Chapter 4

Blacklight

Though it was likely supposed to remain a secret, word of Vahkiir's imminent departure spread through the village like wildfire. Thankfully, the details about why he was leaving had apparently been omitted, so all that most of his fellow Skaal knew was that he was being sent into exile. As such, a few of the villagers began conspicuously avoiding Vahkiir, perhaps fearing that he had committed some crime or was infected with a disease. They tried not to make eye contact with him, and he once overheard a mother warning her daughter to stay away from their hut.

However, to his surprise, many of the villagers approached him to offer gifts that he could take on his travels. Most of the offerings consisted of dried food –jerky, berries, nuts, and mushrooms – while others presented him with useful tools, such as bone needles and spare thread to mend clothing, two new waterskins, and a small copper cooking pot and utensils. At first, Vahkiir tried to refuse the gifts, but the villagers continued to insist that he accept them until he finally relented.

Privately, he was stunned by the support of his fellow Skaal. While he was never outright shunned, he had also never thought himself particularly popular in the village. His short temper had led to more than a few shouting matches, and his enmity with their chieftain was well-known. Of course, he hadn't expected the village to rejoice upon hearing that he was leaving either, but he had presumed that most would simply ignore his departure and continue on with their lives. Their charity was touching, and he feared he could not adequately thank them. It did, however, make him that much more determined to find a way to have his exile rescinded. His neighbors were good people, and when he realized this, he found that he had one more reason to return home as swiftly as possible.

That was not to say that he was simply accepting the offerings and otherwise idling his time away, however. Vahkiir spent the entire next day deciding which supplies to take with him on his journey. As it would be a long trip, he knew that it would be unwise to travel light, but he also had to take care not to overburden himself. As such, he packed as much as he could carry without straining under the weight of his bag. Much of the space in his pack was reserved for food, which was carefully wrapped and sealed in thin skins to prevent spoiling and to avoid attracting predators. He also chose to bring the new cooking gear and waterskins that he had been gifted, as well as a length of rope, a small copper axe with a hammerhead on the opposite end, his sleeping furs, and his small leather tent.

Fortunately, since he was not making the journey alone, he was able to give some of the supplies to Brevyn. He lent the elf his spare pack, and Brevyn likewise filled it with as much food as he could carry. He also accepted a few sets of tools from the villagers, including a hatchet similar to Vahkiir's, a copper knife, a fire-starter kit with flint and tinder, and a couple of torches. Vahkiir also loaned him one of his spare fur coats, to replace the tattered robes that Brevyn had been wearing to keep warm ever since he arrived on Solstheim.

As he was rolling up his sleeping furs, a thought struck Vahkiir. Glancing over at Brevyn, who was sliding his knife into a leather sheath, he asked, "You said that you are a warrior, yes?"

Brevyn glanced up, blinking at the question. "Yes. Well… yes," he said hesitantly.

"Yet you don't carry a weapon," Vahkiir pointed out.

Brevyn grimaced, a sudden, embarrassed look flickering across his face. "Ah… well, I had a weapon when I first arrived on the island," he said hesitantly. "A spear. Unfortunately, shortly after coming ashore, I was attacked by a wolf. I was able to fend it off, but during the fight, I… broke the tip of it on a rock." He grinned sheepishly as he scratched the back of his neck.

Vahkiir stifled a chuckle as he sat up on his knees. "If I may, then? What weapons do you favor?" he asked. "I may be able to provide you with a replacement."

Brevyn hesitated, clearly seeming uncomfortable with accepting yet more of Vahkiir's generosity, but then he let out a resigned sigh. "I'm most skilled with spears and staves," he said. "As I've said, I used to be a herder, and I would occasionally need to drive off predators. A staff is adequate for keeping netch in line, but if I intend to fight seriously, I prefer a spear. Either one is acceptable, though. The techniques for wielding both weapons are quite similar."

Vahkiir nodded as he pushed himself up and made his way over to Brit's table. "If it had not been broken, I would have offered you my ebony spear," he said softly. "Especially if we might face other dragons, I would prefer you have a weapon that can pierce their hides."

Brevyn shook his head. "That is quite unnecessary," he said. "I wouldn't dream of taking such a valuable weapon. Besides, it's rather unlikely that we'll encounter many other dragons."

"Are they not hunting you for stealing that claw?" Vahkiir pointed out, pausing in his search to glance over his shoulder and raise an eyebrow.

"Yes, but I stole this from a man, not a dragon," Brevyn replied with a grin. "And if whomever this claw belongs to truly wishes me dead, they would be wise to send more mundane assassins after me, rather than relying upon dragons." His grin turned malicious. "Especially if word gets back to them that the one they sent after me has already been slain."

Vahkiir stared at him silently for a few moments, then shrugged and dropped to his knees to crawl under Brit's worktable. "Well… unfortunately, I don't have another spear," he said as he grabbed a thick wooden shaft that was half-hidden under a bundle of arrows. "But if you would like, I can at least offer you this."

As he stood up again, he held the bare shaft of his broken spear out to Brevyn. Brit had already removed the ebony point, as she had intended to fix a new head onto it before he had received his judgement. Now, however, he saw little reason not to lend it to Brevyn, especially since he favored his bow anyways.

Brevyn's eyes widened briefly as he recognized the weapon he was being offered. He inclined his head graciously as he took the staff from Vahkiir and briefly tested its weight. It was six feet long, made of strong, aged oak, and though very durable, it was also remarkably light. As he twisted it around in his hands, Vahkiir added, "If it's not to your liking, I could ask some of the other villagers. I do not doubt one of them has an extra spear they could lend."

"No… this is perfect," Brevyn said with a grateful smile. "In truth, I would prefer a staff. I'm more familiar with it, and a spear tends to draw more attention than a simple walking stick." He took a moment to test the weight and balance of the staff by tossing it from hand to hand. He then suddenly dropped into a half-crouch and thrusted forward with one hand, before grasping it with both hands and following up with a second thrust. He grinned as he straightened up, nodding with satisfaction. "I especially like that it is a bit short. I find long staves to be unwieldly. This will do nicely," he said, with a grateful nod. "Thank you."

Vahkiir nodded as the door swung open and Brit stepped into the room, her hands folded behind her back. "Do you two need anything?" she asked softly.

Vahkiir sighed heavily, looking down at his pack. "We are… just about finished packing, actually," he admitted reluctantly.

Brit stiffened, then nodded slowly. "Are you ready, then?" she asked quietly.

"No," Vahkiir replied bluntly.

Brit smiled sadly as she walked over to him and wrapped one arm around him from behind. "Neither am I," she murmured. "But since you must go, there is something I wish to give to you."

As she pulled away, Vahkiir tilted his head curiously. With a faint smile, she pulled her other hand around from behind her back, holding out a leather quiver filled with eight arrows, fletched with white tern feathers. Vahkiir took it from her and pulled one of the arrows out. He let out a light gasp when he saw that the tip was made from the shattered ebony stone that had once been the tip his spear.

"You made this in one day?" Vahkiir asked, amazed.

Brit laughed softly. "Of course," she replied smugly. "Am I not the finest fletcher in the village? This was trivial for me." Then her smile faded, her tone turning more serious. "You told me that the only material that could pierce that dragon's hide was your ebony spear. So now, if you encounter any other dragons on your travels, you have a weapon to use against them."

Vahkiir struggled to find the words to express his gratitude, and when he failed, he suddenly pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her against him. "Thank you," he murmured in her ear.

Brit pressed her cheek to his and gently squeezed his waist in return before stepping back. As she pulled away, he noticed dark circles under her eyes, indicating that she had been awake throughout the night to prepare them for him. "I don't intend to send you off without giving you the means to protect yourself," she replied simply. "I would offer to make you a new bow as well, but we simply don't have the time. I am sorry that these arrows are all I can offer you."

Vahkiir shook his head, bringing his hands up to gently frame her cheeks. "You have given me more than just a few arrows," he replied quietly. "You and the children have given me the will to see this journey through. I could not ask for anything more."

Brit smiled and nodded as she brought one hand up to squeeze his. "Even so, is there anything else you feel you need?" she asked quietly.

Vahkiir sighed, slowly pulling away and glancing around their hut. He racked his brain, trying to find something, anything else he might need to take with him, so that he could stay in the village just a bit longer. However, he quickly realized, to his dismay, that he had all he could carry, and he recognized that it was better for them to depart soon anyways. It was late in the afternoon, and he and Brevyn wouldn't be able to travel far after the sun set.

"I… believe we should be about ready," he admitted quietly.

Brit's face fell, making it clear that she had also been hoping he might stay a bit longer, but then she set her jaw and nodded resolutely. "Then I shall go fetch the children so that they can say their farewells," she said softly.

As soon as she returned from retrieving the children from their neighbor, Odreth threw herself at Vahkiir, wailing piteously into his chest and begging him to stay. Gutha, meanwhile quietly walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, saying nothing as she buried her face into his ribs. By contrast, Strunheim lingered near the door, his arms folded over his chest, his expression stony.

"Do you not wish to say farewell to me as well?" Vahkiir asked as he wrapped his arms around his daughters.

Strunheim shook his head. "There is no need to," he replied simply. "You prefer not to say farewell before you leave on a hunting trip, since you'll be back shortly, yes? So why should I say farewell now?" A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "After all, you will be back shortly, won't you father?"

Pride welled up inside of him, melting through his despair at being forced to leave his family, and to his surprise he found himself grinning at Strunheim. "Of course," he replied emphatically.

Strunheim's own grin broadened as he pushed himself away from the door and approached his father. "Good. But with that being said… I shall wish you good fortune, and that the All-Father watches over you," he said, before suddenly wrapping his arm around Vahkiir's shoulder. Vahkiir chuckled and laid one hand on top of the boy's golden hair, ruffling it fondly. He suddenly realized – with a pang of regret for not noticing sooner – just how tall the boy had grown. When Strunheim pulled back a moment later, Vahkiir then gently took hold of the girls and gently pulled their arms off of him.

"Now… it is time for me to begin my journey," he told them softly.

Gutha gazed at him silently, then reluctantly nodded and stepped back. Odreth, however, wailed hysterically and clung to him as tightly as she could.

"You cannot leave!" she screamed.

Vahkiir grimaced, her cry making his chest clench and the corners of his eyes sting. Gently, he reached down and once again pried her arms off of him, then took her face in his hands as he knelt down to her level to speak to her directly.

"I must," Vahkiir said softly. "You may not understand this yet, cub, but I have no choice in this matter. Please know, though, that I will miss you dearly, and that I shall do all that I can to ensure that I am not gone for very long." He smiled softly and brushed her hair back from her tear-stained face. "You shall see me again before you know it."

Odreth choked back her sobs for a moment as tears continued to roll down her face. "Do you s-swear it?" she stammered.

Vahkiir nodded, gently pulling her into his arms again. "I swear it," he said softly. "But until we see each other again, you must be strong, for your mother's sake… and for your own. Can you do that for me, Odreth?"

Odreth whimpered and squeezed him tightly around his neck, then slowly pulled back and nodded vigorously. "I c-can try," she coughed.

Vahkiir nodded and smiled at her, gently brushing a thumb across her cheeks. "Good girl," he said softly. He then pushed himself up and turned to Gutha. "And you?" he asked.

Gutha glanced away, her expression unreadable. "I shall do as you ask, father," she said softly. She then glanced back to him, adding, "I… am sorry." When Vahkiir frowned and tilted his head at her, she looked down. "I wish that I were more expressive, like Odreth. I simply find showing my feelings difficult. But please know, that I will miss you dearly-"

Vahkiir's eyes widened, and then he reached out and pulled her against him. "Gutha, you needn't apologize for that," he assured her. "If anything, I should apologize to you. Please, do not feel as though we are disappointed in you. Far from it." He knelt down so that he was on her level, speaking to her face-to-face. "You are a sharp girl with a bright future ahead of you. Your mother and I could not be more proud of you. We do not mind that you do not wear your emotions openly, as we know that you are not unfeeling. It is simply who you are, and we would not ask you to be anyone else. Please know that."

Gutha took a half-step back, seeming stunned by his words, and though she didn't smile, her softened expression made her seem pleased. "I… thank you," she said quietly, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Please, return swiftly."

Vahkiir nodded, then pushed himself up and turned to Strunheim. "Son-" he began.

"I know," Strunheim interrupted. "I'll watch over them as best as I'm able. You needn't fear for our well-being." He tilted his chin back slightly, smiling confidently. "I shall see to our well-being until you return."

Vahkiir's mouth fell open slightly, and then he grinned, a fierce pride welling up inside of him again. "You've truly become a fine man, Strunheim," he said. "But with that said, do not neglect yourself for your sisters' sake. I know that I've placed a heavy burden on your shoulders, and I'm very pleased with how you've accepted it, but please do not feel as though you must do this alone."

Strunheim's smile faltered. "I… yes, of course," he murmured, giving his mother a sidelong glance. "Even so, I shall do all that I can to ease mother's burdens."

Vahkiir grinned broadly. "That's all I can ask. Thank you, son." Strunheim nodded, and then Vahkiir turned towards Brit, who was leaning against the doorframe. "Brit-" he began.

Brit shook her head, crossing the room in two steps and taking his face in her hands, her fingers digging into his thick beard. "You needn't say anything else," she assured him quietly. "Just return safely and swiftly. That's all I ask." She then leaned in and pressed her lips briefly against his. "I love you," she added quietly.

Vahkiir swallowed hard, nodding. "And I you," he replied sincerely, while silently wishing that he could find anything else to say.

Brit smiled faintly. "Good. Now, stop lingering and get moving. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return."

Vahkiir sighed deeply, then nodded and reluctantly pulled away from her. He then walked over and grabbed his leather pack, which he slung over his shoulder. Turning to Brevyn, he called out over Odreth's cries, "Are you ready?"

"When you are," Brevyn replied, motioning for him to lead the way.

Vahkiir took one final, deep breath, then stepped out into the snow. To his surprise, much of the village was gathered outside. When he emerged, they began shouting, "Good fortune to you, Vahkiir!" "May the All-Father watch over you!" "Don't worry! We shall mind the children for you! Keep well!"

The show of support momentarily stunned him, making him pause in the doorway, until he felt Brevyn's hand on his shoulder. As Vahkiir turned towards him, the Chimer grinned. "Seems you'll be missed, doesn't it?" he remarked.

"So it would seem," Vahkiir murmured in agreement. "More than I had ever realized." He then squared his shoulders and marched out of his hut, smiling gratefully at the villagers as he passed by them. Some reached out to clap him on the shoulder, while others waved to him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Muldok lurking near the door of the longhouse. The chieftain had his arms folded tightly over his chest, smirking triumphantly at Vahkiir as he made his way out of the village. Vahkiir, however, answered with a defiant smirk of his own. Muldok's malicious grin vanished, and he snarled and stalked back into his longhouse, apparently to sulk at the village's show of support for his rival. Vahkiir chuckled to himself as a pair of hunters, one male and one female, approached him and Brevyn to escort them to the edge of the village.

Once he passed by the boundary of the southernmost hut in the village, the two hunters unslung their bows, though they didn't pull any arrows out of their quivers. As he turned to face them, the male – Amros – announced, "Vahkiir the Wanderer, from this moment onward, you are banished from our village. You may not return under pain of death… though the elder has told us that if you wish to relay a message, you may give it to one of us, and we shall deliver it for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Vahkiir replied coldly, narrowing his eyes.

"Good. And… good fortune," Amros added, his tone making it evident that he was enforcing the decree only reluctantly. "If you would, then… begone."

Vahkiir slowly turned and began walking away from them, his stomach feeling as though it was full of lead. After a few minutes, he felt Brevyn clap him on the shoulder again.

"Do you wish to talk?" the elf asked softly.

"No," Vahkiir sighed, forcing himself to straighten up. "There is nothing more to say. So!" he continued, trying to sound a bit more cheerful. "How are we supposed to reach Tamriel?"

"Well, hopefully the ship that I sailed here should still be where I left it," Brevyn replied, eyeing a snow-laden evergreen warily as they passed by it. "I hid it in a small cave on the southern coast of this island, in the hopes that if the dragon didn't see it, it might lose my trail. Obviously, I was mistaken, but so long as it hasn't been discovered, we should be able to use it."

"I see," Vahkiir nodded. "In that case, I shall follow your lead."

"That may not be wise," Brevyn admitted with a sheepish grin. When Vahkiir scowled at him, he added, "I'm… not entirely sure where the cave is. After all, I am not familiar with the island, and I was in quite a hurry to escape my pursuer. I vaguely recall what the area looked like, but I was hoping you might be able to help me rediscover it…."

Vahkiir groaned and rubbed his eyes, exasperated. "Very well," he muttered, giving Brevyn an annoyed, sidelong glare. "Describe what the area looked like, then, and we shall see if we can't find your boat. If not… well, we can craft a new one if we must, though if so, it may be some time before we can leave Solstheim."

"Would that be so bad?" Brevyn asked cheekily.

He had to duck as Vahkiir scooped a pile of snow into a ball and threw it at his face.

It took Vahkiir and Brevyn the better part of two days to make their way across Solstheim. As they left late on the first day, they didn't arrive on the northern shore of Lake Fjalding until after night had fallen. Fortunately, it was a bright, clear evening, and they were able to set up camp by moonlight. They said little to each other that evening, as they were exhausted, both physically and mentally, from the events of the day. After a quick meal of dried jerky and some fresh snowberries they had scavenged while they were walking, they crawled into their respective tents and were quickly asleep.

The next morning, they woke early and broke camp before the sun was up. Once they were ready to resume their journey, Vahkiir pushed one of the canoes still resting on the north shore of the lake into the water and motioned for Brevyn to climb in.

"Are you certain the Skaal will not mind us borrowing this?" he asked hesitantly. "We won't be able to return it, after all."

Vahkiir shook his head. "These canoes may be used any who have need of them," he explained. "Even those who are not part of the village. All that is asked is that any damage that is done to them be repaired, and that if a canoe is lost, another be made in its stead. You may not have seen it before, but there are a couple of canoes on the bank near the south end of this river. So long as we don't outright steal this one, no one in the village will complain."

"Well… your chieftain might," Brevyn remarked drily as he climbed into the canoe.

Vahkiir let out a dry, humorless bark of a laugh. "Well, yes, but he would find fault with anything I did," he replied, rolling his eyes. "If I saved his mother from a fire, he would likely accuse me of lighting it in the first place. Not that it matters, as he's my chieftain no longer."

"So, perhaps one good thing came of this, did it not?" Brevyn asked with a grin.

Vahkiir responded with a bleak smile, but didn't answer.

The pair paddled slowly down the river, with Vahkiir sitting in the front of the canoe to act as its pilot. It was a remarkably calm day, with little wind and only a few clouds drifting across the sky. In fact, with the sun shining brightly overhead and nothing to provide shade, Vahkiir was a bit warm, though when he glanced over his shoulder at one point and saw Brevyn shivering in his seat, he realized that the Chimer clearly did not agree, so he decided not to voice his thoughts aloud.

With the river as calm as it was, they were able to swiftly travel south. They did encounter occasional threats that kept Vahkiir on his guard, such as a pack of brown wolves padding alongside the bank, eyeing them hungrily, and a snow-white bear fishing along the western edge of the river. However, Vahkiir steered them towards the middle of the river, well away from the potential dangers, so the wolves eventually gave up their pursuit while the bear paid them little mind, especially as it caught a salmon in its jaws shortly before they passed by it. As such, they were able to reach the mouth of the river well before the sun had begun to sink below the horizon.

Before they crossed the mouth of the river, Vahkiir guided the canoe onto the shore, where he and Brevyn disembarked, and then he led the way as they searched for Brevyn's boat. Fortunately, while he was not entirely certain of where the Chimer had left his ship, his comment about hiding it in a cave gave him an idea. There was only one such cave that he could think of at the southern edge of Solstheim – a deep cavern nestled in a natural harbor that Vahkiir had passed by numerous times when his hunts took him to the southern edge of the island. He had occasionally used the cave as shelter from particularly violent storms, though he had never thought to use it to harbor a ship.

Brevyn led the way into the cave, walking along a narrow ledge to where a small vessel was moored to a boulder with a length of rope. The boat itself was a small fishing vessel, likely unable to hold more than four people at most. It had a single square sail, and resting on the bottom of the boat under the benches were oars. Brevyn let out a deep sigh of relief as he climbed into the boat and began undoing the knot that held it in place.

"Thank Azura!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing off the damp walls of the cave. "I had feared the dragon might search for the boat first, to destroy it and prevent me from escaping the island. "I'm glad it did not think to look for it."

"Well, perhaps it was so intent on finding you and that claw that it simply did not think to do so," Vahkiir suggested as he climbed into the ship as well. As Brevyn began to untie the line keeping the boat moored, he asked, "Is there any way I might help?"

"No, no, you have done more than enough by guiding us thus far," Brevyn chuckled, waving off his offer. "Please rest for a while and let me worry about sailing."

"But-" Vahkiir protested, but when Brevyn gave him a pointed look, he muttered, "If… you insist." Reluctantly, he settled onto one of the benches to watch as Brevyn resumed untying the rope. He was a touch uneasy about deferring to Brevyn, but he also had to admit that he knew little about sailing on the open ocean. "By the by, you mentioned that you were a herdsman, yes? If so, how did you learn to sail?"

Brevyn paused in unfurling the sail to glance over his shoulder and grin. "When you have been alive for as long as I have, you have plenty of time to learn other skills," he replied.

"And… how old are you?" Vahkiir asked with a frown.

"I just passed my seventieth year," Brevyn replied nonchalantly.

Vahkiir's mouth fell open, though he quickly snapped it shut when Brevyn began cackling at his reaction. "You… but you scarcely look older than twenty years!" Vahkiir exclaimed.

"Indeed. I'm still quite young as elves go," Brevyn admitted, still grinning. "Those of us who haven't even reached a century of age are barely considered adults. Even so, I have had more than enough time to devote to learning skills other than herding. A few years back, after a run took me up to the coast of Vvardenfell, I figured that I might try my hand at working as a fisherman for a bit. I served as a sailor for five years, and though I eventually decided to return to herding, I still remember enough to steer a vessel on open water. Quite fortunate for us, isn't it?" he added, his grin broadening.

"Quite," Vahkiir agreed absently, still reeling from Brevyn's revelation about his age. "Are you elves… immortal?"

"Not at all," Brevyn replied easily as he took a seat on the bench across from Vahkiir and reached down to grab one of the oars. "While time does not ravage our bodies as harshly it does men, we do succumb to it eventually. Few of us live past our third century without the aid of magic or divine intervention, and many perish far earlier than that, as disease and injury affect us no differently than men. If you could help me row us out of this cave?"

Vahkiir suddenly realized that Brevyn was motioning at the oar under his own bench. He quickly reached under his seat to grab the paddle, flushing at Brevyn's amused grin. Together, they rowed the boat out of the still waters of the cave and into the bay. Once they were far enough out on the water, Brevyn stood up and untied the sail, which quickly unfurled in the breeze. He then pulled on the rope to steer the vessel towards the south, whereupon he tied it to a circular hook and sat back down.

"And there we are," he announced, settling back into his seat with a satisfied grin. "Now we just let the wind carry us and pray that the seas do not turn rough."

"How long do you believe it will take for us to reach Winterhold?" Vahkiir asked, craning his neck slightly to eye the horizon, as though expecting to see the mainland already.

Brevyn glanced up at the sky, then shook his head. "Depending on the weather? It might take us four or five days, if the wind remains fair." He glanced away for several moments, then hesitantly turned back to him. "Though… I might have another suggestion, if you are willing to hear me out."

Vahkiir frowned slightly as he leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. "And that is?" he asked cautiously. Brevyn's tone suggested that he was about to ask something that Vahkiir wouldn't like.

Brevyn took a deep breath, then said, "If you are willing, we could instead sail for the city of Blacklight, on the northern shore of Veloth."

"To what end?" Vahkiir asked, though his tone was neutral, rather than hostile.

Brevyn, noting Vahkiir's willingness to hear him out, visibly relaxed. "For one, it will be a shorter voyage," he explained. "It will only take us two or three days at most to arrive in Blacklight. I would prefer to spend as little time sailing as possible. This boat was not made for long voyages across the sea, and the longer we spend on the water, the more likely it is that the weather will take a turn for the worse, so we will eventually be caught in a storm or suffer some other misfortune. What's more, sailing directly to Winterhold is dangerous, as the closer one gets to Skyrim, the colder the seas become. It's not uncommon to see icebergs and other such hazards off the coast of Skyrim, which pose a serious threat to any ship, but especially one as small as this. The waters around Veloth are warmer thanks to the Red Mountain, so we would be at less risk of sinking our ship by striking an ice floe."

Vahkiir scowled at Brevyn's explanation. "While I do not doubt you, the difficulty of sailing is not the only reason you're suggesting this, is it?" he asked, his tone accusatory.

Brevyn grimaced. "Well… no," he admitted. "I also would like to return the claw to my people as quickly as possible. I do not know what it is, but I fear that we shall continue to be hunted so long as we carry it with us."

"And how would your enemies know that you no longer have it?" Vahkiir pointed out. "Wouldn't they hunt you all the same, if only because you committed the crime? In fact, are you not a wanted fugitive in your homeland?"

"Only on my home island, Vvardenfell," Brevyn assured him quickly. "I doubt that I am being sought throughout Veloth. As for your other question, yes, it's possible that my enemies will continue to seek me out even if I no longer have the claw. However, if it is that important, I would rather they not be able to retrieve it from my corpse. Besides, if find me and they discover that I do not have it, perhaps they'll stop pursuing me altogether."

"They might just kill you anyways, though," Vahkiir countered.

Brevyn sighed. "Well… perhaps," he admitted. He then shook his head. "However, I still believe it wiser for us to travel to Blacklight. If we venture to Winterhold first, we might encounter your kin, who may offer you some aid. If we go to Blacklight, however, I promise that I can secure additional aid for us on our journey. Chimer caravans routinely venture into Skyrim to trade, and they are always eager to hire guards to help escort them. I told you before that it's dangerous to travel alone, yes? The opposite is true as well – it is safer to travel in a large group. Admittedly, such caravans are occasionally targets for bandits, but two lone travelers would be even more vulnerable to such dangers. If you intend to journey across Skyrim, joining a caravan is our best choice, and while I cannot promise you that the Nords would be willing to allow us to join them, I can promise that my Chimer brethren will."

Vahkiir was silent for several long moments, gazing down at his laced fingers. Finally, he muttered, "Was this your scheme all along?"

Brevyn tilted his head slightly, a faint frown tugging on the corners of his lips. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I assumed that our destination was Winterhold," Vahkiir growled, looking up from his hands with an irritated scowl. "Yet now you are telling me that you would rather we sail for a Chimer city, and since you are in control of the ship, I am hardly in a position to refuse."

Brevyn's eyes widened, and then he groaned and buried his face in his hand. "I see," he sighed, lowering his hand and grinning sheepishly. "My apologies. No, I did not intend to make it seem as though I was forcing you to agree to this. You are not a hostage, Vahkiir, and if you still wish to travel to Winterhold directly, we can. I only began considering this alternate route a few hours ago, which is why I only suggested it just now."

Vahkiir glared at him silently for a few long moments, not bothering to disguise the suspicion in his eyes. "If we travel by caravan, will it be faster?" Vahkiir asked slowly.

"Perhaps not," Brevyn admitted. "To reach Skyrim, we will need to cross the Velothi Mountains on foot, which poses its own dangers. However, it will be safer than trying to sail there directly."

Vahkiir stared at him for a few moments longer, then sighed and looked down at his hands again. "Very well," he agreed reluctantly. "But bear in mind that I am very much at your mercy right now. I know almost nothing of Tamriel, so there is much that I must defer to you about. I must trust you, and it will be difficult for me to do so if you do not readily inform me of your ideas."

"I understand," Brevyn said in a soothing voice, lowering his head contritely. "Please forgive me. It was an honest mistake, and I shall try not to allow it to happen again." There was a brief silence, and then he asked, "So, to Blacklight, then?"

"As you say," Vahkiir agreed in a low voice. Brevyn grinned and nodded, then turned back around to tend to the sail. As he did, Vahkiir's eyes narrowed as he stared at the Chimer's back. He was still unsure if Brevyn was being honest that his failure to suggest an alternate destination was indeed a simple oversight. He was also increasingly unsure if he could trust the elf… and given that he was now at Brevyn's mercy, he could only hope that he was not making a terrible mistake.

Though the wind was frigid, it was favorable, and for the next few days their small boat cut swiftly south across the open seas. Vahkiir quickly found that he had little love for the sea, as the constant rocking of the ship turned his stomach. He also found it difficult to sleep at night, and though Brevyn stood watch while it was dark out to allow him to rest, Vahkiir was exhausted for most of the voyage.

On their first morning after departing from Solstheim, Brevyn pointed at the horizon. "It's faint right now, but do you see that mountain in the distance?" he asked, indicating a spot just off the bow of the ship. Vahkiir leaned forward and squinted, until he finally noticed a hazy, vaguely triangular shape jutting up from the sea. When he nodded, Brevyn said, "That is Red Mountain, the most prominent landmark of my homeland."

"Is that our destination?" Vahkiir grunted, holding his hand over his mouth to keep from spilling the contents of his stomach yet again.

Brevyn shook his head, gazing at the distant mountain pensively. "No. We shall be sailing a ways to the east of it. However, it makes for a rather convenient guidepost, does it not?"

"I suppose," Vahkiir muttered in agreement around his hand. Brevyn smiled sympathetically, then sat down in the boat again and reached under his bench for his staff.

"Well, it will be a while yet anyways," he commented as he idly began tying his copper knife to the end of it, to make a makeshift spear. "Until then, it will be a rather dull voyage, I'm afraid. Thankfully, there are ways to occupy ourselves." He glanced over the edge of the boat at some shadowy shapes fluttering through the water, and then he turned back to Vahkiir with a mischievous grin. "For instance, there are some fish swimming under our boat. Are you hungry?"

Vahkiir only briefly managed to glare at the elf before he felt the need to lean over the side of the boat and retch.

The next two days were no more pleasant for Vahkiir, though by the evening of the second day, his exhausted body had finally succumbed to sleep. When he stirred awake shortly before dawn on the third day, he noticed that Brevyn was already up. The Chimer was carefully shifting the sail against the wind, though he did look over his shoulder when he heard Vahkiir groan and push himself up onto the bench.

"Good morning," he said easily, before motioning in front of him. "Look there. We've nearly reached our destination."

Vahkiir blearily rubbed his eyes, then leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as he peered past the elf. Ahead of them was the faint outline of a shoreline, partially obscured by an ash-grey haze. Though he couldn't make out any specific features at first, as they drew near, he began to recognize that the largest of the shadowy shapes were buildings… and that they were unlike any structures he had ever seen before. The city they were approaching was encircled by a wall of sand-colored stone, interspersed with high watchtowers. Within the walls were several low, dome-shaped buildings that – incredibly – appeared to be made from the bleached, petrified shells of gigantic insects. As they drifted closer to the shore, Vahkiir also noticed that beyond the sandy beach, the ground was covered in a thick layer of ash, giving the settlement a grim, dreary aura.

What shocked Vahkiir most, however, was just how many buildings there were. Even from where he was, he could already tell that there were hundreds of such structures within the city walls, and he was certain that there were many more beyond, since he couldn't even see where the city walls ended through the thick cloud of ash. As they drifted closer, he began to notice hundreds of figures wandering between the rows of houses, tending to fires, carrying baskets of goods, and conversing with each other. He could hardly believe that there were so many people occupying such a small area, and moreover, he couldn't understand why they would choose to live in such a cramped space.

Brevyn was busy directing the boat towards one of the open spots on the stone docks, but he paused for a moment to grin when he caught sight of Vahkiir's awestruck expression. "Unlike anything you have ever seen, isn't it?" he asked smugly.

Vahkiir snapped his jaw shut, then sighed and looked up at the elf. "It seems I owe you an apology," he muttered. "I truly did not believe you when you said that villages this large existed."

"Well, admittedly, this is one of the largest cities in Veloth," Brevyn remarked. "Welcome to Blacklight, seat of House Redoran, one of the Great Houses of the Chimer people. Mind your temper here," he added in a more serious tone. "House Redoran are well-known as the fiercest warriors in Veloth. You would be wise to avoid making enemies of them." Then his expression darkened. "Though, admittedly, they will not be the ones to make you answer for any crimes you might commit. Not anymore, at least."

"What do you mean?" Vahkiir asked, frowning deeply at Brevyn's tone.

The Chimer smiled grimly, then nodded up at the towers. "Look closely. Can you not see who truly controls this city?"

Vahkiir turned and gazed at the top of one of the nearest watchtowers. As they drifted closer, Vahkiir squinted to peer through the haze, until the figure at the top of the tower gradually came into view. The tower was occupied by a thickly-bearded, pale-skinned man, about Vahkiir's size, clad in a leather vest with small bronze rectangles sewn into it, and with a round, bronze helm covering his skull. In his hand, he grasped a short, bronze-tipped spear, and a short bow was slung over his back. He scowled disdainfully down at the elves wandering the street below them, eyeing them suspiciously as they went about their business, as though expecting one of them to cause trouble at any moment.

"Behold, the true rulers of this city… and most of Veloth, for that matter," Brevyn muttered despondently, drawing Vahkiir's attention back to him.

"Those are the Nords you were speaking of?" Vahkiir asked in a low voice.

Brevyn nodded grimly. "Like most cities in Veloth, Blacklight is a subjugated vassal of the Nordic Empire. Under their rule, the city must allow the Empire to garrison our cities with their men, and while I have heard that Redoran has been allowed to retain its city council, in truth, it holds no true power. Rather, all decisions are made by the Nordic governor of the city. The council can only provide him with recommendations, which he may approve or decline at his leisure. The people here are heavily taxed, and we are not permitted to carry any weapons larger than a dagger."

"Is that why you asked only for a staff and a knife, then?" Vahkiir asked.

Brevyn's face brightened into a pleased grin at Vahkiir's deduction. "Exactly," he murmured. As they drifted under the shadow of the watchtower, however, his smile vanished, and he turned to glare at the guards above them. "As I said, while we are not the Nords' slaves, none can claim that we are truly free, either."

Vahkiir frowned lightly as their small boat drifted into an open space on the docks. "You seem to know much about this city," he remarked. "Have you been here before?"

"Only twice," Brevyn replied as he climbed out of the boat, taking a length of rope with him to tie it to the nearby mooring. "However, it is the same in every city that has fallen under Nordic rule. In truth, Blacklight has been shown a bit of favor, given its size and status as one of the Great House capitals. Most of our cities are not even permitted a council. They are simply beholden to the local governor's whims, no matter how greedy or cruel." He glanced up from where he was kneeling beside the mooring, scowling. "And as for the guards…." he added in a low voice, as he nodded a pair of Nordic warriors approaching them. Vahkiir swallowed, feeling his stomach turn, as Brevyn backed away to allow them to stand in front of the boat.

"Good day, sir," one of the Nords said, completely ignoring Brevyn and addressing Vahkiir directly. "Welcome to Blacklight. While we are pleased to have you join us here, and while you are welcome to use this part of the wharf, we must ask you to pay the fee for anchoring your boat here."

"A… fee…?" Vahkiir echoed blankly.

"Yes sir," the other guards nodded. "You must pay us two copper hides per day if you wish to moor your ship here."

Vahkiir felt his skin starting to prickle as he flushed with confusion. A copper hide? A pelt of brown fur, perhaps? He shot Brevyn a helpless look, whereupon the elf smiled faintly, then turned to the Nords.

"Pardon me, my lords," he said. Instantly, the Nords snapped their heads towards him, glaring at him disdainfully. He reached into his bag and fished out a handful of small, square pieces of copper. He held two of them out to the guards. "My lord asked me to hold his coins for him-"

The guards traded disgusted looks. "Where did you steal this pouch from, elf?" one of them spat.

Brevyn's smile faltered slightly as he slowly began to withdraw his hand. When he did, though, the other one reached out and grabbed his wrist. As Brevyn tried to yank his arm back, the guard wrenched his fingers open and quickly began counting the coins in his palm. "Fourteen bits, is it?" he asked, a greedy sneer spreading across his lips. "Quite the successful thief, are you?"

"Let me go!" Brevyn protested, trying to squirm out of the guard's grasp. He turned to Vahkiir, his eyes wide and pleading. "My lord, they are trying to steal your coin!"

Vahkiir stared at Brevyn in confusion, but when Brevyn jerked his head at the guards insistently, his eyes widened. "Unhand him!" Vahkiir barked as he climbed out of the boat. The guards paused as he drew himself up to his full height and folded his arms over his chest. "As he said, I entrusted him with my hides!"

The guards hesitated, glancing at one another. "You would give your coin to an elf?" one of them asked incredulously.

"Iam his loyal servant!" Brevyn insisted, taking advantage of the guard's confusion to finally wrench his arm free. "As you said, there are many thieves in this city! They might try to steal from a Nord, but they would not think to thieve from a fellow elf, would they?"

"And I do not appreciate you two trying to steal from me!" Vahkiir added, narrowing his eyes furiously.

The guards' uncertain expressions began to harden again, and one of them lowered his spear. "Sir, I must ask you to step back-" he began.

Vahkiir eyed the spear warily, anger starting to burn through his veins. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw Brevyn's eyes widen, and the elf subtly shook his head. Slowly, Vahkiir exhaled to cool his temper, then snapped, "You asked a fee for us to moor here?" He snatched two of the copper coins from Brevyn's hand and held them out to the guards. "Take it and leave us be. We have much to do here, and little time to waste."

The other guard eyed the coins warily, then smirked up at Vahkiir. "Well… the fee for mooring here is two hides. The fee for accosting a guard is five," he said smugly.

Vahkiir's eyes widened with fury, but before he could respond, Brevyn chimed in, "We've just come from Solitude, and must soon meet with Governor Fjalti to discuss his shipment of pelts. Can you not see our wares?" he added, motioning to the furs in the boat. "Do you wish for us to mention that we could not meet with him promptly because his own guards accosted us?"

"Indeed! What are your names?" Vahkiir snarled.

The guards frowned at one another, and Vahkiir could feel sweat starting to prickle on the back of his neck. Finally, however, one of them sighed and held his hand out. "Two hides for the mooring fee," he said reluctantly.

"Very good," Vahkiir said curtly, placing the coins in the guard's hand.

"And do not let us catch wind of you causing trouble in Blacklight," the other guard warned, eyeing the pair with a scowl. "We will be watching you two carefully."

"I'm certain," Vahkiir growled. The guards glared at him, but turned and walked away without saying anything else. Once they were out of sight, Vahkiir let out his breath through his gritted teeth, trying to dispel the last of his anger. Beside him, Brevyn laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well done!" the elf praised him as Vahkiir glanced at him. "You catch on quickly! I wasn't certain if you were going to follow my ruse."

"Yes, well… I had not expected that we would need a ruse," Vahkiir replied with a frown. "Is that common here?"

"Moreso than you might think," Brevyn replied grimly. "We were fortunate, actually, that they fell for our bluff and settled for the lesser bribe."

"Bribe?" Vahkiir echoed with a frown.

Brevyn nodded. "Most of the guards here are corrupt," he explained with a shrug. "Even with the heavy taxes the governors levy on us, I suspect that they are paid little, so they frequently demand fees and bribes for everything they can. While there is a docking fee, we need to pay it to the harbormaster down there," he added, nodding to a portly Nord woman sitting on the edge of the dock. "Those two were simply demanding something for themselves."

"Is that allowed?!" Vahkiir asked, his eyes widening with outrage. "Should we not have refused?"

Brevyn shook his head. "If we had, you would have been thrown in a dungeon, and I would have been beaten within an inch of my life, then thrown in with you. It was wiser of us to simply comply and avoid trouble."

Vahkiir's frown deepened as he furiously eyed the two guards in the distance, who were now lounging on a pile of wooden crates. "Will every guard we meet ask for a bribe as well?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not likely," Brevyn shrugged as he finished tying the boat to the dock. "Some of the guards are actually fair keepers of the peace. Unfortunately, only some of them." He sighed deeply, then put his hand on Vahkiir's back. "Come. Let's pay the proper fee, and then I shall show you around the city a bit."

After Brevyn left the harbormaster with a single copper hide, he led the way through the narrow streets of Blacklight. The paths were paved with mudbrick, though they were so heavily covered by a thick layer of ash that, at times, they were barely visible. The air was also heavy with the taste of ash and the smell of sulfur, and Vahkiir found himself occasionally coughing and spitting out mouthfuls of soot.

"My apologies about the ash," Brevyn remarked airily, before flashing Vahkiir a wry grin. "You will become accustomed to it."

"How… do you live in these conditions?" Vahkiir choked out.

Brevyn shrugged. "When you grow up in this environment, you tend not to notice it. Most would wonder the same about how you and your people have managed to thrive in a frozen, inhospitable wasteland."

"Speaking of… is it always this warm?" Vahkiir asked. He had already shed his thick fur coat, which was now draped over his arm, but he was still sweating heavily in the intolerably heavy air.

Brevyn smiled faintly as he shifted out of the way of a woman carrying a basket full of strange grey tubers. "Actually, it is unusually cool today," he replied, his grin broadening as he saw Vahkiir's eyes widen with alarm. "It is also late autumn, so while we are not quite into winter just yet, it shall be a while before the cold truly sets in." His grin broadened. "Be grateful that we did not leave at the height of summer, my friend. I fear you might have burst into flame."

Vahkiir scowled as he trudged after Brevyn, following the elf as he wove his way through the crowded city streets. After only a few minutes, he had already decided that he did not care much for cities. Even considering that he was in a completely alien realm, he disliked how uncomfortably crowded it was. He was constantly dodging out of the way of passerby, who stubbornly plowed past him, seemingly oblivious to his presence. They simply appeared to assume that he would move out of their way before they ran into him.

Worse, the noise of the city was overwhelming. There was an almost deafening din constantly pounding against his ears, whether it was from the elves sitting under russet-colored awnings shouting at passerby to barter for their wares, the carts and animals clattering loudly down the brick streets, or the musicians on the street corners playing loud, strange instruments that sounded like wolves howling for death. Vahkiir briefly clapped his hands over his ears to block out the noise, but his efforts were in vain, and all that he accomplished was throwing himself off-balance whenever he was forced to dodge out of the way of another scowling citizen pushing past him. Eventually, he dropped his hands and grit his teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing in his ears as he hurried after Brevyn.

After about a quarter of an hour, his Chimer companion stopped outside of a particularly large, crescent-shaped building, with two large, ivory horns extending from its base and curling inward, as though beckoning travelers inside. Brevyn pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, with Vahkiir on his heels. As the door slammed shut behind them, the noise outside mercifully faded… only to be replaced by a much more concentrated racket that echoed off the stony walls.

They were standing in the entrance hall of the building, on a packed earthen floor that was covered with heavy woolen rugs in various shades of red, orange, and violet. A pair of closed doors flanked them on either side, and before them was a stone stairwell that descended from the main entrance. Brevyn led the way down the stairs, and when they reached the bottom, they found themselves in a large, open room that was mainly taken up by circular wooden tables ringed by stools, about half of which were occupied by other Chimer. At the back of the room was a long stone counter and an equally long wooden bench, upon which sat another seven or eight elves. The Chimer were nursing beverages that had been served to them in glazed clay cups, and most seemed to be in a rather cheery mood. When one or two idle eyes turned towards them, however, and they spotted Vahkiir, their smiles quickly faded, replaced with nakedly hostile glares.

Vahkiir tensed as he felt the eyes of the Chimer on him, but Brevyn seemed not to notice as he approached the bar and took one of the empty spaces on the long bench, resting his staff on the ground beside him as he did. He then motioned for Vahkiir to join him, blithely ignoring the snarls of the other Chimer on either side of him. Against his better judgment, Vahkiir hurried over to join his companion, but before he could, another Chimer shifted slightly to his right, intentionally denying Vahkiir a seat beside Brevyn.

"We have Nords like you fouling up every other tavern in this city," he snarled, his deep golden eyes narrowed. "This is the last one where we need not suffer your disgusting pale faces, and I'll be damned if I let you stay here and ruin it, stranger."

"Easy, friend," Brevyn said airily, shifting so that he could reach out and rest a comforting hand on the other Chimer's arm. "This one is with me. What's more, he is no Nord. He's a Skaal."

The Chimer scoffed as he briefly looked Vahkiir up and down. "What is that, some village in Skyrim? It matters little. He looks enough like a Nord to me," he retorted coldly. Vahkiir noticed the man's hand sliding down to the belt wrapped around the middle of his tan robes, and he instinctively tensed as the elf's fingers grasped the wooden handle of a small knife.

Brevyn's gaze also fell on the blade, but he kept his voice light as he replied, "You do not want to do that, friend. Besides, I can prove this one is no Nord." He glanced back at Vahkiir and added, "What is the capital of Skyrim?"

"…What is a capital?" Vahkiir asked with a blank stare.

His response drew titters from some of the Chimer, though a few others seemed to grow even more annoyed. Brevyn, however, continued, "Who is the High King of Skyrim?"

"The what?" Vahkiir asked, feeling his face flush at the sneers of the Chimer surrounding them.

"How long have we been at war?" Brevyn pressed.

"I don't know!" Vahkiir snapped, his tone underlining his growing irritation.

Brevyn smiled with satisfaction and turned back to the other elf. "As I said. He is from an island far to the north of here that is not part of the Nordic Empire. He may seem a Nord, but he has as much in common with them as a Khajiit." His smile faded and his eyes narrowed as the other elf slowly drew his knife. "Just like you do not seem like a s'wit… and I would rather you not prove me wrong."

The other Chimer snarled, then suddenly pushed himself to his feet and yanked his blade from his belt. "You n'wah-!" he began.

Before he could swing the knife, however, Brevyn had already grabbed his staff and swung it around in a short arc. The wooden haft caught the Chimer behind his knees, and the elf let out a startled cry as he fell to the ground. Before he could push himself up, Brevyn was on top of him, pushing one foot onto his chest while the other kicked his knife out of his hand. The elf struggled beneath him until Brevyn suddenly pushed the butt of his staff against his opponent's throat.

At that, other Chimer began to push themselves up, but before anyone could move, the Chimer standing behind the counter suddenly bellowed, "Enough, all of you!" He furiously gazed around the room, daring anyone else to draw a weapon, and then he turned to Vahkiir. "Are you with the garrison?"

"No," Vahkiir said firmly.

"Any of the jarls' armies?" he continued.

"I don't know what those are," Vahkiir insisted.

The elf peered at him silently for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well. I shall allow you one drink. After all, you are one of the few who hasn't caused trouble yet," he added, turning to glare at both Brevyn and his assailant. "Once you have finished, though, you must leave."

"Rest assured, we are only here to ask for advice," Brevyn replied as he stepped off of the other elf's chest, allowing him to climb to his feet. Ignoring the other Chimer's glower, he asked, "Do you know of any caravans that will soon depart for Skyrim?"

"That depends on where you're going," a voice shouted from the other end of the room. Brevyn and Vahkiir both turned to see a Chimer male sitting at a corner table holding his hand up, beckoning them over to him.

Brevyn grinned as he stepped away the other Chimer, who coughed and brushed himself off. He shot Brevyn a final murderous glare before settling into his seat again and sulkily nursing his drink. Brevyn ignored the other elf as he wandered over to the table and took a seat on one of the empty stools. Vahkiir, not wanting to draw more attention to himself, followed him silently and stood behind Brevyn.

The table they had joined was occupied by three other Chimer. Vahkiir could not make out the features of two of them, as their faces were obscured by heavy bone helms that completely covered their faces, save for a narrow slit in the center that they could see out of. Their bodies were likewise encased in the yellowed bone armor, though neither was openly carrying a weapon.

The one who had beckoned them, by contrast, had his head uncovered, revealing a handsome young elf with bright, piercing golden eyes. His hair was stark white, and styled into a single high ridge along his head, contrasting sharply with his golden-bronze skin. He too wore the exotic bone armor, though his lacked the wide pauldrons of his compatriots. Instead, his arms were bare from the shoulder down to his elbows, though his forearms were protected by heavy bone bracers. He flashed Vahkiir and Brevyn a warm, welcoming smile as they settled in across from him, lifting his clay cup as he did.

As they took their seats, the Chimer sitting across from Brevyn said something in a language that Vahkiir didn't recognize. Brevyn, however, shook his head.

"Forgive me, but I would rather we converse in Nordic," he said in the same tongue. "My friend here does not speak our tongue, and I won't exclude him from our conversation."

"As you wish," the Chimer said evenly, holding his hand up apologetically. Then he chuckled. "That was quite the show you put on, friend," he added, his eyes twinkling mischievously over the rim of his cup as he paused to take a sip of his drink. "There are not many here who would defend a Nord so enthusiastically."

"Yes, well, it is much easier when your companion is not a Nord. As I said," Brevyn replied, though his retort lacked any edge. "Besides, I owe him a great debt."

"Truly? I would be interested to hear that tale," the Chimer replied calmly, settling back on his stool and folding his arms over his chest. "I am Veran Emari, guard captain of a caravan run by a merchant named Llervu Deras. You two said that you wish to travel to Skyrim?"

"Indeed," Brevyn replied firmly. "I am Dagoth Brevyn, and this is Vahkiir. We are bound for the city of Winterhold."

"Interesting," Emari commented, taking another slow sip of his drink. "While it is not my business to pry, would you mind if I asked your reasons for traveling there?"

"Vahkiir here is looking to meet some cousins of his who live in the city," Brevyn replied quickly. Emari glanced up at Vahkiir, who nodded, confirming Brevyn's question.

"I see," Emari said slowly, his eyes drifting from Vahkiir back to Brevyn. The captain seemed to suspect that there was more that they were not telling him, but then he simply shrugged. "Well, we're not exactly escorts, unless you wish to pay us. However, you have proven that you can defend yourself quite well," he added, nodding to the staff in Brevyn's hand. "If you'd like, I would not mind hiring you on as an extra hand to help guard our caravan. We lost three mer during our last run, I'm afraid, and I have been searching for replacements. What's more, fortunately for you, our next destination is Skyrim."

"Is it?" Brevyn asked, perking up slightly.

"What of you?" Emari asked, turning to Vahkiir. "Can you fight?"

"I… have spent much of my life hunting," Vahkiir replied slowly. "Though I have never acted as a guard before…."

"You are an archer?" Emari asked, nodding to the bow slung over Vahkiir's back. When he nodded, Emari grinned. "Then you're more than welcome. In truth, even if you were not, having a Nord accompany us would be quite the boon – even if you are not truly a Nord," he added quickly as Vahkiir opened his mouth to protest. "I find that having even a single Nord in a caravan makes traversing Skyrim much easier. The natives tend to be far less hostile towards one of their own – or at least one looks like their own," he said with a sly grin.

"Then we can join you?" Brevyn asked, matching the captain's grin with one of his own.

"Certainly," Emari agreed with a smile as he brought his cup to his lips again. "However, I'm afraid that it may be some time before we can depart."

Brevyn's grin faded immediately. "Is there some trouble on the road?" he asked apprehensively.

"Indeed," Emari said, peering into his glass as his smile faded. "You see, there is only one major pass through the mountains from here, and it's being guarded. No Chimeri caravans are allowed to travel into Skyrim so long as the pass is closed."

"Guarded? By whom?" Brevyn asked with a frown as he leaned forward on his stool. "Is it a Nordic army?"

"No. Far worse," Emari said softly, his gaze flickering between the pair. Then he said two words that made Vahkiir's blood turn hot and cold at the same time.

"A dragon."