Chapter 10
Loyalties
A light snow began to fall as Vahkiir and Ilga wandered the dark, nearly-empty streets of Windhelm. Judging by the glowing windows and curling smoke rising from the chimneys, most of the citizens had already returned home to prepare a warm fire to weather the increasingly cold night. By contrast, the torch that Ilga held to light their way seemed pale and feeble as it flickered in the blustery wind.
"Your companions did not happen to mention which lodge they intended to spend the night in, did they, Dragonborn?" Ilga asked.
Vahkiir glanced over his shoulder at her. "First, please just call me Vahkiir," he insisted. "I dislike being addressed by that title, especially by my companions. Second… no, they did not. They merely informed me that they were going to try to find a place to spend the night."
Ilga nodded and turned to her right. "In that case, there are likely only two lodges that would accept them at this time of night. Let us hope that my first guess is correct, as the other is on the opposite side of the city, and I would rather not trek from one end of Windhelm to the other."
She turned and began walking down a narrow, winding street into the market section of Windhelm, with Vahkiir following close behind her. They swiftly made their way past the empty stalls, whose colorful awnings seemed drab and dull in the dim evening light. Beyond the stalls, Vahkiir saw small houses, far less impressive than the stately longhouses that dominated the center of the city in front of the Jarl's palace. Through an open window, Vahkiir spotted a family of six huddled on a woven rug around a small hearth, spooning a thick, brown stew into their mouths and speaking in low voices to one another. While they did not seem destitute, Vahkiir did not think they possessed much more than he or his family back on Solstheim. Thinking on it, he could not help but wonder why these Nords lived in far less splendor than the Jarl. After all, it was clear that he possessed a great deal of wealth, far more than he could possibly use himself. Why not share what he did not need with the rest of the city? Certainly, in his own village, the chieftain's longhouse dwarfed the other buildings, but any villager could enter the longhouse at any time – unless the chieftain explicitly denied them entry, and even then, only with good reason – and in fact, many feasts were held in what was otherwise the chieftain's home. The longhouse did not truly belong to the chieftain, but to the village. Furthermore, any resources gathered by the villagers – whether food or building materials – were expected to be freely given if another asked for them. If the Jarl freely gave of his own wealth, how much more spectacular would Windhelm be? It was yet another reminder that while the Nords might have been his cousins, their ways were still very strange to him. Vahkiir mused on that for a few moments, until he abruptly realized that Ilga was over twenty paces ahead of him, and he hurried to catch up to her.
After traveling along the nearly-empty market streets for another few minutes, Ilga finally stopped in front of a large, thatch-roofed building that towered above them. Vahkiir quickly counted at least three floors, based on the number of windows above them, and he would not have been surprised if there was a fourth just under the roof. Ilga smiled at him over her shoulder as she made her way towards the door, commenting, "I pray that this is indeed where your companions have chosen to spend the night."
As she pushed open the door and stepped inside, Vahkiir winced as a raucous din assaulted his ears. He had thought the Chimer tavern in Blacklight had been loud, but that had been a den of peaceful contemplation compared to this. Everyone within seemed to be bellowing, whether with laughter, anger, or just to make themselves heard over the other patrons. The dim torches lining the walls and the candles hanging from the ceiling illuminated several rough, round, wooden tables, around which sat Nord men and women, noisily feasting on bread and roasts, and guzzling down enormous tankards of a bitter-smelling beverage that Vahkiir was not familiar with.
Though he was slightly shaken by the noise, Ilga seemed utterly unaffected as she scanned the lodge. After a few moments, her eyes lit up, and she reached out to grab Vahkiir's arm. Without pretense, she began tugging him through the crowd, expertly weaving her way past the tables while pulling Vahkiir behind her with a surprising strength that he would not have expected from a woman of her size.
Vahkiir allowed himself to be dragged along as they made their way to the back of the lodge. There, in a low corner table, sat Brevyn, Emari, his two guards – still wearing their face-obscuring helmets – and the merchant, Llervu. Brevyn was the first to spot them as they drew near, and he flashed a wide grin as he waved Vahkiir over. He slid over on the hard wooden bench that he was sitting on to make room for him. However, when he noticed that Ilga was accompanying him, Brevyn's grin quickly faded.
"You have made a friend?" he asked evenly as Vahkiir slid into the seat beside him. "Are you hungry?" he added, offering the wicker basket of bread sitting in the middle of the table.
"Thank you, but I've eaten my fill," Vahkiir declined politely, before nodding at his companion. "This is Ilga. I met with the Jarl not long ago, and he asked her to accompany me as my… housecarl, I believe is the term that he used."
Almost immediately, Brevyn's face darkened, and even in the low light, Vahkiir could see the elf's golden-brown eyes glinting with suspicion. "And you agreed?" he asked in a low voice.
"The Jarl made it clear that while he was offering her services as a gift, I could not refuse without gravely insulting him," Vahkiir replied quietly.
"I see," Brevyn sighed, narrowing his eyes up at Ilga. "And so you were forced to bring the Jarl's spy into our midst."
Ilga, who had remained standing beside the table, folded her freckled arms over her chest and matched Brevyn's glare. "I will permit that insult only once, elf, for the sake of the Dragonborn's friendship with you," she snapped coldly. "It is true that until today, I served at the pleasure of the Jarl. However, I do not intend to take my duties as housecarl lightly. My loyalty is, first and foremost, to the Dragonborn, and I would not dishonor him – nor my lord, nor myself – by betraying his trust."
"I would hope not. Especially when you have done nothing to earn it," Brevyn shot back, folding his arms on the table and glaring up at her. "You claim to be loyal to him, do you? What if he chose to oppose your Jarl, and in response, the Jarl sent his army after us? Where would your loyalties lie then?"
Ilga met Brevyn's cold gaze stoically, folding her arms over her chest. "My loyalties lie with my charge," she replied in a low voice. "But neither will I go against my Jarl."
Brevyn scoffed softly. "That is not an answer," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
"Enough," Emari interjected, holding his hand up to head off any further arguing. "Ilga, if Vahkiir trusts you enough to bring you along, then we are glad to have you with us. I, for one, will never turn away another blade, especially if it helps protect the members of my caravan. Welcome."
Ilga glanced at Emari, and then a slight, crooked smile spread across her face, showing that her front teeth were chipped, likely from some long-forgotten fight. "Thank you… captain?" she asked hesitantly.
"Captain," Emari confirmed with a nod. He then turned to Vahkiir. "Now then, is our business in Windhelm concluded?"
"Mine is," Vahkiir said. "Is yours?"
"It seems to be," Emari chuckled, glancing over at the merchant. "At least if Llervu believes our coffers are full enough for his liking."
The old merchant smirked as he patted the pouch at his side, which jingled loudly enough for Vahkiir to hear it even over the raucous shouts of the other lodge patrons. "While I still believe we could have made even more if we had left earlier, this is more than I was expecting," he said. "It seems that the citizens of this city were quite eager for Chimer wares. They've grown accustomed to the luxuries our homeland offers, and they were beginning to grumble about the fact that they were not receiving Veloth's spices and pottery. Vahkiir, if you were concerned about how these Nords would feel about you slaying that dragon… well, I am certain the generals will not be pleased, but the merchants and commoners would likely thank you personally if they knew of your part in it," he chuckled.
"So, with that said, yes, it seems that we are finished here in Windhelm as well," Emari concluded, turning back to Vahkiir. "Would you still like to travel to Winterhold?"
Vahkiir glanced down, folding his arms over his chest as he did. On the one hand, he had told the Jarl that, rather than fighting in the Nord-Chimer war, he should make haste to the Throat of the Mountain, and he still intended to follow through on that promise. Furthermore, it seemed Winterhold was quite the detour, based on the map that Brevyn had shown him. On the other hand, his mother had told him that he might find aid in Winterhold, and while the Jarl of Windhelm had offered him supplies, surely there was no harm in ensuring they had more than enough to make it to the Throat of the World? More importantly, though, he was curious about his kin. He had never truly known his father, and though he did not expect to meet the man in Winterhold, if his relatives were still living in the city, perhaps they could share more about him. It was a selfish desire, he knew, but so long as his companions were willing to indulge him, he supposed that there was no harm in finding answers.
Thus, he cleared his throat lightly and replied, "If… it's not too much trouble…."
"Not at all!" Emari replied cheerfully, before glancing at Llervu, who nodded in agreement. "Winterhold is a wealthy port city, so there is a great deal of profit to be made there as well."
"And we may be able to buy additional Chimer wares there to sell deeper in the heartlands of Skyrim next," Llervu added, pausing for a moment to take a sip of his drink. "I do not believe it was cut off from the dragon's blockade of the mountains, so it is likely our people's goods continued flowing into Skyrim from the sea. If so, we might be able to purchase more of our own wares for a cheaper price to sell in the heartland cities, like Whiterun." A slight grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Even if we did not make them, the Nords prefer to buy Chimer goods from Chimer. They believe them to be more authentic."
"An excellent idea for now," Emari agreed with a grin. He then looked up at Ilga. "But for now, please, join us. Are you certain you would not like anything, Vahkiir?"
"I… shall pass, thank you. I do not think I could eat any more this evening," Vahkiir said with a sheepish grin. Emari tilted his head at him, and he spent the next few minutes retelling what had happened at the feast. When he mentioned Tarius, Vahkiir noticed that the smaller guard beside Emari sat up a bit straighter.
"Surprising," Emari commented thoughtfully. "While I know little about this family personally, I have heard that they are quite influential in the land of Cyrod. If you have indeed curried his favor, then you may have made yourself a powerful ally, especially if he has the ears of the jarls of Skyrim."
"I have no intention of playing politics if I can avoid it," Vahkiir said firmly as he slid further down the bench to allow Ilga to sit beside him. She hesitated, but when he gave her an insistent nod, she slowly slid into the seat beside him with a faint nod of thanks.
"Then you are wiser than most," Emari replied drily as he pushed a clay pitcher of ale towards Ilga. "But for now, let us enjoy this meal. We will need our strength, as traveling to Winterhold is going to be quite the journey."
After spending the night in the lodge, Vahkiir woke the next morning shortly after dawn, sprawled out on the thick sleeping furs that had been laid out across the floor of the room he was sharing with Brevyn, who was still asleep on the fur in the other corner of the room. The pale sunlight streaming into the room through the shuttered window, along with the snowy, alpine scent, was so familiar that it briefly made his chest clench as his thoughts drifted to Brit and his children. Shaking his head, he quickly suppressed those memories before he could dwell on them too long and made his way down the stairs into the main hall of the lodge.
Emari and the larger of his guards were already up, with the former sipping on a cup of tea and the latter chewing on slices of bread under his slightly-raised helmet, which was still low enough to obscure his face. Ilga sat across from them, eating as well, but not meeting their eyes. Emari greeted him with a smile as he raised his glass, beckoning him to join them. As he dined on warm bread slathered with snowberry jam, the other elves gradually awoke and made their way down to join them. About an hour later, they were all assembled and had broken their fast, so they made their way out of the lodge.
When they stepped out into the streets, a boy ran up to them, carrying a scroll. "Vahkiir, the Dragonborn?" he asked breathlessly. Vahkiir blinked down at him, but nodded, and the boy continued, "The Jarl of Windhelm wishes to offer you a wagonload of supplies. You will find it at the entrance of the city. Within, you will find barrels of flour, salt, water, ale, cheese, and dried meat for your journey. You will also be given a letter of credit to use at any of the market stalls in the city, which may be used to purchase anything else you feel you may need… within reason," he added pointedly as he eyed the Chimer merchants warily. "Please note that this is only to be used for supplies, not trinkets or trade goods."
"I see. Thank you," Vahkiir said as he accepted the scroll the boy offered. He then paused and frowned over his shoulder at Emari. "Letter of credit?" he asked in a low voice.
"It is essentially a note that states that the cost of anything we buy will be covered by the Jarl," Emari replied quietly with a slight smile. "This is quite generous of him, I would recommend we accept his offer, though we should also take care not to abuse his generosity. Llervu, do you believe we will require anything else?"
"Allow me two hours to scour the market stalls and collect what we need," Llervu replied. "Our departure will be delayed, but this is a boon that I intend to make good use of."
Emari nodded, and Llervu set off to gather additional goods for the journey. Vahkiir momentarily considered protesting, but then he realized that a merchant was likely to have a far easier time haggling for supplies than he would, even if the jarl's gift was meant for him. After all, there was no guarantee that the commoners in Windhelm would recognize his claim to the title of Dragonborn – if anything, they would likely call him a fraud and turn him away without allowing him to explain.
Thus, he, Ilga, and the other elves returned to the lodge to collect their belongings and begin packing them onto the wagons. The guar seemed eager to be on their way, though Vahkiir couldn't help but wonder if they would be able to endure the harsh cold. When he voiced his concerns to Brevyn, however, the elf simply grinned and assured him that guar could withstand almost any environment, from the ashlands, to the swamps of Argonia, to the jungles of Cyrod, and, yes, the freezing tundra of Skyrim. They would have some difficulty maintaining their footing on the ice, admittedly, but any other pack animal would have the same troubles. The guar would be fine, Brevyn assured him.
Once they were packed, they made their way to the front gates of the city to wait for Llervu. After half an hour, a guard approached them, leading a wagon pulled by a pair of large, hairy, four-legged beasts that Brevyn informed him were called horses. As the Jarl had promised, the wagon was laden with dried goods that would keep for months, further bolstering their rations.
"I doubt any of it will be particularly delicious," Emari commented as he lifted a wax-covered wheel of cheese and inspected it. "But now we are unlikely to starve for quite some time." He turned to the guard and smiled warmly. "The jarl has our thanks for this gift."
The guard stared at him, then sneered and shook his head. "These gifts are for the Dragonborn, elf, not you," he replied tartly. "The jarl could not care less if you and your sharp-eared friends starve. In fact, I feel he would prefer that. He would likely forbid you from eating even a single morsel of it if there was any way that he could enforce that decree once you left his city."
Two of the other Chimer snarled and started for the guard, but Emari simply smiled at him and inclined his head graciously. "Well, you may inform the jarl that we appreciate the supplies."
The guard glared at him, but didn't say anything further as he turned on his heel and stomped away. Emari grinned mischievously, then turned as Llervu approached them, leading a guar that was pulling another wagonload of even more supplies.
"Do you think this will be enough?" Emari asked drily as he walked over to inspect the cart.
"Well, the Nords were a touch stingy with the sausages," Llervu replied as he handed the guar's reins over to Emari. "But I believe this will suffice for most of the journey. And I see we've been given even more." He shot the merchant captain a side-eyed glance. "If we have this much of a surplus…."
"Then we will be able to enjoy our journey without needing to worry about food," Emari finished simply. "We are not selling any of this, unless our need is dire."
Llervu scowled at Emari, but when the captain matched his gaze, he sighed and held up his hands. "Very well," he relented reluctantly. "But if we find ourselves losing profits on this venture, I am taking my share out of your wages," he added with a pointed look at Emari.
"If you feel you must," Emari replied blithely, before letting out a soft chuckle. "I also would rather not stretch our housecarl's patience any thinner than it is already."
"Yes, well, it is difficult to try her patience when she is not even present," Llervu replied tartly, a frown tugging on his lips as he scanned the area. "Where did she run off to, anyways?"
"She claimed that she needed to return to the palace for a short while," Vahkiir explained. "She said that she wished to collect a few items while she had the opportunity."
"Personal trinkets?" Brevyn asked. Vahkiir shot him a sidelong glance, but when he realized that Brevyn's tone was curious rather than disdainful, he relaxed slightly.
"I suppose," Vahkiir shrugged noncommittally. "I believe she has lived here her entire life, so I can sympathize with wishing to collect a few items to take with her."
"And we do not mind waiting for her," Emari added, ignoring the impatient sigh that Llervu let out. "We have quite a ways to travel, after all, so delaying our journey for a short while longer will not greatly affect when we arrive."
Fortunately, Ilga soon reappeared, jogging towards the caravan with an apologetic look on her face. Vahkiir noticed that she had changed her garments. Most notably, she was no longer wearing the blue cloak of Windhelm; rather, she had changed into a long, shaggy fur cloak, which Vahkiir guessed was made from a bear pelt. Under this, she wore a cuirass of lamellar bronze plates, which was fastened over a thick leather tunic. Bronze bracers protected her forearms, and plated bronze greaves likewise covered her shins. Her upper thighs were protected by thick leather trousers, and heavy fur boots completed her ensemble. Vahkiir also noticed that the wooden shield she wore over her back had no decoration, though its center was reinforced with a round bronze plate. On her hip she carried a bronze war axe, while two smaller axes and a bronze dagger were strapped to her other hip. As she approached them, Brevyn raised an eyebrow.
"Well. At least you no longer look like a guard of Windhelm," he remarked drily.
Ilga did not respond for a few moments, taking the opportunity to catch her breath, but when Brevyn continued to stare at her – obviously expecting an explanation – she replied, "I… already informed you… that my loyalties lie with the Dragonborn first and foremost." She straightened up and inhaled sharply, then added in a much steadier tone, "What's more, after we leave the protection of the city, you will quickly find that much of Skyrim has become a battlefield. While the jarls claim that they have a truce with one another, in truth, one cannot expect that peace to hold, especially at first, and especially at the borders. I expect that as we near Winterhold, we will encounter their patrols. Since we have been at war with them until recently, I do not wish to give them cause to attack us by wearing their enemy's colors."
"As though they would not have cause enough to consider ambushing us because we are elves," Brevyn pointed out drily.
Ilga stared at him coldly for a long moment, then added in a low voice, "Further cause to attack us, then."
Brevyn grinned at her, seeming amused by her response. "Fair enough," he agreed. "And, admittedly, I feel that removing your cloak was a wise decision. You have improved a bit, in my estimation."
"There is nothing I crave more than your acceptance, elf," Ilga retorted flatly. Brevyn blinked at her, then burst out laughing, while Ilga gave him a perplexed look.
"Well then, if we are all prepared?" Emari announced, interrupting the two. "Let us be on our way."
After crossing the bridge leading into Windhelm, the caravan turned northwards and began following a long, winding path to the north. The fresh snow that had fallen the night before partially obscured the dirt path, but it was still visible. The snow also occasionally made it difficult for the wheels to maintain their grip in the soil, but thus far, the journey was not nearly as treacherous as traveling through the mountains had been.
Despite the animosity the Chimer held towards her, Ilga immediately made herself useful to the caravan. She walked with Vahkiir and Brevyn at the rear of the caravan – much to the latter's chagrin – and dutifully maintained watch with them. Vahkiir noticed that she never seemed to tire of her task, and when he commented on it to her, Ilga modestly explained that she was used to remaining vigilant due to her years of patrolling the streets of Windhelm.
"We would sometimes spend hours at a time in the evening wandering between empty houses, watching for brigands and robbers," she explained, still scanning their surroundings as she spoke. "It was quiet most nights, and it was easy to become complacent. Of course, that was exactly when criminals chose to strike. I learned a painful lesson about taking my patrols seriously six months into my first year as a guard," she added, shifting her cloak to reveal a jagged scar on her left shoulder. "A thief nearly took my life when I was becoming drowsy on my watch, and I only survived because my partner heard my cries and came to my rescue. After that night, I have never had difficulty keeping alert."
"Will you miss Windhelm, then?" Vahkiir asked. "It sounds as though it is a rather dangerous city."
"It can be," Ilga admitted. "Just as any city can be, I suppose. But it is also my home." She then glanced at him and smiled faintly. "Though I would be lying if I said that I was not excited about this journey. As the jarl said, this is the first time that I have been ordered away from Windhelm. And though we have just started traveling, so far, I am rather enjoying it. If nothing else, the scenery is much more pleasant than Windhelm's. One can only walk the same streets for so long before they long for some variety."
Vahkiir let out a faint chuckle, to which Ilga gave him a puzzled look. "No… I understand better than you might think," he said quietly. "I have been cursed with wanderlust for much of my life, so I know full well how restless one can grow when confined to one location." He gave her a sidelong look and a faint, sad smile. "But Windhelm is your home, yes?" he asked.
"It is where I was born, and aside from my oath to you, where my loyalties lie," she replied in a soft voice.
Vahkiir nodded faintly and smiled again. "Then you should cherish your memories of your home," he said wistfully. "You may soon find that you miss it more than you ever expected to." Ilga gave him a curious look, but he picked up his pace and began moving to take a turn guarding the front of the caravan before she could ask any further questions.
They spent much of the first day of travel walking alongside a cold, ice-filled river that wound its way to the northwest, stopping for the night within sight of a bridge that stretched across its frozen shores. On the second day, they crossed the bridge without incident and continued down the road, which turned to the northwest and began winding its way through the mountains. At first, Vahkiir feared that they would once again be forced to contend with an icy trail, but while the snow that covered the ground became deeper as they ascended the mountains, there was little in the way of ice, and so their progress was only slowed by the wheels becoming mired in the deep snow.
On the fourth day of travel, the wind began to pick up, making the journey far more unpleasant. Worse, grim, grey stormclouds began to gather in the sky above, threatening the caravan with a downpour of snow. There was a small mercy, however, in that while the wind continued to howl and the clouds loomed overhead, only a few flakes of snow fell on them. Nevertheless, Emari and Llervu insisted on pushing the caravan as swiftly as possible, until they finally reached a deep cave to spend the night.
Unfortunately for them, by the morning of the fifth day, the clouds had not parted, and a light snow was beginning to fall. There was a brief discussion about whether or not it was wiser to continue or to spend the day in the cave and wait for the storm to pass, especially since they were not in any particular hurry to reach Winterhold.
Eventually, they decided to venture out, hoping that the weather would not worsen. Once again, fortune was on their side, as only scattered flakes of snow fell on their heads and shoulders, and the storm remained relatively light. While it was somewhat more difficult to see in the snowfall, and the path was soon obscured by the falling snowflakes, they could only travel in one direction. They kept the mountain's peaks to their left as they continued to navigate through the pass, and by the time dusk was approaching, they had found another cave that was large enough to bring their wagons and guar inside and take refuge.
As they entered the cave and lit a few torches, they quickly realized that the cavern was actually a mine. There were veins of ore running through the cold stone walls – mostly of iron, according to Llervu, but there were also noticeable lines of copper. Then, abruptly, Ilga let out a sharp gasp.
"I know this mine!" she announced, her voice echoing off the hollow walls of the cave. "It is halfway between Winterhold and Windhelm. If I recall correctly, the Jarls have been warring for possession of it for months now."
Emari turned towards her and frowned deeply as he rested his hand on the hilt of his deeply curved sword. "And who owns it now?" he asked slowly.
Ilga hesitated, then turned and held her torch up to illuminate the walls. Vahkiir briefly wondered what she was doing, until she explained, "Well… neither side has placed a banner in here, so it is difficult to say," she admitted slowly, before turning back to him. "However, if I recall correctly, Windhelm was in control of it last."
"Are you certain?" Emari pressed her.
When Ilga hesitated, Brevyn scoffed. "Does it matter?" he pointed out drily. "We are not aligned with either faction, and even if we were, most of us are Chimer. We could be attacked regardless of our allegiance, especially considering the goods that we are carrying," he said, motioning to the laden carts.
"…A fair point," Emari admitted with a soft sigh. "If we are fortunate, this mine may not even be occupied right now… but I do not wish to take that chance." He straightened his back and glanced around. "I would like to request volunteers to scout this mine and make sure there is no one hostile in here."
"I shall," Ilga said immediately. The other elves turned towards her, their surprise clear on their faces. "If this mine is occupied by warriors from Windhelm, then they will likely recognize me, and we will be able to avoid a fight."
"And if they are from Winterhold?" Emari pointed out.
"Then they would attack us anyways," Ilga replied with a shrug as she unslung her shield and strapped it to her arm. "Either way, I am far from helpless in a fight."
"I see. Then thank you for your assistance," Emari nodded. "Anyone else?"
"I shall join her," Vahkiir piped up. "She could use someone covering her from afar."
"Very well. But refrain from Shouting in here," Emari warned him with a pointed look. "We do not need the tunnels to collapse upon us."
"I swear," Vahkiir nodded.
Brevyn held up his hand. "I shall go as well," he said, flashing Vahkiir a grin. "Do not forget that she is not the only one who has sworn to aid you however they can, after all." He then glanced at Ilga. "And it will be a welcome change to have someone else in the lead, enduring the blows that I would otherwise have to avoid."
"So you intend to use me as a shield?" Ilga asked coldly.
"You are carrying one," Brevyn pointed out cheekily.
Ilga scowled at him, then sighed. "Very well," she agreed reluctantly. "But do not expect me to protect you indefinitely. If we must fight-"
"Hold your guard, and while they are distracted, I shall dispatch whoever is attacking you, while Vahkiir supports us from afar," Brevyn said simply. "I believe this shall work quite nicely, come to think of it."
"Very good," Emari said with a nod. "In the meantime, the rest of us will begin preparing camp here. Take an additional torch or two, and protect each other."
"We shall," Vahkiir replied. Emari smiled faintly and tossed them a wave, then turned back to the others and began directing them to start preparing fires. Ilga, meanwhile, spun on her heel and began leading the way into the tunnels.
"Do you know the way?" Vahkiir asked as he unslung his bow and set an arrow on his string, following her at a fair distance.
"I have never been in these mines, so no," Ilga admitted, keeping her shield raised and the head of her axe resting on her shoulder, so that she could swing it at a moment's notice. "But I do know that they have been all but abandoned by the miners themselves ever since our war with Winterhold began. While miners – like all peasants – must obey their lords, they are averse to risking their lives working in a mine that is constantly changing hands. They do not make for valuable hostages, and if their side does not have a firm hold on the mine, then when another city takes it over, they are likely to be slain."
"So these mines are little more than another battlefield now?" Brevyn asked, gripping his dagger in a reverse grip in his left hand while leaning on the staff in his right.
"Essentially, yes," Ilga nodded grimly. "One of many across Skyrim. And its prize is not even particularly lucrative. Copper is valuable, to be sure, but I cannot help but wonder if it is truly worth the lives that have been lost trying to seize it."
"So… what about right now?" Vahkiir asked in a low voice. "Is there any indication of who presently controls this mine?"
Ilga frowned slightly and paused at the bottom of an artificial slope. The path branched off in three directions, but when she held her torch above her head, the orange light could not penetrate more than a few feet of darkness. "Not yet," she admitted softly. "I am uncertain if anyone even does control the mine right now."
"Fortuitous for your Jarl if so, mm?" Brevyn asked slyly. "Perhaps you should send him a message when we are finished here."
Ilga glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then replied blithely, "Perhaps I will. Otherwise, I fear you elves will claim it for yourselves. You have already made camp here, after all, so all that is left is for you to find axes and begin mining. Perhaps that merchant you are guarding would like to start a venture in these tunnels…."
Brevyn chuckled and held his hands up in mock defeat. "This wolf does have fangs, doesn't she?" he asked with a grin.
"Shhh!" Vahkiir interrupted sharply, holding his hand up. "Listen. Do you two not hear voices ahead?"
The pair quieted down and crept closer to where Vahkiir was crouched beside one of the bends leading deeper into the mines. In the distance, he could hear faint, muffled sounds echoing off of the cave walls. Vahkiir could not make out what they were saying, but it sounded as though there were multiple beings ahead.
"It seems we are not as alone as we thought," Ilga commented as she gripped her shield more tightly.
"Can you not tell which city they belong to?" Brevyn murmured to her. When Ilga frowned at him, he added, "Is there perhaps a difference in their accents?"
"Not a noticeable one, no," Ilga replied softly.
"Then we have two options," Vahkiir said. "We can either return now and inform Emari and the others, and perhaps suggest that they send reinforcements to aid us… or we can take a risk and investigate ourselves."
"I would prefer the latter," Ilga said softly. "If they are from Windhelm, we may be able to avoid a fight altogether. The chances of that succeeding are quite low if the other Chimer are with us."
"And if they are from Winterhold, and they outnumber us?" Brevyn asked skeptically.
"Then we return as swiftly as we can back to the entrance and prepare for a fight anyways," Ilga replied simply. She then glanced at Vahkiir. "Any objections, Dragonborn?"
"None, though you needn't ask me for permission," Vahkiir replied.
"On the contrary. My purpose here is to protect you, and I wish to ask your advice on how you feel you should be protected," Ilga explained. She then nodded and straightened her back. "So, with that said… please follow me, and keep quiet."
Ilga led the way down the narrow corridor, keeping her shield raised, while Vahkiir and Brevyn followed close behind her. As they descended deeper into the tunnel, however, Brevyn suddenly reached out and caught her by her shoulder, stopping her short. She turned to glare at him, until he held a finger to his lips, then pointed at the ground. There, laid across the floor and lightly hidden under some dirt, was a thin rope. He then pointed above them, motioning to a few boulders that were precariously held by planks of wood. Had she stepped on the trap, she would have disturbed the planks and released the boulders, which would likely have crushed her, and possibly Vahkiir and Brevyn as well. Ilga slowly looked down and gave Brevyn a reluctant but grateful nod before stepping around the trap and continuing to lead the way down the tunnel, this time cautiously watching for any other traps.
As they reached the bottom of a sloping tunnel, they saw that the mines opened into a large, artificially carved cavern, supported by low wooden beams. Bronze pickaxes and shovels rested against a nearby wall, and wooden barrels filled with copper and a few ingots of iron lined the room. Sitting in the room around a fire were three men dressed in leather outfits with blue cloaks. Behind them, bound in bronze shackles, sat three more men, stripped of their clothing save for a crude wool skirts. Off to the side, Vahkiir spotted grey cloaks and leather armor, suggesting that these men were likely warriors as well – probably from Winterhold, he surmised. As the men were sitting around the fire, cheerfully gnawing on a rabbit that was roasting over the fire, a fourth guard – a woman with pale hair – was viciously smacking one of the prisoners across the face with a knotted length of rope.
"Come now!" she cackled, drawing the whip back again. "You said this is what you would do to me if you defeated us! You do not care to be on the other side of the lash?!"
"Enough, Frija," one of the guards said with a weary sigh. "If you slay them, we will not be able to bring them back as prisoners."
"As though they would fetch any real ransom," Frija scoffed, pausing to kick the one she had been whipping before turning back around, ignoring his low groan of pain. "Besides, if the jarl returns them to Winterhold, they will just take up arms against us again."
"We are not the ones to concern ourselves with how much their ransom is," another one of the men said pausing to offer her part of the rabbit's breast as she took a seat at the fire. "If we return any prisoners, the Jarl has promised us three coppers per head. That, at least, is worth a few cups of ale at the lodge, so I say it's worth it."
"Should we perhaps allow them their cloaks, though?" the third man asked, casting a glance over at the shivering, bleeding men. "They are likely to freeze if they remain like this."
"They are Nords. The cold should not prove much of a bother to them," the first man shrugged. "And if it does, they will be warm and happy enough in Sovngarde."
"As though traitors from Winterhold would be invited into Shor's ha-" Frija began, but then she paused and lifted her head up, peering in the direction of the entrance of the mine. "Who goes there?!" she demanded, reaching for the blade at her hip.
"You know me, Frija," Ilga replied, stepping into the light and holding her hands up. Vahkiir, who was still crouching in the shadows, noticed a dark scowl on her face, "What goes on here?"
"Ilga!" Frija greeted her, her tone a mixture of surprise and worry. "Are you not supposed to be in Windhelm?"
"I was given a new assignment by the jarl," Ilga explained simply, before turning to nod at the men behind them. "What are you doing with them?"
Frija and the other men paused to glance at their prisoners. "Whatever I please," Frija replied coldly. "As is my right."
"Your right?" Ilga repeated, narrowing her eyes indignantly.
"You do not understand, Ilga," one of the men said slowly as he turned back to her. "We have been fighting against these men for control of the mines for three days. Two of ours died – Grilka and Sven. So, you can understand why we are a bit… bitter about our guests here."
Ilga shook her head. "No, I cannot," she replied firmly. "They are our opponents, to be sure, but we have been ordered not to torture them. If we ever want to see the end of this war, we cannot give our kinsmen more reason to hate us. This only encourages them to keep their blades pointed at us-"
"Oh, be silent!" Frija snapped suddenly. She rose from her seat at the fire and stalked over to Ilga. She stood almost a head taller than the housecarl, and used that to her advantage as she towered over the smaller woman and jabbed her in the chest with a finger. "You are a mere guard of Windhelm, and have no right to judge us! You, at your comfortable, dull post in the city, have not been out here, shedding blood with the rest of us! The worst you have ever faced is a starving thief armed with a knife! These men would have happily ravaged me and murdered the others had they been the ones to triumph in our skirmish They even said as much!"
"Calm yourself, Frija," one of the men said. Frija glared at him, but when he matched her look, she snarled, but stepped away. The man nodded, then turned to Ilga. "She is correct, though, Ilga. You do not know what it is like out here, constantly fighting for your life. These men are our prizes, and we may do with them as we please, so long as we do not slay them." When he noticed the defiant look in her eyes, he added, "You are our sister, so I will make you an offer. Swear by your ancestors that you shall say nothing, and we will forget this argument."
"And if I refuse?" Ilga asked, her grip tightening on her shield. "Will you slay me? Your kinswoman?"
"Of course not," another man replied, a dark smile spreading across his lips as he slowly drew his mace. "But there are many ways to keep you from speaking – and to teach you to avert your eyes when asked."
"Wait-!" the first man protested.
"Indeed," Frija grinned, pulling her own axe from her belt. "She cannot speak if she has no tongue, and she cannot spy if she has no eyes-"
Before she could complete her sentence, Vahkiir heard something whistle past his ear. A round stone struck Frija in the center of the forehead. A loud crack filled the cavern as the woman slumped to the floor, her eyes wide and lifeless – possibly unconscious, possibly dead. Vahkiir's heart pounded as he looked over his shoulder to see Brevyn scooping another stone from the ground and setting it into his sling.
Indignant shouts filled the cavern, and all at once the other guards pounced on Ilga, who barely had time to ready her shield and ward off the first blows. She backpedaled towards the entrance to the cavern, where Vahkiir and Brevyn were crouching. Vahkiir, who had not been expecting a fight, fumbled to get his arrow back on his bowstring, while Brevyn whipped his sling around and flung another stone at their attackers. The bullet struck one of the men in his unprotected kneecap, which broke on impact, sending him to the ground with a shout of pain.
Ilga, seeing this, stepped away from him and brought her shield off to fend off a sword stroke from one of her two attackers, then turned and deflected another blow from the other's mace. "Stop!" she shouted. "I have no wish to fight you-!"
The other men, however, ignored her plea and continued slashing at her with sword and mace. By then, Vahkiir finally had an arrow on his string, and he swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he stared down his arrow shaft at the mace-wielder's shoulder. Exhaling softly, he released the arrow, which sailed thirty feet through the air to embed itself in the man's arm. He let out a pained grunt, but nevertheless fought through the pain to swing his mace around again, which Ilga narrowly fended off before turning to face her other attacker.
The man with the sword slashed at her twice, which Ilga managed to deflect, but then the mace-wielder swung his weapon around and slammed the head of it into her shield. Ilga was knocked off-balance and sent careening into a nearby wall. Before she could recover, the swordsman slashed at her neck, and though she managed to tilt her head back enough to avoid a lethal blow, it did slice through her leather armor, leaving an open wound just below her collarbone.
Vahkiir hissed as he tried to pull out another arrow, but Brevyn was faster. Darting forward, he drew his knife and pounced on the mace-wielder from behind. He unceremoniously drew his blade across the man's neck, then turned his victim's head away as blood flowed freely out of the open wound. With his quarry still gasping and clutching at his neck, Brevyn swung his knife downward at the other man, clearly intending to plunge it into his back. However, the swordsman turned just in time, catching Brevyn's arm and twisting it. The elf let out a pained, startled cry as the knife fell from his grasp, and Vahkiir briefly wondered if his wrist had been sprained. As the swordsman lifted his blade to bring it down on Brevyn, however, Ilga swung her axe around in a short arc. The head of it caught the man in the neck, and though it did not fully decapitate him, it did cut halfway through his throat. The man's eyes widened, and he let out a raspy gurgle as he fell to the ground, lifeless.
Brevyn hissed as he wrenched his arm out of the corpse's grasp, rubbing it gingerly. Looking up at Ilga, he nodded and muttered. "Thank you."
"Mm," Ilga grunted grimly, pressing her hand against her bleeding wound. "I am merely repaying the debt I incurred when you saved me." She glanced down at the fallen Windhelm soldiers, then added, "Though I do wish you had not attacked them."
Brevyn stared at her, then let out a scoff. "Come now, surely you did not believe you could still parley with them?" he asked sardonically. "They were already threatening to maim you. For that matter, how foolish are you to think that they would acquiesce so easily to your demands that they stop harassing their prisoners?!"
Ilga glanced away, letting out a soft sigh as she did. "I had hoped that they might be bluffing," she admitted quietly. "We are all warriors of Windhelm. Surely-"
"You cannot truly be so naïve," Brevyn sighed. "If what you say is true, they knew well that if word of their mistreatment of these men got back to the jarl, they would be punished. If, even knowing that, they still chose torment their prisoners, they would also think nothing of maiming or slaying you to keep your silence, kin of Windhelm or not." When Ilga continued to gaze at him despondently, however, he tilted his head, his eyes widening slightly with disbelief. "Yet you still believe you could have convinced them otherwise?" he asked incredulously.
"I do not know. But I hoped I could," Ilga said as she knelt beside the slain swordsman and plucked a key from his belt, then made her way over to the Winterhold prisoners. As Brevyn and Vahkiir watched, she reached down and unlocked their cuffs. With every eye in the room fixed on her, she asked softly, "Can you make your way back to Winterhold?"
Still gaping at her in disbelief, the man she had freed stammered, "Y-yes, if we can gather some weapons… but why…?"
Ilga shook her head as she made her way over to the other prisoners. "I, unlike my kinsmen, obey the orders of my jarl. Normally, I would have you taken back to Windhelm, but other tasks demand my attention. Since I cannot hold you for ransom, I have no use for you, and I cannot simply allow you to die here. Therefore, return to your homes, and when you find yourselves faced with the same opportunity to show mercy to your enemies, do so."
The Winterhold warriors traded looks of utter disbelief, then nodded in unison before making their way over to their garments. As they did, a voice shrieked, "Traitor!"
Looking back down, Vahkiir saw that the soldier whose leg had been broken by Brevyn's stone was still alive, though he was reduced to dragging himself across the cold stone floor of the cavern. He was clutching his axe tightly in his left hand as he snarled, "You would dare place the lives of your enemies above that of your fellow warriors?!"
Anger flitted across Ilga's face as she walked over to him. As he pulled his axe back to slash at her ankles, she kicked it out of his hand, then pulled her leg back and drove it into his jaw. The man let out a grunt of pain as she stood over him, her hand shaking as it gripped her axe. "You drew your blades first and attempted to murder me!" she shouted. "And you dare call me a traitor?!"
The fallen warrior glared up at her for a few moments, a snarl on his face. "You truly are a sheltered child," he growled at her. "You have spent too long behind the walls of Windhelm. On the battlefield, only a fool shows mercy. You shall learn that lesson quickly enough, though, once you taste true battle. I simply hope that I shall be there to see it."
"You shall not," Brevyn replied coldly. Before either Ilga or Vahkiir could stop him, he climbed on the man's back, tilted his head up, and slashed his knife across his throat. When Ilga and Vahkiir gaped at him in shock and horror, he met their gazes and shrugged. "If he returned to Windhelm and spoke of what happened here, it would make life difficult for you, yes?" he asked Ilga. He kicked the dying man with the toe of his boot. "This way, none remain to name you a traitor, and you did not even have to bloody your blade in the process." He coldly watched the man until he breathed his last, then let out a soft sigh. "Should we investigate the rest of the mine?" he asked.
Ilga glared at him, her fists clenched tightly. Vahkiir guessed that she was torn between rage at her fallen compatriots, and fury at Brevyn for killing them himself. After a few long, tense moments, however, she exhaled sharply through her teeth. "There are only two more tunnels to investigate," she growled as she stalked past them. "We should make haste."
As she walked by, Vahkiir reached out and caught her shoulder. She swung around to face him, her ice-blue eyes burning with anger. Vahkiir, however, did not shy away from her gaze as he said softly, "I, at least, feel you did well, freeing those men. I do not know how, but I am certain that it will benefit us in the future. In truth, I do not know if I could have done the same. Your jarl would be proud of how you acted, and having met him, I have no doubt that he would have deemed these men the true traitors. Not you."
Ilga glanced past him at the corpses strewn across the floor of the mine, then looked back up at him, still glowering. "I know that I am not a traitor," she replied in a low voice. "I have done, and will continue to do, my duty – protecting you, Dragonborn." She roughly pulled her shoulder out of his hand, then turned and resumed walking out of the cavern as quickly as she could. "Come!" she added sharply without turning around. Brevyn and Vahkiir traded looks, then followed her out of the room, neither daring to say another word to her.