Chapter 8
Jarldom of Windhelm
The caravan slowly made its way along the winding trail towards the distant city of Windhelm, leaving the towering Velothi Mountains behind. Vahkiir was astounded by how abruptly the scenery had changed once they had left the pass. As they entered the frigid evergreen forest, he could hardly believe that a mere few miles behind them was a blackened, ash-covered wasteland. He wondered if it was simply the mountain range that kept the two climates distinct and separate, or if there was some ancient magic in the earth itself that determined the prevailing weather of the lands.
The dirt path before them was rough, and patches of dusty snow were strewn across the road, which the merchants had to traverse carefully to avoid losing control of their guar and wagons. However, there was far less ice than there had been in the pass, and while there were slick, jagged stones and pebbles in the road, the wagons had a far easier time traveling through the dirt than across the solid stone of the mountains. Thus, their pace quickened significantly as they traveled through the forest.
Once they were surrounded by the trees, Vahkiir felt much more at ease. While he was far more familiar with the open, snow-covered wastelands of northern Solstheim, he had spent enough time wandering the thick forests in the southern half of the island to feel right at home amidst the tall evergreens. The fresh, alpine scent reinvigorated him, and when he spotted a deer leaping through the forest, fleeing from their caravan, he felt his blood surge in anticipation of a hunt. His hand was halfway to his bow before he realized what he was doing, and he sheepishly lowered his arm as he watched the deer bound out of sight.
"You seem to be in a far better mood," Brevyn remarked as he walked up beside him.
Vahkiir gave the elf a sidelong glance, then smiled faintly as he inhaled the mountain air deeply. "Yes, well… it is said that the Skaal originally came from Skyrim," he remarked. "Perhaps it simply is my blood recalling its original homeland, or perhaps it is simply that this land is so like Solstheim, but I cannot help but feel as though I have returned home."
Brevyn nodded soberly, folding his arms over his chest. "Just remember… Skyrim is not your homeland," he warned. Vahkiir glanced at him again as he watched the elf wrap a thick fur robe over the looser white cloth robe that he was wearing. "The land is similar, certainly, but rest assured, you shall soon remember that you and the Nords are very different people." He then grinned again, adding, "Not that I believe that to be a bad thing. I far prefer your company over any Nord's."
"Thank you…?" Vahkiir replied uncertainly. Brevyn chuckled as he cinched the belt of his robe, tightening the garment around him, and then he shivered as a cold wind blew over them.
"And already I miss the heat of Red Mountain," he muttered.
Vahkiir raised an eyebrow as he turned back around, folding his hands behind his back. In truth, he thought the weather was a touch warm for his liking. However, he was not going to voice his thoughts aloud to Brevyn, and certainly not to the other Chimer, who trembled violently as another breath of icy wind washed over them.
The path sloped downward at a moderate incline as they made their way out of the mountains and into the valley below. Once the road leveled out, the wagons were able to move even more swiftly, especially since the road ahead seemed to have already been cleared of snow. While Vahkiir was pleased that the path was becoming increasingly less difficult the further they traveled, he noticed that Emari was frowning, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"The Windhelm patrols rarely travel out this far," he remarked in a low voice as he walked beside Llervu's cart. "So why has the snow been cleared?"
"Perhaps this snow did not fall as recently as we had thought," Llervu suggested with a shrug. "And this is still Windhelm's territory, so while I shall concede that it is unusual for their warriors to patrol this far to the west, it is not unheard of. Perhaps fortune is simply on our side, and they chose to clear the road on a whim."
"For whom? Merchants?" Emari countered skeptically. "When the pass has been essentially closed for weeks? Certainly, some of the Nordic merchants have been able to come and go as they please, but why would the patrols bother clearing the road when they have been receiving so little traffic?"
"It might have been the merchants themselves," one of the other guards suggested.
"I could believe that if they had only removed the bare minimum necessary to allow their wagons to use the road," Emari countered. "No… this is suspicious."
"Do you wish to find another route, then?" another one of the merchants asked in a low voice, though her tone suggested that she was not pleased with her own proposition.
"…No," Emari said, after considering the question for a few long moments. "But we should remain on guard. Keep your weapons ready."
With that, the wagons resumed trundling along the road as it rose and fell through the rocky foothills of the mountains, though now the entire caravan was on edge. The further they traveled, the more snow covered the ground on either side of the road, yet the path itself remained relatively free of snow and ice. As they continued on, Vahkiir began to notice that the snow and ice seemed to be accumulating higher and higher on either side of the road, until it was almost as though they were walking through an icy canyon.
"It seems Emari was right to be suspicious," Brevyn murmured beside him as he eyed a ten-foot-high bank of snow looming above them.
"Quite," Vahkiir agreed in a low voice. "Someone has been gathering the snow and is using it to direct those using the road wherever they wish. The question is, where are we being led?"
That question was soon answered when they rounded a bend and arrived at the base of a low stone tower looming over the road. From where they were, Vahkiir could just make out a pair of men sitting on top of the tower, covered in thick furs and carrying short self-bows across their backs. When Vahkiir spotted them, they were drinking from horns and laughing, but as soon as they noticed the caravan, they immediately set down their drinks and drew their bows. One of the men blew into a horn, and seconds later, the caravan was surrounded on all sides by a dozen men and women, all armed with bows, bronze axes, and long knives.
"Good day to you, our fine elven friends!" one of the men called down – a tall, wiry Nord with a mop of tousled blond hair and bright, bloodshot blue eyes. "It is our great pleasure to welcome you to Skyrim… and our unfortunate duty to inform you that, as you are entering the territory of the Jarl of Windhelm, you must now pay a tithe."
"If they're warriors in the service of the Jarl, I am an Argonian," Brevyn muttered as he knelt down to untie his sling and scoop up a frozen rock from the road. "These men are nothing more than common bandits."
"And what, pray tell, do we get in exchange for our tithe?" Emari called back up. Vahkiir stared at him incredulously until he noticed that the elf was rolling his eyes, making it clear that he was not seriously entertaining the bandit's demand.
"Well, for one, the protection of the jarl!" the bandit chief called back down, holding his arms wide as though it was obvious. "As you are not citizens of this fine land, it behooves you to purchase our lord's protection! Without it, why… anyone could take whatever they wish from you!"
"Such as unsavory characters on the road, yes?" Emari retorted.
"Indeed!" the chief agreed in a mock-cheerful tone, sneering down at him. "Now, will you pay?"
"Well… if we were to agree, what price would you demand?" Emari asked, clasping his hands behind his back as he gazed up at the chief.
The bandit smirked at him. "Oh, our lord does not ask for much. Say… two of those wagons that you have there? And everything in them, of course. As well as everything else in those wagons behind you," he added, ticking off his fingers. "We must also request those guar, and… those weapons you have on you. After all, elves are not allowed to bear arms in Nordic cities. You would need to surrender them before you entered Windhelm anyways. In fact, we are doing you a service by relieving you of them before the guards do."
"I thought you were Windhelm guards," Emari pointed out as he folded his arms over his chest.
"Our fellow guards," the bandit quickly corrected himself. "Come friend, don't be pedantic, lest you try my patience. So… will you comply?"
"In short, you are requesting all of our possessions?" Emari asked, feigning surprise as his eyes widened.
"Not all of them, no! You will be permitted to keep your clothes. We would not wish for you to freeze to death out here, after all," the chief replied in a mocking tone as the other bandits laughed. As he spoke, Vahkiir noticed two of Emari's guards subtly shifting their weight from foot to foot… and edging their way towards the snowbanks that the bandits were standing on. The bandits narrowed their eyes and drew their bows back, which stopped the Chimer dead in their tracks. "And we would also allow you to keep three carts," the chieftain added, motioning to the wagons behind them. "That way, you can start anew once you reach the city!"
"But we've come all the way to Skyrim to sell our wares!" Emari protested in a mock whine. "If you were to take our possessions, we would have nothing to sell! Unless, of course, you are also merchants?" he suggested, his eyes widening with exaggerated hope.
"Of course we are," the chief replied curtly, his tone indicating that he was quickly losing patience with their banter. "Our deal for you is this – do as we say, or we shall slaughter you and take your possessions anyways."
Emari tapped his chin thoughtfully, before glancing over his shoulder at his fellow guards. "He makes a compelling offer," he remarked drily. From where he was standing, Vahkiir could see that his eyes were rapidly flitting around, taking in every detail of where his men were, and where the bandits were standing. With his free hand, he subtly motioned to the two guards on either side of the caravan, telling them to slide a bit more towards the snowbanks. He then fixed his gaze on Vahkiir and Brevyn. His golden-brown eyes pointedly moved to a spot over their shoulders, where Vahkiir could tell two more bandits were aiming bows at them. Brevyn gave Emari a subtle nod, while Vahkiir didn't acknowledge him at all. Even so, he took a deep breath, bracing himself.
Emari turned back around towards the bandit chief, once again folding his hands behind his back. "You truly are a shrewd merchant," he remarked sarcastically as he took a few steps towards the chieftain. The bandits nearest to their chief leveled their bows at him threateningly, but the man held up his hand, staying their hands for now. "However… I feel that we can find better deals in Windhelm."
"Not if you never make it to the city," the chieftain pointed out.
"Indeed. Which is why we are now going to continue on our way. You will impede us no longer," Emari replied simply.
The bandits around him burst out laughing, but in that moment, Emari turned and motioned to his men. While the bandits were still laughing, the Chimer guards suddenly swung their axes and the hafts of their spears into the snowbanks supporting the bandits.
All at once, the supports that the bandits were standing on collapsed, sending them sliding down into the artificial canyon. The bandits let out indignant shouts as they tried to climb to their feet, while their attackers descended upon them. At the same time, the bandits surrounding Emari loosed their arrows, but he was already rolling out of the way before they had released their strings, leaving the arrows to clatter harmlessly across the ground. As he rose, he drew his own weapon – a deeply curved bronze blade that seemed to be halfway between an axe and a sword. In the same motion, he pulled his bone shield off his back, which he immediately angled to his left. Two more arrows struck its bleached face and were deflected away from him, leaving the elven captain unharmed.
That was all that Vahkiir noticed in the few seconds between Emari giving his order and turning to face his assigned enemies. The bandits behind him had already loosed their arrows, but thankfully one of the Chimer guards nearby reacted quickly. She jumped between the bandits and Vahkiir, raising her wooden shield as she did, and though the points of the arrows embedded themselves in its face, she remained unharmed.
Vahkiir gave her a grateful nod, then knelt beside her and drew his bowstring back. As he sighted down the shaft, however, he noticed his hands were trembling. Once again, he was hesitating at the thought of slaying another human, even though they were trying to do the same to him. Vahkiir grit his teeth and tried to force his hand to remain as steady as possible. If he did not fight now, the bandits surrounding them would murder him without a second thought. This was about survival, nothing more, and as a hunter, he must be willing to do anything to survive.
Vahkiir inhaled sharply to calm his nerves, then exhaled slowly as he stared down his shaft at the bandit at the top of the snowbank. When his breath had been half-expelled from his lungs, he forced his clenched fingers to release the arrow. However, while he had tried to steel himself for what must be done, he was not wholly successful, and in his anxious state, he jerked the bow slightly, throwing off his aim. While he had tried to aim for the bandit's torso, his arrow flew slightly wide and struck the woman's shoulder instead. She let out a pained scream and clutched her arm, dropping her arrow as she did. Vahkiir winced and tried to ignore her pained screams as he reached for another arrow. At the very least, with her arm so badly wounded, she was now unlikely to pose much of a threat to them, he reasoned. There was no reason to slay her now.
Even as the young woman struggled to pull another arrow from her quiver, Vahkiir looked away from her and instead focused his attention on the bandit standing on the opposite slope. He turned just in time to see the man draw his own arrow back and stare down the shaft at Vahkiir. Vahkiir bit back a curse as he dove behind the wagon just as the bandit released the arrow, which narrowly missed him and embedded itself into the frozen ground. Vahkiir quickly put his arrow on the string and peered around the edge of the wagon to see if he had a clear angle on the bandit, though he quickly realized that he needn't have bothered.
Brevyn had already managed to sneak beneath the bandit, whereupon he swung his staff into the packed snow under the Nord's feet. The platform he was standing on gave way, and the bandit let out a startled cry as he was sent sliding down into the canyon below. He clawed at the snow as he tumbled into the path below, coming to a halt at Brevyn's feet. From where he was crouching, Vahkiir could see a malicious grin spread across the elf's face as he yanked his dagger from its sheath, while the bandit stared up at him in abject terror.
Vahkiir looked away as the Nord's screams of pain filled the air, his eyes once again falling on the young woman he had already wounded. To his surprise, she was still attempting to draw her bowstring back, in spite of her wounded arm. However, the tension of her bow was simply too much for her to bear with her arm so badly injured, and eventually, she threw her bow aside and instead yanked her dagger from her belt. Her bright green eyes fell on Brevyn's unprotected back as the elf knelt over his helpless victim, his bronze knife flashing in the sunlight as he drove it into the screaming bandit beneath him again and again.
Just as the woman took a step forward begin descending from her perch on the snowbank, Vahkiir whistled sharply at her. Her head snapped towards him, and she hesitated when she saw that Vahkiir had another arrow drawn, and that he was aiming it directly at her chest. As Vahkiir stared her down over the shaft of his bow, his heart pounded in his throat. He sincerely did not want to release the arrow. Even if they were the ones who had been attacked, his stomach roiled at the thought of taking a life. He was a hunter, not a murderer. However, if the woman insisted upon threatening his companion, then much as it disgusted him, he would slay her before she had the opportunity to attack Brevyn.
For a few long, tense seconds, she and Vahkiir stared at each other, neither daring to move. Then, much to Vahkiir's relief, she tossed the knife towards him handle-first. The blade clattered across the hard ground and came to a halt at his feet. The young woman then held her uninjured arm up, indicating that she was unwilling to fight any longer.
Relief swept over Vahkiir as he lowered his bow and nodded to her, tacitly accepting her surrender. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Brevyn was no longer standing over the fallen Nord, and his brown eyes were fixated on the young woman on the slope. His robes were covered in blood, and there was an almost feral glint in his eye as he stared up at the unarmed woman, gripping the bloody knife tightly. However, though he did eye her for a few long moments, he eventually jerked his head to his left, telling her to flee while she could. A look of gratitude spread across her face, and then she turned and sprinted away from the road. Brevyn watched her until she disappeared and then he turned to his gaze on Vahkiir instead.
"We are about finished here," he announced, walking over to the fallen knife and picking it up before putting it in his belt. "We should make our way to the front of the caravan and see how Emari and the others are faring."
Vahkiir nodded, letting out a soft sigh of relief as he rose from his kneeling position and followed Brevyn to the lead wagon, where Emari and two of the other guards were still fending off the remaining bandits. The merchants had ducked under their wagons, trying to protect themselves from the arrows flitting through the air above them. From what Vahkiir could see as they passed by the middle of the caravan, one of the Chimer guards had been killed, and another was nursing an injured arm as he sat at the base of one of the wagons. However, three of the bandits had been slain as well, and another two were badly wounded. Even so, the skirmish still was not in the caravan's favor, and they were still outnumbered.
When he and Brevyn reached the front of the caravan, Vahkiir saw that Emari and his two guards had formed a sort of three-man shield wall, with their backs pressed against one another and their shields raised to deflect the arrows that a quartet of bandits were raining down on them. When the captain spotted Vahkiir and Brevyn running towards him, he quickly nodded to the bandits on the snowbank above them. Vahkiir sighed grimly as he drew an arrow, while Brevyn had already stooped down to pick up a round stone from the ground, which he then placed in the sling that he had unwrapped from around his head. Vahkiir swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he sighted one of the bandits and drew his bowstring back. This time, he managed to keep his aim steady, and the arrow found its mark, burying itself deep in the bandit's hip. Vahkiir winced as the Nord let out a pained shriek and fell to the ground, clutching his side, before rolling down the snowbank into the road below, where he lay writhing in pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brevyn swing his sling around once to gain momentum, and then he released the stone at one of the bandits on the hill. The bullet sailed through the air so quickly that Vahkiir could not follow it, but he did notice when it struck one of the bandits in the forehead. Immediately, he crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his bow tumbling from his limp fingertips into the path below.
The remaining two bandits turned their bows on Vahkiir and Brevyn, but Emari and the larger of his two guards hurried towards them and raised their shields. Vahkiir ducked behind the large guard just as the bandit loosed his arrow at him, which harmlessly struck the guard's shield. Still crouching behind him, Vahkiir drew another arrow, but before he could put it on his bowstring, the guard charged up the snowbank towards their assailant before he could draw another arrow. As he watched, the enormous mer pulled a vicious-looking weapon from his side – a thick wooden club studded with spikes made from the same chitinous material he had seen some of the guards wearing as armor. Before the Nord could raise his bow again, the guard smacked him across the face with his bone shield, sending him sprawling into the snow. He then pounced on the guard and mercilessly brought his club down onto his unprotected face with a sickening crack. He struck the guard four times, though after the second, Vahkiir was forced to look away, unable to bear the sounds of the guard's gruesome demise.
With his back to the larger guard, he saw that the smaller of Emari's companions had picked up the fallen bow and had scooped up one of the other arrows. He and the Nordic bandit on the snowbank had both nocked arrows and drawn them, and were staring down one another, daring the other to shoot first. Vahkiir could not help but wonder if they were hoping to dodge their opponent's arrow, or to take advantage of an opening should their opponent miss. While he doubted either one could dodge an arrow – he knew well how swiftly an arrow flew, especially when they were within thirty yards of each other – he nevertheless found himself morbidly fascinated by their standoff.
However, neither had the opportunity to test their reflexes. As the two stared each other down, Brevyn took the opportunity to scoop up another stone and place it in his sling. With the bandit's attention fixed on Emari's companion, Brevyn swung his sling over his head and released the stone. This time, it struck the bandit in the arm, and the loud crack that resounded across the field immediately made it clear that his arm had been broken. As the Nord screamed in pain, the Chimer guard released his arrow, which caught the bandit in his throat, silencing him immediately. He fell to the snow, gurgling and weakly clutching the shaft of the arrow, while the Chimer guard nodded to Brevyn, who smiled grimly in return.
With the deaths of the two bandits, Emari looked up at the chief and the remaining bandits who still occupied the tower. "You have lost most of your men!" he shouted up to the chief. "Stand down and let us pass! No one else needs to die!"
The chief and the other three bandits looked at one another, and then suddenly, one of them turned and began running for the stairs of the small tower. Before she reached them, however, the chief pulled a small bronze knife from his belt and threw it at her retreating back. The blade caught her between her shoulder blades, and Vahkiir could hear her give a little gasp before she collapsed on the hard, snow-covered stones, groaning in pain.
"If any of you tries to leave, I shall slay you myself!" the chieftain barked at his remaining men. "This is no longer about the loot! It is about our honor as Nords! We will not retreat in the face of these ash-faced elven bastards! Ready your weapons and prepare to fight!"
"Honor?" Emari scoffed, shaking his head. "A brigand who ambushes unarmed merchants dares speak of honor? How droll." He sighed, then turned to Vahkiir and lowered his voice. "Vahkiir… may I beg your aid in bringing our adversaries down here?"
Vahkiir blinked in surprise, stepping forward with his head tilted curiously. "I… am uncertain what I could do for you," he admitted, glancing warily up at the bandits in their tower. "If you wish for me to shoot them, I may be able to reach them from here, but they will have the advantage-"
"No. Rest assured, I only wish to ask one simple favor of you," Emari replied, nodding up at the tower. "I would ask that you Shout them down."
Vahkiir tilted his head back slightly. "Indeed?" he asked uncertainly.
Emari grinned. "It is said that in ages past, Shouts were used as terrifying siege weapons. I wish to see if the legends are true."
Vahkiir glanced uncertainly over his shoulder at the tower. "Well… I can try, but I am uncertain how successful I shall be," he admitted. "If you are expecting me to destroy that tower…."
"Nothing so dramatic, no," Emari assured him. "Simply prepare to Shout at them when I give a signal. So long as they are distracted, that will be enough. In the meantime!" he added, turning to his remaining warriors. "The rest of you, form a line and wait for my command. Keep your shields raised and protect each other. In mere moments, that tower shall be ours."
Vahkiir watched Emari silently as the elves formed a short line with their remaining numbers. With only four warriors, it was hardly an impressive sight, but they nevertheless stood side-by-side with their shields raised and interlocked, creating a nigh-impenetrable barrier over their heads and torsos. Beside him, Brevyn let out a low chuckle as he began untying the sling that was wrapped around his waist while retying the one he usually wore around his head.
"He is a remarkable commander for a mere caravan captain," Brevyn commented thoughtfully. When Vahkiir glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he shook his head as he slipped a stone into his sling. "I shall remain here to aid you. My sling has greater range than their bows, and should they attempt to leave the tower, I shall be waiting to cut them down. If they do not leave, then we must simply keep their attention while Emari leads his men up the tower. Are you ready?"
"As I can be," Vahkiir said softly, taking a slow, deep breath. Somehow, the icy air burning his lungs reinvigorated him, and as a new strength spread through his tired limbs, he nodded to Emari.
Emari raised his shield and glanced over at Vahkiir. "Now!" he barked.
Vahkiir stared up at the bandits as they raised their bows apprehensively. Before they could loose their arrows, however, Brevyn released his rock, which flew through the air and narrowly missed one of the bandits on the chieftain's right. Even so, both the bandit and the chief involuntarily flinched, and that gave Vahkiir the opening he needed.
"FUS!" he shouted. The air in front of his mouth erupted outward and bent the wind around it in a concave shape. The wall of force slammed into the bandits above them, knocking them off of their feet. As Vahkiir had expected, the tower itself was completely undamaged, though some of the snow on its ramparts was shaken off.
Nevertheless, Emari seemed more than pleased with the result. "Charge!" he shouted, and at once the elves sprinted into the tower. The bandits quickly began to clamber to their feet, but even as they turned to face the Chimer thundering up the stairs, it was clear that they were too late. Emari was the first to emerge from the stairwell, and though the bandit chieftain managed to release his arrow, the Emari effortlessly turned it aside with his shield. His bronze blade glinted in the sunlight as he slashed it ruthlessly across the chieftain's arm, opening a long gash on his bicep. The chieftain let out a pained scream and reached for his own axe, but Emari continued to press his advantage. He slammed the rim of his shield into the chieftain's face, stunning him, and then he slashed his adversary across the chest again and again, not allowing him a moment to recover.
By then, Vahkiir had managed to draw another arrow and was staring down the shaft of it at the melee raging above, but it quickly became apparent that there was little he could do. The elves had already managed to overrun the remaining bandits, and since he could not shoot without the risk of hitting one of his allies, Vahkiir stayed his hand. His stomach turned as the pained shrieks of the bandits echoed down from the tower, and he turned away so that he did not have to witness the slaughter.
With his back to the tower, he noticed a quartet of figures approaching them from the direction of Windhelm. Vahkiir's eyes widened, and he slowly pulled his bowstring back once again. Despite the exhaustion that was making his limbs ache, a rush of fury at the appearance of the new interlopers gave him the strength to draw his bow back. As he did, however, Brevyn caught him by the shoulder and shook his head.
"Wait," he said in a low voice. "I do not believe they are here to fight us."
Vahkiir frowned, but when Brevyn gave him an insistent look, he slowly lowered his bow as the newcomers approached. Their chests were protected by fur-lined cuirasses made of leather, over which they wore blue cloaks trimmed with brown fur. Each carried a round wooden shield painted with the symbol of a bear's pawprint, and they carried either a bronze axe or short sword. As they approached the caravan, they ignored Brevyn entirely, instead choosing to approach Vahkiir. One of them reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Well met, friend!" she said cheerfully, her reddish-blond hair blowing in the wind. "I did not expect to encounter a Tongue out here! Much less one coming from the east, and accompanied by elves, even," she added, casting a wary glance at the Chimer still fighting atop the tower. "Are they your servants?" she asked in a low voice.
"I…." Vahkiir hesitated and shot a quick glance at Brevyn, who shook his head slightly. "I cannot say they are, no," he replied, turning back around. "I must apologize, but may I ask who you are…?"
The warrior seemed slightly taken aback, but she answered dutifully, "We are warriors of Windhelm, friend. Servants of our Jarl, the rightful king of Skyrim. My name is Ilga, and I am the leader of this band," she added, motioning to the men behind her. When she turned back around, she asked, "Were you headed for the city, perhaps?"
"We are, yes," Vahkiir said much more confidently.
Ilga smiled as she stepped back, folding her hands behind her back. "Very good! In that case, we would be happy to escort you the rest of the way. You needn't endure traveling with that rabble any longer," she added with a sneer, motioning to the elves behind him.
Vahkiir felt a momentary surge of anger at her dismissive attitude, but he quickly suppressed it. "No, I would rather they come with us," he said in a low voice that did not quite disguise his displeasure. "They have aided me thus far, and I have no desire to part from their company."
"Is that right?" she asked in a low voice, eying Emari and his other companions, who had finished off the bandits and were wandering over, their clothes and weapons splattered with blood. When Vahkiir indignantly narrowed his eyes at her, however, she shrugged. "Very well! I shall not question the wishes of one of the honored Tongues, after all."
"A… Tongue?" Vahkiir repeated uncertainly.
At this, Ilga scowled at him. "Come now – you are a wielder of the thu'um, yet you claim that you do not know what a Tongue is?" she asked incredulously. "What else could you be?"
Vahkiir hesitated, but before he could answer, one of Ilga's guards piped up, "Perhaps he is Dragonborn!"
At this, her other guards began chortling, but when Ilga turned back around to face him, Vahkiir could not meet her gaze. Her eyes briefly widened, but then they narrowed suspiciously. "Surely you would not claim claim that you are… would you?" she asked in a low voice.
"I… cannot say for certain," Vahkiir replied evasively.
Ilga stared at him for a few long moments, then abruptly turned and motioned for him to follow her. "Come with us, and bring your elves," she said shortly. "That is not a claim one should make lightly, but we shall settle this matter once we reach Windhelm."
The sun began to sink towards the horizon as the guards led them down the winding road to Windhelm. Vahkiir, much to his embarrassment, was encouraged to walk ahead of the caravan with the Nords, while the Chimer followed at a distance. Vahkiir had been on the verge of protesting, but Emari had silenced him with a slight shake of his head, encouraging him to do as the guards requested. Even so, while it seemed that neither Brevyn nor the captain seemed to mind him walking apart from the rest of the caravan, he could feel the sullen eyes of the other Chimer on his back, and he soon found himself wishing that he was once again at the rear of the column.
"We must beg your forgiveness for your encounter with those bandits," Ilga said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "While that tower is within Windhelm's boundaries, we have been unable to properly man it for many months now. In peacetime, we would send new warriors up there to ensure that it was garrisoned, but since we began warring with Winterhold, we have no one left to spare. In fact, we four were only supposed to ascertain the hold the bandits had on the roads and determine if they were a threat to the Jarl's flow of goods from the east. We were told not to fight them, even if they had taken it. In truth, you and your elves did us a great service," she laughed.
"You are at war with Winterhold?" Vahkiir repeated anxiously.
Ilga chuckled bitterly. "For now," she replied with a shrug. "The fighting only began recently when the Jarl of Winterhold decided to seize control of one of our border towns. Before that, we were at war with Riften, and last year we were engaged against Whiterun as well. Such is the state of Skyrim now – if we are not at war with one of the nearby cities, we should expect to be by the end of the year." She then frowned and gave him a curious look. "But surely you know this?"
"I… am not a native of Skyrim," Vahkiir explained, before briefly telling her about his home in Solstheim and how he had come to Skyrim. Ilga's expression was unreadable as he relayed his story, though when he finished, she let out a soft snort of disbelieving laughter.
"Indeed?" she murmured. "I must confess, I am still uncertain as to whether I believe your tale or not… but that is not for me to decide," she added with a shrug.
"Does this war with Winterhold mean that we cannot venture to that city, then?" Vahkiir asked hesitantly. "I had planned on meeting some relatives there…."
Ilga shook her head. "Oh, no, you are free to venture wherever you wish," she assured him. "So long as you owe no allegiance to any lord, no army in Skyrim has reason to attack you. Should you swear yourself to a jarl, though, that would swiftly change." A slight smile pulled at the corner of her lips. "However, soon that may no longer be an issue. Though… I must emphasize the word may," she added pointedly.
"How do you mean?" Vahkiir asked.
"You have come at a fortuitous time," Ilga explained. "Windhelm will soon play host to a Moot, which may bring an end to this civil war if the jarls can agree upon a new High King of Skyrim." Her expression quickly darkened, however, and she looked away. "Though… we have been unable to elect a king for nearly half a century now, and I suspect that there is little chance we shall succeed this time either."
Vahkiir was uncertain what to say, but Ilga was clearly distressed, so he simply nodded sympathetically. "That is… unfortunate," he murmured. "You have my condolences."
Ilga sighed and shook her head. "Thank you, but that is unnecessary. We have grown accustomed to war. Since none of our jarls are willing to cede power to the others, it is likely that this war will only end when one jarl finally subdues his rivals and conquers Skyrim." Her expression brightened slightly, and then she added, "Though at least now there is a good chance we may be able to broker a truce, albeit a temporary one."
"How so?" Vahkiir asked, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked beside her. He was only barely following what she was saying, but she seemed to enjoy speaking about it, so he saw little reason to stop her.
Ilga hesitated, then shot a furtive glance over her shoulder at the Chimer following them. She then put her hand on Vahkiir's back and began hurrying him further down the path, pulling him away from the elves. Vahkiir scowled, annoyed, until she let go of him, whereupon she leaned in close to speak to him in a low voice.
"I overheard the Jarl of Windhelm state that one of the purposes of this Moot is to discuss the Chimer uprising to the east," she said quietly, once again glancing over her shoulder at the elves to ensure that they could not overhear. "He and many of the other jarls are hopeful that they can temporarily set aside their differences and form a coalition army that will suppress the rebellion before it can become a true threat."
Vahkiir's eyes widened, though he managed to refrain from looking over his shoulder as well. Instead, he murmured back, "And do they believe that the formation of this… coalition will be successful?"
Ilga shrugged. "Who can say?" she admitted quietly. "We have been at war for so long that it will certainly be difficult to set aside our differences. However, I will say that even the fact that they are willing to discuss this with one another is remarkable. It also shows how great a threat they consider this elven rebellion, if they are willing to join hands once more to suppress it."
Vahkiir looked away, uncertain what to say. While he still felt that this was not his war to fight, he could not help but worry for the Chimer. After all, while most of them were taciturn and suspicious, Emari, Brevyn, and the others had helped him reach Skyrim. He certainly did not want to see them harmed. He did not know how powerful the Nords were in battle, as he had only seen a single small garrison fight a hastily formed Chimer rabble, but Ilga seemed rather confident about their chances of victory….
Vahkiir exhaled slowly through his teeth, watching his breath mist in the air as he decided to set his thoughts aside for the moment. He would mention it to Emari and the others later. If he spoke with them now, he feared that the Nords escorting them might turn hostile. It was better to simply remain silent, especially so long as they were being guided to Windhelm.
The sky had turned a light periwinkle by the time they reached the foot of a long bridge made of black stones that stretched across a frozen river below them. The bridge was guarded by two warriors carrying wooden shields emblazoned with the same sigil that Ilga and her men bore. As they approached, one of the warriors held up his hand.
"Hold a moment," he said gruffly. Ilga, however, stepped forward and shook her head.
"It is fine, Gunther," she said in a placating voice as she put her hand on Vahkiir's upper arm. "I am escorting this one to speak with Jurgen."
"To what end?" Gunther asked, eyeing Vahkiir suspiciously.
"He can use the thu'um, and he has made some rather… curious claims," Ilga said evasively. "I simply wish to speak with Jurgen and hear his thoughts on the matter."
Gunther narrowed his dark brown eyes as he folded his bare, brawny arms over his chest. "You truly believe this one is worth Windcaller's time?" he growled.
"You have not witnessed him in battle," Ilga shrugged. "And in any case, that is not for you to decide. Now let us pass."
Gunther glanced past her at the caravan, his scowl deepening. "The Nord is one matter, but do you truly expect me to allow them into the city as well?" he demanded, jerking his head at the Chimer behind her.
Ilga narrowed her eyes at him. "You know as well as I that Chimer are free to peddle their wares in the market," she snarled.
"The rebels in the east are growing more violent," Gunther countered stubbornly. "If I allow them into the city, I may as well be announcing that spies can roam free within our walls."
"Then you can lay the blame on me," Ilga said dismissively. "On the other hand, if you wish to explain to the Jarl why his coffers have dried up because one obstinate guard refuses to allow merchants to enter the city…!"
Gunther narrowed his eyes at her, then sighed and snarled as he looked away. "Very well," he hissed in a low voice as he motioned them across the bridge. "I shall send word ahead to Master Windcaller that you wish to speak with him." As Ilga smirked smugly up at him, however, he added in a dire tone, "However, bear in mind – if you have asked for an audience with him without just cause…."
"You needn't remind me of his strength," Ilga replied shortly. At first, Vahkiir thought her tone dismissive, but then he noticed that her expression had hardened, making it clear that she was taking the warning seriously. Vahkiir's heartbeat begin to quicken with apprehension as he hurried after Ilga, following on her heels as she led the way across the bridge.
The merchants' wagons clattered loudly across the hard, snow-covered stone as they approached the city, and when they reached the front gates, four guards turned to push open the heavy bronze doors leading into the city. Ilga led the way through the entryway, with Vahkiir and the elves following close behind. When they passed through the archway, Vahkiir felt his mouth fall open slightly as he took in his surroundings.
Unlike the sandstone and chitin city of Blacklight, Windhelm was a city of snow, wood, and granite. As they passed through the entryway, the main road leading from the bridge became a simple path of black cobblestones, which split into three directions, leading east, west, and north. The eastern and western paths slithered between narrow corridors leading to different districts in the city, while the northern path opened into what seemed to be the main residential part of the city.
Whereas his relatives in Solstheim had lived in small, single-family huts, Vahkiir noticed that most of the houses in Windhelm were longhouses, not unlike the chieftain's longhouse in his home village, albeit somewhat smaller. They were primarily made of wood, with large, deeply sloped thatched roofs that were covered in a light dusting of snow, which had not yet accumulated enough to naturally slough off. He guessed that each house could hold well over a dozen people, and he wondered if they were meant to hold a single large family, or an entire clan.
To the west, through a gap in the high stone wall, Vahkiir saw a series of wooden stalls arrayed in neat rows, with the cobblestone road forming a large ring around them. The stalls were covered by colorful cloth or thick fur awnings to keep the snow off of them, and he could see that they were laden with food, furs, bronzework, pottery, and other goods.
To the east, he could see yet more houses, though he noticed that they were smaller and more poorly constructed, seeming more like the single-family huts that he was familiar with on Solstheim. The wind blowing from that direction carried the scent of salt and fish, suggesting that the docks lay beyond the eastern gates. As such, he guessed that part of the city was reserved for the poorer residents – the laborers and thralls, perhaps.
What astounded him most, however, was the sheer volume of people that were wandering through the streets of the city. As with Blacklight, he was stunned that so many men and women could live in such a small space. Since night was swiftly falling, most seemed to be making their way from one of the other parts of the city, either carrying food from the marketplace or wandering home from the docks, carrying large nets and bronze-tipped spears over their shoulders. Most wore brightly-colored wool tunics and hose over fur-lined leather boots, often with a thick fur cloak draped over their shoulders. Many also carried bronze weaponry, typically a long knife or a short axe, though Vahkiir also spotted the occasional mace, bow, or spear as well. It seemed as though even the common people of Windhelm were accustomed to war, and were prepared for it should it reach their walls.
As Ilga began leading them through the streets, Vahkiir also quickly noticed how coldly the Nords were staring at the Chimer as they passed by. He even spotted one or two resting their hands on the hilts of their weapons, though with Ilga and the guards escorting them, none did more than glare at them threateningly. What's more, Vahkiir could feel their suspicious eyes lingering on him as well, presumably judging him for his association with the elves. The Chimer, for their part, answered the hostile stares with glares of their own, making it clear that the animosity was mutual.
Ilga pretended not to notice the hostility of Windhelm's citizens as she led them along the northern road. When she reached a tall flight of black granite stairs, she abruptly stopped and turned to face the elves, folding her arms over her chest as she did.
"From here, you Chimer can go no further," she explained. "Elves are not permitted within the Palace of the Kings. If you wish to sell your wares in your market, feel free to do so. Simply take this path to the west and you will find merchants willing to barter with you. As for you, Vahkiir, if you would follow me…?"
Vahkiir hesitated, glancing uneasily at the elves. Emari smiled encouragingly at him and nodded, but he nevertheless turned back to Ilga and asked. "Could you perhaps make an exception? I do not mind if they accompany me."
Ilga blinked at him, clearly stunned by his request. "I cannot, I'm afraid," she replied. "The decree was passed by the Jarl of Windhelm himself. If you wish to dispute it, you may discuss it with him, but I shall not go against his command."
Vahkiir was about to protest further, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead," Brevyn encouraged him. "We shall not depart from the city without you, and if you have need of us, you will no doubt find us swiftly enough. I doubt there are many Chimer in the city. In the meantime, though, you have business to attend to."
Vahkiir frowned faintly, then sighed. "Very well," he agreed reluctantly, turning back to Ilga. "Lead on, then."
The young woman gazed at him silently for a long moment before nodding and motioning for him to follow. The Chimer, meanwhile, turned and began heading west towards the market. Though Vahkiir did not protest any further, he could not help but cast one last glance over his shoulder at them. After traveling with them for so long, he felt more comfortable around them than with the Nords, even if they were supposedly his cousins. Nevertheless, he only watched them for a moment before turning back around and climbing the stairs of the palace, following Ilga closely.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he noticed a young man approaching them from the direction of the palace. He was tall, with a slight but wiry build. His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, and his beard was neatly trimmed against his mouth and jaw. His blue-grey eyes seemed to pierce through Vahkiir as he approached them, while his grey, fur-trimmed robes fluttered in the snowy breeze. When he was a few feet from Vahkiir, Ilga stepped aside, allowing the young man to approach him with a warm smile.
"Good evening, stranger," he said, holding out his hand by way of greeting. "I am Jurgen Windcaller, Tongue of Skyrim. You are Vahkiir, yes?"
Vahkiir quickly reached out and clasped the young Nord's forearm, whereupon Jurgen did the same. "I am," he answered simply.
"Well met, then," Jurgen replied, releasing his arm. "I have heard a rather strange rumor. I was told that you are a user of the thu'um, yet no one taught you to command the Voice. So far as I know, there is only one other explanation for how you have learned to use the thu'um, yet I find myself hesitant to consider it. To that end… would you mind if I confirm something?"
Vahkiir frowned faintly at his evasive questioning. "If you must," he replied shortly.
Jurgen smiled. "Very good. First, if I may… which words of power do you know?"
"Only one. Fus," Vahkiir answered. Though he did not intend it, the air in front of his mouth rumbled, and courtyard shook slightly when he spoke that word. Grimacing, he winced apologetically.
"Indeed," Jurgen chuckled. "I have also heard tell that a dragon was recently slain in the east. Did you perhaps have a hand in its demise?"
"I… I did," Vahkiir confirmed. He had momentarily considered denying it, but he was surprised to find that he did not wish to lie to the young man.
"I see," Jurgen murmured. "Very well. Then I have but one more question."
The young man turned around and knelt on the ground. As Vahkiir watched, he began scratching something in an untouched patch of snow, though he could not see what it was. When Jurgen finished, he whispered something that made the courtyard tremble again, and then he turned back around. With a slight smile, he stepped aside and held out his arm, motioning at something in the snow.
Vahkiir craned his neck, and he immediately saw that Jurgen had written a rune in the snow. As he drew closer, he was surprised to find that the patch seemed to be glowing with a dim, bluish light, not unlike what he had seen when he had held the "fus" rune. He could hear a faint thrumming in his ears that grew louder as he approached the rune, until all at once a loud rushing filled his ears, as though the wind was whirling around inside his head. A single word resounded in his mind, and when he turned back to Jurgen, his eyes were wide with understanding.
"What did I write?" Jurgen asked simply.
"Ro," Vahkiir answered in a low voice.
"Very good," Jurgen said, a pleased grin spreading across his lips. "This word can be used to strengthen 'fus,' if spoken afterwards. Would you please do so now?"
Vahkiir gave him a sidelong glance, then nodded. Somehow, even though he had only just learned the word, he seemed to instinctively understand its meaning – "balance." Turning away Jurgen and Ilga, he tilted his chin back and gazed up at the sky. He sharply inhaled a lungful of the cold air, and then he focused.
"FUS… RO!" he shouted. Once again, the air in front of his mouth erupted outward, but with the addition of the word "ro," the blast was much more contained. Rather than a simple rush of air, the wall of force coalesced into a solid barrier that remained intact for several feet, before the sheer pressure of the force broke through, and a deafening crack split the air.
Vahkiir stared in shock at the point where his Shout had dissipated. The simple addition of that one word had drastically improved the stability of his Shout, more than doubling its power. Still reeling from that revelation, he looked down again to see that Ilga was staring at him in stunned disbelief. Jurgen, meanwhile, let out a booming laugh as he walked forward and grabbed Vahkiir by both of his shoulders.
"By Ysgramor! It seems that the rumors were true!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Well then, allow me to be the first to properly welcome you to Windhelm… Dovhakiin."