayed in Nimat's packs. He didn't think Ash'abah prayers and spells would give any advantage with Skyrim's undead. Regular steel blades had worked fine in his recent experience. Talking with Vorstag and getting confirmations from the Companions reassured him that no special prayers or techniques were used.

He also chose not to use his Dwemer armor, preferring again background blending sturdy cloth and leather vest and boots, but he brought his shield this time, covered in a thin cloth of browns and greens.

He and Njada slipped through the nearly empty camp. Nearly empty but for the ones suffering the effects of the poisoned arrows and two harried boys trying to make sure the adults didn't hurt themselves during their convulsions.

The temperature drop from a warm, dry day plunged as soon as they were inside. Ice coated the open crypt bays where the dead and their treasures were placed. The next chamber, no crypts, but an ice cave with an iron bridge overhead. More of that "world or time displacement" magic Calcelmo had lectured him about. A world created by a committee of gods meant patchwork places and loose definitions that could be taken advantage of by anyone or anything with sufficient power.

He shivered from the cold and caught Njada smirking at him.

The two guards posted in the cavern were preoccupied with staying warm. They had a good fire going that still didn't come close to melting the frozen floor it was built on. The patrol on the iron bridge had a fairly good view of the cavern and could shoot out between the iron bars, but they couldn't see or shoot the area where the guards had built their fire, that portion was a small area where the other exit to the cavern was, where he and Njada needed to go.

They waited until the overhead patrol had paced off the bridge, then went for the two guards. The noise brought the archers back, but he and Njada had lured the guards further out of the archers' line of sight during their battle and killed them. Another guard had come running from the other side of the short exit corridor but, in his haste, had set off the corridor trap of pendulum axes and had been killed by them.

"Typical," said Njada, snorting with disgust. "The old tomb builders really don't get very imaginative — always with the swinging axes and poisoned darts and oil pots.

Tariq's Dwemer shield and good timing allowed him to bash each axe at the nadir of its arc, bending the arms and jamming the mechanisms. The noise brought the archers. They couldn't shoot past his shield, so he just walked up to them and used his sword as they retreated through the small corridor and room to the iron bridge, a good place for shooting out, but not so good for sword fighting. Their wood and bone weapons did no damage to his shield.

Tariq's impression of the Companions so far was that they were much like the Fighter's Guild, but with a few thousand years of historical and nationalistic pride. Non-Nord members were not unheard of but had to work twice as hard to offset their racial disadvantage. They were also not heavy on training for coordinated unit action, if Njada was any example. Even as a town guard, she should've had lessons on the basics of teamwork. She'd agreed to follow his lead, but not necessarily to follow his idea of strategy. He thought Faleen had a temper and impulse control problem. He was so wrong. This Njada was worse. She charged around him before he's finish analyzing the situation, and she was loud with battle cries, alerting every damn Forsworn within hearing.

She was damn lucky he was protecting her back, though the fool would never acknowledge it.

He compared her to his impression of Ria, the youngest Companion she called herself. He let himself realize that Njada wouldn't respect any fighter who wasn't a Companion. She probably had this "Stormcloak" inclination, so if Tariq wasn't a Nord, she'd never respect him. Amazing that she even let herself work with Ria. If they cooperated, likely Ria deserved all the credit.

He owed Tu'whacca, guide of souls, former spirit of Nobody-Really-Cares, an urn of the best wine he could find and buy in Markarth and prayers of thanks because it must be his kind influence that the Forsworn caged their captives in a small room on this side of the Redoubt instead of deeper in.

And now that she had her prize, she finally shut up and behaved more responsibly. "I'm going onward," he told her. "You take your charges out. Find Vorstag and Ria. Tell Vorstag I gave you permission to take Nimat to help you get your client and his friends back to Markarth faster. The stable master at Markarth knows my name and my horse. You can leave Nimat with him. Vorstag is to stay with Cairo. Tell him to wait two weeks before heading back to Markarth because I know getting out will take more time than getting in."

"You're an idiot going after the shield for the fool son of another idiot who thought he could make nice with the savages after killing their king and slaughtering every native in his city who didn't immediately kiss his boots when he forced his way back in, and then who betrayed those who helped him take back his throne," she said. "Fine. And thanks for the loan of a horse."

He found his way to the back door of Deepwood. It led into a little patio walled by rough boulders and an archway that looked out to the valley. He saw a distant plateau from which came a river and magnificent waterfall that did not exist on the plain outside this place.

On the far end of the valley was the fortress of Hag's end. Between here and there, the valley floor was dense brush with a fast moving river running diagonal across the floor then draining into a pile of boulders on the right. A single dirt trail led from here to a bridge that went over the river and straight to a gate arch. No doors there, so he could see wide stairs leading to the second level and a hint of another set to the third level.

The second level had many tents and bridges, two leading to two high platforms on either side of the open archway where archers kept watch, and two other that led to high towers against the valley wall.

The third level had more tents and the entrance to Hag's End that was built into the mountain wall except for the topmost level that formed a wide platform. A dragon-head balcony projected out, likely where a leader or priest would stand to preach to a crowd below.

The waterfall's thunder filled the valley, still he heard the sound of multiple, young voices, their carefree laughter, fast approaching. He scaled up the boulders on the sides of this patio and hid behind a shrub.

Three children ran in playing a game of tag. From his perch he looked out again with new eyes.

Now he saw a group of children there practicing with bows under the watchful eyes of their tutors. Another group there, going through sword drills. Near the bridge, a pair of teens were pulling in a fishing net.

A squad was marching up the path to change shifts. They were going to find all the dead bodies soon and that the sacrificial prisoners were missing. He had better move.

He wondered if he should wait until dark. Did this place have a day and night cycle or was it always noontime?

So, which direction? His eyes were drawn back to the plateau. It looked level with the open platform area of the ancient building. The distance from the waterfall plateau to the altar area had enough of a rough wall that looked possible to cross with some well-aimed jumps.

Left it was then. He stretched a spare cloth over his shield, took a swig of a stamina boost potion, and began climbing along the valley wall.

A peek behind showed a runner going from Deepwood to Hag's End, then shortly after a large cluster of warriors rushing to the outer world.

Hours of slow, methodical rock wall climbing, low enough so that treetops kept him from being spotted, potions in those places where cover was sparse. At one point he came close to one tower built near the valley wall, a tense few minutes when a Briar-heart wandered out to just stand in the sun while idly sharpening the spikes of his sword. Just a few yards away. His back was to Tariq, but Tariq would not give into the temptation of attacking. Jumping from his perch to the ground where the Briar-heart was standing would be noisy, and he wouldn't be able to get to the other to kill him before he shouted a warning or war cry. And if he gave up his perch now, he'd have to backtrack a couple hundred feet along the ground to get to a rock ridge that had the formation for him to climb back up to where he was now. That is, if there was ever a chance to make it with the Forsworn now alerted that the intruder was inside.

His climb ended on the level of the entrance to the Hag's End tower. He had no intention of going in. Instead, he looked for another ascent path. He didn't have much energy left for fighting his way through the tower, but he was certain that if he could climb up to the waterfall level, he'd have a chance to rest there.

So up he went. He took it as a good sign that there was no tent here, no signs of past campfires. There was, however, an old, crude chest. Someone's supplies? Inside the chest was a skin of soured wine, a stone knife, a few worn gold disks of unknown denomination, and a pair of soft-soled hide boots that had a shimmer of strong magic.

He tried the boots on. A stamina renewal spell, and a powerful one. In moments, the bone-deep exhaustion of the past hours of climbing faded away. He stroked the hide, thinking that later he would have to recondition the leather and carefully make some sizing adjustments to fit his feet better. Who knows how long it had been sitting up here soaking up water from the mists of the waterfall? The magic imbuing it surely helped to keep the leather from rotting away.

As he stroked the hide, he notices the traces of another spell. He raked his fingernails along the top of a boot and heard nothing. He tapped on a belt buckle and barely heard it. So, a muffle spell was also in force. Stamina and stealth. Wonderful!

Another potion to hide him while he made the jumps from the waterfall plateau to the large platform of Hag's End. The area was empty but for a large altar with the latest sacrifice carelessly left on it. The body was stiff. The small ebony knife in her heart had the cold feel of a soul stealing spell.

He was a hypocrite. He used soulgems to enchant armor and rings — white gems only, never black — but as long as it was someone else doing the necromancy to fill the gems, he could pretend his hands were clean of that blasphemy.

He'd once met a Breton chicken and duck farmer who made extra money by filling petty gems when he slaughtered the birds for market. He then sold the gems to the local wizard's school. The farmer used a little knife like that one…

Enough. As long as the soulgem was white, it was an animal.

He dared pull one of the great doors open enough to peek inside. The chamber was enormous. He frowned. He thought he'd heard chanting, but he could see no one in there. The one egress he could see was sealed by an iron gate. He slipped inside, looking for the chanters, and was drawn to a large, shallowly curved cement wall, its surface marked by strange writing. If he was being fanciful, he imagined giant claws marking the wall while the cement was still damp and impressionable.

A dragon then, if the tales he'd heard from Ogmund and Calcelmo were true. A dragon had left its mark and some of its power in this monument. The chanting was getting louder. If there was magic trying to affect him, he should leave imme—

Tiid. How long had he stood there? And that chanting, it was gone. He shook off the last of the mental fuzziness and looked hastily at the gated door, happy to see nothing there. But he shouldn't linger. Aside from the wall, there was a potion crafting station, piles of junk and animal parts, and some interesting barrels and chests. Prizes.

Ah, here it was, a heavy steel and wood shield with the royal crest of Markarth burned into the back, otherwise, unremarkable from any other Nord shield of that style. He also found a pair of throwing daggers, a pretty silver and sapphire tiara, lots of coin purses— the Forsworn collected a lot of pretty things.

Well, he may not always demand pay for his work, but he wasn't an idiot to not pick up spare cash when it was easily available. He picked a few choice items and headed out.

He was doubly grateful for the new boots. Carrying two heavy shields and a pack stuffed with treasure back out the way he came in was exhausting. He stayed a couple of days at the waterfall area.

It took him a week to get to the Redoubt's back door. Two days at the waterfall, a day of rock climbing the valley wall again, then camping on rocks and hiding in the trees around the back door. After a week, activity had slowed down and shift changes normalized. The powerful muffle spell was a blessing to help him sneak back through the Deepwood keep.

He was out of invisibility potions by the time he emerged out the other side, but it was blessed night time then, and another blessing of an overcast night that blocked the moons.

After he'd walked what he judged to be a safe distance, he put lifted the special brass whistle and blew. The whistle was built to slide from his hearing range to something silent to him, but which animals heard. Little raised notches told his fingers how far to adjust the whistle for different pitches. He blew, adjusting between two notches. The signal for Cairo to find him. He counted to one hundred, then blew again. Eventually, he heard Cairo's hooves.

He was giving Cairo a good brushing when Vorstag caught up.

"Good to see you're alive. Find it?"

"Yes. Nice of them to keep the shield in their treasure room. There are children in there, did you know?"

"Hmf. They have to grow 'em somewhere I suppose. Njada didn't think you'd make it without her."

"I almost didn't with her. That woman has no concept of stealth fighting. Ria, I hope, was better for you?"

"Bright girl. Eager to learn different strategies beyond being a front line berserker. After listening to Njada's accounting of events, I'm surprised you didn't knock her out and stuff her in a cell."

Tariq laughed. "It was a near thing," he confessed.

"Nice boots."

"Very nice boots. Let's get back to camp. I'm starving and I need sleep."

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