Chapter 11

Shifting Winds

"There's a storm brewing, mark my words. You young lads think you'll make a difference and be the hero. Fools, all of you. When the wind shifts the wise close their windows and wait for the storm to pass. The young strap on their swords and rush into battle. Where are they now? Go to the graveyards and I reckon you'll find plenty of them."-Harvec Brineheart, a native of Kvatch, his last reported words quoted circa 3E 433

"I do believe congratulations are in order." Niranye said while pouring the tea, "The rumour is that you and your husband have received promotions. Well-earned ones, I'd say." Steam rose from the porcelain cup, filling the room with the sweet scent of spiced cinnamon and honey.

Lianna took the cup with a grateful smile, "Cheers to that, my friend." She drank deeply, savouring the flavour. Piping hot, just how she liked it.

The Nords just can't make good tea.

"Excellent tea," she told her friend, after confirming the opinion with a second taste, "Did it come from your contacts back on Summerset?"

Niranye's golden eyes twinkled with mischief and her skin seemed to glow in response. "Now, Lianna, you know better than to ask me about my sources." She chuckled, the haughty Altmer accent giving her a laugh like tinkling glass, "But, a girl has to make a living, and it might as well include some perks." She sighed and took a drink of her own tea, "Perhaps someday I'll be able to see the Crystal Towers and beaches again."

"Would you sell your store and move back there?"

"By the gods, no!" Niranye seemed genuinely horrified by the suggestion, taking a calming sip of her own tea, "At least, not anytime Thalmor would be none too pleased to see me. I don't intend to disappear like some I've heard of." She paused, looking longingly out her window. While they were several blocks from the docks Lianna knew Niranye was looking in the direction of the sea, and her far away home. "Perhaps some day," she said wistfully, almost to herself, "If the Thalmor are driven into the sea, I'll take you there and show you the land of your ancestors."

"I appreciate the thought," Lianna said, reaching for one of the cookies generously provided, "But I really have no interest in seeing the Summerset Isles. Skyrim is my home. It's where my ma and da lived, where my husband was born, and where my bones will rest." She bit into the cookie, interrupting her thoughts with the delicious taste. "Did you get chocolate? Here? I didn't think that was possible with the war on."

Niranye smiled again, "How long have we been friends, Lianna? You should know by now that I can get anything I want, with just a few coins or words." The two women laughed a little, more out of friendship than humour, latching onto the opportunity to avoid another awkward conversation about heritage and homes.

Neither of us will ever step foot on Summerset again anyways, we can drive the Thalmor out of Skyrim, but dislodging them from the Isles? That's a fool's hope.

"Has anyone been giving you trouble?" Lianna asked protectively, glancing about the modest home her friend kept. "I remember there were a few who accused you of spying for the Thalmor."

"Not for quite some time," Niranye responded, "I've won the trust and respect of the locals. Besides, I am the only source in Windhelm for a few nicer goods and spices. If you want cinnamon or nutmeg, you have to talk to me." She smiled, stirring her tea. "You might not believe this, but Jora and I have even become friends. And once Jora approved of me, the rest of the Nords kept their complaints to themselves. I get the odd dirty glance, but not enough to bother me."

"If the priestess of Talos vouches for you, what more could they say?" Lianna smiled warmly, "I'm glad Jora has a friend in you. I know how much your company lifts my spirits and I am not under nearly so much pressure. Lortheim is nearly always at the Palace advising Jarl Ulfric, so she carries the burdens of the flock alone…"

"You know," Niranye said softly, almost embarrassed, "If the worst were to happen, I've offered Jora and her husband a way out. I know people who will help them disappear."

"I assume Jora rejected that offer."

"She said she'd consider it."

"You have no idea how much that means to be, Niranye," Lianna said, voice quivering a touch, "Not that it will be necessary, Talos will not let Windhelm fall, but I'm still grateful. The faithful servants of Talos should be protected."

"I know you can't say where you're going," Niranye said, picking up a cookie of her own and deftly changing the subject before Lianna got too weepy, "But are you going to be in the thick of the fighting? You know I pray that Mother Mara keeps you safe."

"And I appreciate your prayers." Lianna finished the cookie before holding up her cup, "May I have more tea please?" As Niranye poured, she continued, "I can't confirm anything, but, if you hear about an Imperial caravan going missing…you'll know where I was."

Niranye nodded sagely, "I'll keep that in mind. Do be careful, my dear. I would hate to drink this tea alone."

"Don't worry, Niranye, I always am."

The rebels had attacked without warning.

Decius Mallus slipped another bolt into his crossbow with trembling fingers, whispering prayers to whichever of the eight divines were listening. His fellow Legionaries were dying all around him, men and horses screaming in panic and pain. Stormcloaks leapt out from snow banks and behind trees, hacking down the Imperials with ease.

They had been ambushed, cut off, and they were about to die.

It was supposed to be a simple mission; deliver goods from Falkreath to Winterhold, distribute those supplies to the troops and return home. The days had passed without incident, until the first snowfall. The Stormcloaks had been waiting in the valley pass, blending into the rocks and freshly-fallen snow. They clearly wanted the caravan and it seemed like they'd get it.

Decius had been one of the lucky ones. Because his squad was stationed in the middle of the caravan he'd survived the initial volley of arrows and javelins. By hunkering down behind one of the wagons he managed to avoid dying in the second even as his friends and comrades fell. Decius had even returned fire with his crossbow, killing at least one Stormcloak. He was no coward, but he never expected to die like this.

Two feet in front of him was a Legionnaire, glancing about frantically for enemies. Unfortunately, he failed to see the Stormcloak bounding over one of the wagons, axe gripped firmly in his right hand. The Legionnaire spun around just fast enough to see the two-handed axe before it bit into his face. The Stormcloak's axe split his head like an egg, scattering blood and brains across the snow.

Even as the body slumped to the ground, the Stormcloak adjusted his grip on the axe's handle, taking it again in both hands. Glancing around for a new victim, his eyes fell on Decius. Advancing towards him, the much larger man raised his weapon over head and bellowed, "For Skyrim!" Despite the chaos, Decius could clearly see his face. It was a broad and ugly thing, painted with blue woad, while dull grey eyes glared down at him with hatred from over an ugly, wart-covered, nose.

Aiming his crossbow and breathing out, Decius fired. His aim was true, his weapon deadly. The bolt punched deep into his enemy's face, splitting that wart-covered nose in half. His bellows turned to gargles as the Stormcloak collapsed face down in the snow and slid down the bolt until its point emerged from the back of his skull.

Reaching for another bolt, Decius tried to make sense of the chaos around him. He could faintly hear the Legion battlemage dispatching the attacking Nords with his magic, roaring incantations that could be heard even above the din of battle. Figuring the mage was his best chance at survival, Decius finished reloading his crossbow and followed the voice.

Stepping over the body of a fallen comrade and around a burning wagon, Decius saw the mage clearly. The Altmer was flinging bolts of lightning at the attacking Stormcloaks almost disdainfully, a mighty sneer plastered across his angular features. The sight of the mage filled him with hope. After all, the Stormcloaks didn't seem to have a mage of their own. If that was the case, the Imperial forces might be able to survive after all.

Then he saw the woman.

Much like the battlemage fighting by his side she was a High Elf, though her hair was midnight black and her face smeared with war paint. The Altmer battlemage was so wrapped up with his own casting, that he didn't seem to notice the approaching woman.

Decius aimed his crossbow, intent on putting a steel bolt through her neck before she could attack.

Unfortunately, he couldn't have guessed what kind of power the woman had. Though he was too far away to plainly hear what the Stormcloak Elf had said, the effect was obvious. In a moment, the Legion battlemage was encased in solid ice, falling and shattering against the frozen ground. In that terrible moment Decius knew the battle was lost.

Turning to run, Decius realised his final error. Standing behind him, clad in the bearskin armor of a Stormcloak captain, was a warrior armed with twin axes. His face and axes were splattered with fresh blood. Decius had to act instantly or he'd die.

Raising his crossbow as fast as he could, Decius believed he could make the one shot that would save his life. He fervently believed it with all his heart. He knew this rebel dog would lay dying behind him, as he escaped into the mountains.

He was wrong.

Grinding the remains of the battlemage underfoot like an insect, Lianna looked at the carnage all around her. The lingering cries of dying Imperials slowly blew away with the wind. The smell of burning wood and freshly spilled blood filled the air as Stormcloaks looted everything they could carry from the caravan. She watched as an impressive pile of money, weapons, and supplies grew before her eyes.

"You know," Ralof said, wiping the blood from his axes with a rag, as he approached her, "I doubt Galmar wanted us to burn the entire caravan." The tone of his voice suggested he was only half joking. As Lianna looked at the carnage, wondering how they would bring the loot back to Windhelm, she realised how right he was.

"At least we didn't lose too many people," she answered, sliding her Orcish longsword back into its sheath. "The ambush was flawless."

Ralof smiled at his wife, the expression filling her with warmth. "I am glad about that." Pulling the bear cowl off his head, Ralof let the cool breeze toss his hair about. "I hope Galmar is as forgiving as you."

His gaze fell to the Imperial he'd decapitated mere moments ago, his eyes resting on the severed head. Now that the battle had ended, he could clearly make out the young Legionnaire's features. He was only a boy with barely any hair on his chin. Wrapped around the remaining stump of his neck was an amulet of Mara, now stained with its owner's blood.

Kneeling in the bloody snow next to the corpse, Ralof picked up the amulet. Brushing the gore and slush away with his thumb, he asked his wife in a sombre tone barely above a whisper,"Am I a good man?"

The sudden shift in her husband's attitude entirely blindsided Lianna. While he was a sensitive man and prone to occasional bouts of depression, this sudden doubt took her by surprise.

Kneeling beside Ralof, Lianna wrapped her arms around him. "You are the best man I've ever met. You do what's right even though it's difficult. Don't ever forget it."

Ralof held the amulet in his hand a little longer, staring at it without speaking.

Lianna continued, "My da would have been so proud of you." She kissed him on his rough cheek, "As am I."

Lianna cautiously prodded her eggs with her fork. They didn't jump up at her but they did shift a little, the bright yellow yolk wobbling. The burly Nord woman Lianna called ma, turned from the fire to give her 'the look.' "You need to eat those, young lady," She ordered the six-year old Altmer, "Your da is taking you with him today, and you can't go until you've finished breakfast."

Lianna didn't immediately answer, instead prodding the eggs some more. She knew they came from their chickens, and that ma had fried them over the fire, but they still looked disgusting.

The sounds of boots descending the stairs echoed throughout the cottage. Turning her head, Lianna saw him. Dressed in simple robes decorated with a black and lightning-streak pattern, immaculately clean-shaven and with his amulet of Talos proudly displayed over his breast, was Carver Wolfheart, her da. Physically, he looked so different from his beloved Olga. Where she was short and stocky, he was tall and lanky. Where she was scarred from battle, he was smooth-skinned. Where she hurt people and battled the enemies of Skyrim, he healed the injured and tended the sick, in Talos' mighty name. While he still had both eyes twinkling happily with harmless mischief, Olga's left was milky, matched by an old wound running down her cheek. They both had brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a profound love for their home and freedom.

After passionately kissing his wife, Carver turned and looked at his daughter. Picking her up, much to her delight, he sat her on his knee and rubbed her nose with his. "Do you know what today is?" He asked her, in between her giggles.

Lianna nodded excitedly. "Ma goes to guard Whiterun, so today I go with you?" She'd been giddy with excitement for days. An entire day of just her and her da, watching him use magic. Admittedly, she didn't know all that much of what her da actually did, but it would be exciting to find out!

Lianna knew Carver and Olga weren't her 'real' parents. They'd never hidden that from her. She didn't know what had happened to her birth parents or what had prompted two Nords to take in an Altmer child, despite the historic tension between the two races. None of that mattered to her. To Lianna, they were da and ma and that was enough.

Olga looked lovingly at the greataxe hanging above the fireplace. Its handle worn from constant use and head nicked and scratched. Like the woman who carried it, the weapon had personality. It may not have been the prettiest, or shiniest, but it was dependable. Ma had told her that weapon had saved her during the war, The Great War with the Thalmor that she rarely talked about. It was one of only three things she'd kept from that war. Carver was another.

After putting his daughter down, Carver took his own seat, reaching for a mug of cold beer and the morning's breakfast, namely porridge, several eggs, and a slab of bacon. After giving thanks, he dug into his food with abandon. "Have fun today," he told his wife through a mouthful of bacon, "Give everyone in town my warmest greetings." Finishing one egg, he moved on to the next. "Martin says the Riverwood Trader is looking for additional exports if anyone from the city wants to talk a walk up to the village."

Brianne rolled her eye at him lovingly, "I'm going to be cracking skulls and stamping out crime today. Hardly fun, Carver." Now that Lianna was eating, Olga began checking the links of her chainmail, looking for rust or weakness of any kind. Ma always said it paid to be prepared, and she lived by that creed.

"Stay safe now Carver," Brianne told her husband honestly, looking up from her work momentarily. "Try not to get yourself killed."

Carver gave a great belly laugh. "Darling," he responded cheerfully, "I'm a priest of Talos. I'll be safer than you!"

"I'm serious, Carver!" Olga responded exasperatedly, "You know what the Thalmor will do to you if they catch you!"

Carver smiled and said confidently, "The Thalmor would never come after me in the heart of Skyrim. They wouldn't dare."

"I still can't believe you managed to recover my missing claw! I never thought I'd see it again!" Lucan Valerius said excitedly. The keeper of the Riverwood Trader was beside himself with delight, gazing down at the golden claw now sitting comfortably on the counter before him. "And you weren't even looking for it?" He shook his head. "Amazing. The divines certainly put you in the right place at the right time."

Hammel opened the pouch Lucan had offered and sniffed the tobacco within. Determining that particular tobacco blend would smoke very well, Hammel put the pouch to the side before looking at the fishing rod Lucan had brought him. "It's true," he told Lucan, taking up the rod and testing the feel, "My companions and I were there on other business, but when the bandits mentioned your shop, it seemed right to return your property."

When Hammel and his companions had initially entered the Trader, they didn't expect a long encounter. They would return the golden claw to its owner, purchase supplies for the trip back to Whiterun and sell a few of the bulkier treasures they didn't want to carry any further. Yet Lucan was so excited to have his treasure returned that he insisted on paying them each a generous reward. That reward when combined with the money earned from selling their treasure, even split three ways, left Hammel with quite the pile of Septims. For the first time since he'd awoke in Skyrim on that cart, he finally had some real money.

Ria was excitedly looking at bucklers, shields, scabbards and belts, trying on different pouches to see which would give her the most impressive appearance. This contrasted with Clob because, aside from the basic rations, potions and similar supplies, he hadn't bought anything.

"Well I'm glad you found it! Riverwood Trader is now back in business! I'm glad to have you all as distinguished customers!" Noticing that nothing special had caught Clob's attention Lucan, clearly a dedicated merchant, moved over to him. "Is there anything I can help you find, my friend?" He looked the Orc up and down, obviously judging him to be a mage, "I have a couple of used spell tomes that a mage traded me. He said he didn't need them where he was going, the College of Winterhold. I figure a spell-slinger like you might be interested in them."

"This guy? Need spell tomes?" Ria said, looking up from a belt with a particularly impressive bone buckle, "He knows every spell there is! I've seen him in action!" She happily added the belt to her "buy," pile before turning her attention to several mean-looking daggers.

Clob smiled, "I appreciate the vote of confidence Ria, but I am far from a master. My conjuration and mysticism spells in particular need practice." He looked up at Lucan and said, "I would like to peruse the tomes, please."

As Lucan went back to the shelf whistling an old tune, Hammel added the fishing rod to his pile, after thinking about how much he would enjoy fishing along the White River. He was about to ask Lucan what his total cost was when the little bell above the door jingled, interrupting his train of thought. Unfortunately It wasn't Camila, Lucan's attractive sister who Hammel was hoping to see, who walked through the door but Delphine, proprietor of the Sleeping Giant.

"I thought you'd left town," she told Hammel, in a carefully neutral tone. "But here you are." She looked down at the pile of things Hammel was buying, and the pile of goods he'd traded for them, and folded her arms. "Had a successful trip?"

"We sure did!" Ria butted in, swinging a dagger about her head dramatically, "We plundered Bleak Falls Barrow and returned with its treasure!" She smiled again and turned to Lucan, "I'll buy this one please, and the rest!"

"Bleak Falls Barrow, eh?" Delphine raised an eyebrow, "I didn't think anyone could come back from there alive." She gave him a most quizzical look, "What were you doing up there?"

What is she getting at? She wants something…

Unsure entirely why he was willing to admit so much, Hammel said, "We were employed by Jarl Balgruuf. He wanted us to find something and bring it back to Whiterun. We're just here for supplies."

Why did I say that? I don't know this woman all that well…I shouldn't trust her with this…

"Okay," Delphine held her hands up, giving a sly smile, "Keep your secrets, Mr Greymist. Don't mind me, I can't help but pry. It's an old innkeeper's wicked habit, I just love gossip." She smiled again, though it looked forced. "Now, I have to pick up some cleaning supplies and can't afford to get distracted. Ongar wants me to get back to work." She looked over at Lucan, "Are my goods ready?"

Lucan retrieved a small package, wrapped in brown paper and twine, from beneath the counter. Hammel had no intention of listening to Delphine and Lucan talk shop about mops and brooms, so he approached Clob.

The mage was leafing through a particular book with some interest. "I do think I'll be taking this one." He said more to himself than to Hammel.

"Which one did you buy?" Hammel asked, more for the sake of conversation than anything else.

Closing the book with a slam, Clob said, "Bound Warhammer." He shrugged, "I felt that I should have some kind of weapon that connects to my Orcish ancestors." He actually chuckled as he said it. "Smashing someone with a two-handed hammer will probably be good for my blood."

"I'm sure you'll have fun."

I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that.

"Now," Clob said, "I'm not sure what someone does after a successful Barrow raid. I confess I haven't done much adventuring. I've explored plenty of ruins but they didn't tend to be monster infested."

Hammel clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm taking you and Ria drinking at the Mare! That's what we do after a successful dungeon raid! We celebrate!"

"Bring us another round please, Saadia!" Hammel told the tavern wench, shoving a few Septims into her hands, "And keep the change as a gift!" He tore a strip off the grilled turkey sitting in the centre of the table and chewed it ravenously.

Mikael was playing his drum and singing an ancient Nord ballad, the fire was roaring, and the mead was flowing. It had been too long since Hammel had celebrated a victory in the traditional Nordic way, and the Grey Mare was a great location for that celebration. He had good food, good drink, and better company.

Saadia smiled and winked at him. "Dear Hammel, why are you so generous to me?" She slipped the coins into her blouse with a sultry smile.

"What can I say? Maybe I'm hoping you'll want to see me after work some time?" Hammel leaned towards her with a smile he hoped was charming.

"Maybe I will." She responded with what could only be described as a purr and walked away with a suggestive sway in her step.

Hammel was reaching for the loaf of bread to sop up the gravy on his trencher as Clob said, "She is manipulating you, you know." He sounded more like a concerned friend than a condescending enemy. Clob took a handful of nuts from the bowl and popped them into his mouth, tusks crunching them dramatically, before washing them down with a drink of wine.

"What?" Hammel tore the chunk of bread free, dunked it in the gravy, and ate it. "No way, Clob. It's because of my charm." Stabbing another piece of turkey with his fork, Hammel said, "She likes me, my friend, trust me."

Clob shook his head and clicked his tongue, "It's just for tips." He drank deeply from his goblet. "I'm impressed that Hulda was able to get a bottle of Surilie Brothers up here. Delicious."

Ria belched loudly while reaching for her own portion of turkey, "We need to go plundering more often, that was great." She stabbed one of her new daggers into the turkey and cut it. "The Jarl was so grateful. I've never gotten to do anything so important before." She shoved the turkey into her mouth and said, her mouth still full, "It was great to actually help Whiterun!"

"We are an impressive team," Hammel agreed, slapping the table with glee, "What do you say, Clob? Should we plunder another dungeon?" He offered the Orc his hand, grease dripping from it. Realising what that looked like, he wiped his hand on his tunic before presenting the newly cleaned hand to Clob.

Clob shook that hand. "It has been a pleasure working with you, Hammel, and I hope our paths cross again. However, I came to Skyrim with a purpose, and I have ignored it for too long." He paused, finishing his wine, "But, assuming we are both alive after my mission is accomplished, I would be overjoyed to explore more ruins with you."

That's too bad. I've actually grown really fond of this Orc.

"Anything I could help you with?" Hammel couldn't believe that he was asking, but he was. He actually considered this mage a friend and he wanted to help him if he could.

It's been too long since I had a true friend…

"Thank you, my friend, but I don't believe you can. You have a responsibility to the Companions and to Whiterun and I must travel far. However, I can promise you this. If you can help me, or I you, I will let you know."

"Well, best of luck with your mission, Clobnak-gro-Grogork," Hammel said, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"And you as well, Hammel Greymist. May the Companions give you the purpose you seek."

By Talos, I hope they do. I need a purpose or I'm going to lose my mind.

Hroki looked out the watchtower's window for the third time in the last few minutes. Something was hiding in the surrounding darkness, he could feel it.

"What in Oblivion are you doing man? It's cold out there!" Tor, one of the other guards stationed at the western watchtower, shouted from beside the fire. While it blazed gloriously, tempting him to return to its comforting embrace, Hroki knew he'd seen something out on the tundra. It was his duty to protect Whiterun. If her guards failed to see and combat the threats in the dark, the city would be vulnerable.

Despite his enclosed helmet, the wind still froze his cheeks. The oncoming winter was slowly creeping in, dropping Skyrim's normally chilly temperature even further during the long nights. He felt his breath crystallising against the cold iron of his helm and saw his knuckles slowly turning blue. Still, the cold didn't bother him for he'd lived in Skyrim all his life, just as his father had, and his grandfather had, and his entire line all the way back to Ysgramor's Companions .

He continued to scan the horizon, looking as long as he could. Yet despite his vigilance nothing appeared. Shaking his head to clear his vision, Hroki returned to the fire and his brothers. He must have imagined it. Yet even as the guard held his hands up to the roaring flame, he could swear he felt something watching him. This time he shrugged it off. The others were right, there was nothing out there.

From the distant tundra the creature watched, his keen eyes trained on the tasty little morsels strutting confidently about their tiny tower. His eyes took in every detail of the mortals' structure, counting the tiny snacks he saw within.

It would be all too simple for a being of his power to consume the occupants and burn the tower to the ground but he chased the desire away. He had been ordered to wait until commanded to attack. Soon the order would come and the destruction would begin.

Curling up like a rug, the creature watched, and waited.