Kodlak gave Vilkas a few more days on Reach research, because he thought there might be a connection. It was high time to leave, however. Soon the Kastav valley would fill with snow and become untraversable.
On the last day, Vilkas was sitting in the library alone with Nevras, who still had to watch over him. As much as the orcish librarian appreciated Vilkas' care with books, he wouldn't trust an outsider.
"You've been quite captivated with that one," the elf motioned towards the book Vilkas was taking notes from. "Vateshran's Tale? I think I've read it once."
He leaned closer. Vilkas' notes had a lot of drawings copied in them too, mostly tribal tattoos. "Is that about The Daughters Three?"
"Aye," Vilkas had learnt to tolerate the elf's invasive inquisitiveness by now. He did provide some interesting insights to their research before.
"I always found that interesting," Nevras sat back in his chair and made himself comfortable. "It sounds just as legendary as the Red Eagle, but this story is much more hush-hush." He shrugged. "Maybe because the imperial scholars were more interested in the man who actually slaughtered their legions en-masse."
"Is it more hush-hush?" Vilkas put down his quill.
"Why, yes. Also more vague. Didn't you bump into books on the Eagle?"
Vilkas had to acquiesce.
"See? Did you come across the Song of Gwyna?"
Again, Vilkas had to nod.
"What about The Love of Isolen? Tales of Lorkh?"
"Aye."
"All written down more precisely. I mean, a lot of Reach folklore is not written down, but still, some of them do get noted, was it on stone? I would expect Daughters Three to get noted down too. Especially since according to what is in Vateshran's Tale, they could wreak mighty havoc too."
"What got you so interested? You don't seem the type to sit all day in libraries," Vilkas questioned.
"I like researching old magics," Nevras grinned, leaning back in his seat. "Given I'm absolute sheepshit at the modern ones. Throwing fireballs or lightning bolts on the battlefield? Dream, just a dream. What I'm good at? Just as potent, but, alas, forlorn and forgotten. Did you know how much work it took me to be able to levitate even a little bit? Just because after the empire passed their idiotic ban, all the books got lost. Tchk. Even a whole damn school got dispersed."
"I thought your House wasn't too keen on the empire and their practices."
"No, but don't go trying to ask a Telvanni magister to lend you his or her books. You'll come back in a box, if at all." A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. "Unless you are strong enough to murder them."
Vilkas shook his head.
Just as he was about to go back to note taking, someone entered the Arcanaeum. An older mage with a mighty beard.
"Ah, Urag. Did the Companions leave already?" he walked to the librarian.
"Not yet," the orc pointed out the hidden alcove Vilkas and Nevras were occupying.
Nevras leaned out. "You have the last evening, master Tolfdir."
"Ah, wonderful. May I join you two?"
Vilkas looked as Nevras gave consent. Just as he suspected, the nosy elf remained seated, interested in the older mage's business. "Aren't you the gossip monger," he commented.
Nevras shrugged. "Information is key to staying alive."
"My name is Tolfdir," the old mage introduced himself as he sat down on a chair Nevras pulled up with a spell, "and according to the letter I received, you were Hrakni's apprentice?"
"Aye, Vilkas is the name. How did you know him, master Tolfdir?"
A smile warmed up the old mage's face. "We used to adventure together in the old days." He sighed. "Pardon my curiosity, I just wished to see the man he picked out to tutor."
"What was he like as an adventurer?" Vilkas put the books away carefully.
Tolfdir noted his respect for the books, and gave an approving nod. "Boisterous. Always ran his mouth about feats he would accomplish. He always tried to make friends with everyone, though. Dependable, too."
"Then it may please you to hear he stayed that way, only got wiser," Vilkas gave a small smile, which faded away quickly. "Except for the last decision."
"Indeed," Tolfdir saddened as well. He sighed. "Well, as much as I would like to get to know you properly, I do not have much free time." He reached for a satchel he brought. "Here. I have kept some journals, both mine and his, and several knick-knacks. I think he would like you to have them, since he spoke so fondly about you in his letters to me."
He looked at the time. "I believe I have another class to teach. Are you sure you won't join me, Nevras?"
"I still have company to keep," Nevras smiled. Politely, but with clear disinterest.
"Suit yourself," Tolfrid didn't seem surprised or bothered. "Don't get too arrogant, my boy. One mistake is all it takes."
Vilkas watched the mage leave, thoughtful. One mistake, indeed. Hrakni used to say that. And then he died by the creed. He reached out and grabbed the satchel before Nevras could try peeking in it.
The elf narrowed his eyes, but didn't press. Instead he returned to the legend from before. "Daughters Three. It," he pointed at the book, "says they harness powerful primordial energies. Just a few steps below ehlnofey."
"Ehlnofey?"
"You would probably know the term Earthbone better."
Vilkas nodded to himself, he did know about Earthbones. Little, but something. "Maybe it is obscure because the legend is about a ritual, instead of a person."
"Probably," Nevras shrugged. His eyes glistened as he gave a disturbing smile. "But imagine - being able to harness the primordial power of the earth below your very feet, or the sky above your head. Be like your venerated goddess, Kyne. Or a mortal shell of her."
Nevras got lost in his thoughts. Vilkas followed suit, wandering to what he had read already.
This new information seemed in accordance with what he found out about the wyrds in High Rock - at least the ones regarded positively by their settled neighbours.
Both of them were about women only, about the wyrd and natural powers and balance.
If there were Daughters Three somewhere, they probably weren't interested in people. They would be interested in natural matters.
Like spriggans.
And hagravens. Who, according to the books, are hated by the wyrds for their unnatural ways. He remembered the strange flesh-eating trees with a heartbeat and shuddered.
The wyrds were supposed to stay in an area. But there was nothing of the sort in the legend of the Daughters.
So, possibly, one could have wandered over to the plains of Whiterun.
Well, that seemed like a sound theory. But what to do with it?
XXX
That evening Vilkas didn't join the spar. Perched on his usual seat, he watched as Nevras and Farkas made a bet, his mind wandering to other places.
He should be focusing on what he had learnt. Especially the things Nevras had told him about mystical places infused with innate magicka, turned into crafting spaces. The elf even let him have a copy of his own notes.
But his mind kept wandering over to that horrible, terrible day.
He heard voices. Feminine ones. He couldn't remember any words, but the lilt sounded unusual to his ears. Bothela had hints of it in her speech, too.
He remembered smelling grass. There was more, though. Scents he later learnt to recognise as medicinal herbs.
The match below drew his attention again.
Farkas actually started overpowering Nevras. Vilkas would even go as far as saying Farkas was handing the elf's ass to him.
Just a little bit…yes. Nevras ended up on the ground, right under Farkas. He had zero chances of getting out. Vilkas watched the elf try to slip the grip.
Futile.
In the end, Nevras gave up. "You win, big man. Let me go! Can't breathe with you on top!"
Farkas laughed and got off. He then pulled Nevras back to his feet. Effortlessly. "Fair and square!"
"Sadly, yes," Nevras grinned. "Too bad I agreed not to use magic."
"You got too cocky," Vilkas commented. "Just like your master mage said - one mistake is all it takes. You weren't taking Farkas seriously and didn't adapt."
"Ow, spare a sore man's feelings, won't you?" Nevras grimaced overly dramatically.
"So what'cha got?" Farkas clapped Nevras on the shoulder. "You promised stuff from your pack!"
The elf sighed. He sat down on a damaged table and pulled a comfortable looking small backpack up. He started pulling items from its depths.
"What might you like…hmm, this," he plopped a full fledged battle axe on the table. "It's enchanted so it never goes dull and never breaks. Useful, methinks."
Another thing he put on the table was a ring. "This one was an experiment. Wanted to see if I could replicate some effects - I could. It turns away some damage from non-magical weapons and helps with fire resistance. This amulet makes you healthier. This little pendant protects from cold - you probably don't need that, you beast of a Nord - this cloak makes you more eloquent-"
"What does elokent mean?"
"Eloquent," Vilkas corrected. "Makes you speak things really well."
"Oh, I don't need that either," Farkas waved his hand dismissively. "I like the ring and the axe. But you said three items. What else? Do you have anything to read? Interesting scrolls?"
"Not in this backpack," Nevras smiled slyly. "Though…you might actually be interested in this," he dug around a little and then revealed a carefully folded piece of paper.
Farkas took it. "A recipe?"
"Very special one. You won't get anything like it easily. Might just be one good thing about this whole accursed town."
"Winterhold frost candy…"
"You got one on the second day, remember? The small cube you were supposed to suck on but you ate it outright."
Farkas' eyes lit up. "Oh! That was tasty. But I can't cook," he scratched his head. Yet he didn't seem interested in returning the paper to Nevras.
He scratched again, this time in his growing beard. "Can you make it?" he turned to Vilkas.
Vilkas saw the glimmer of hope in his brothers' eyes. He just couldn't disappoint him. "Aye, give it here," he jumped down from his perch and reached out. "How hard can one recipe be?"
He looked it over. His eyebrow arched. "Ice wraith essence?"
"What did you think gave them the frosty kick?" Nevras shrugged.
Farkas, having tried swinging his new weapon, went over. "For you," he dropped the ring to Vilkas' hand. "You keep getting yourself into trouble. I can't always watch over you, so be a good little brother and wear this, always."
Vilkas bristled. "Little brother my ass, you don't know which of us was born first. And even so, it's just minutes!"
"I am the taller one," Farkas ruffled Vilkas' hair, "so I'm the big brother. Besides, you are reckless, so the perfect fit for a little brother."
Nevras sniggered. When Vilkas' blazing eyes turned to him, his expression was that of complete innocence.
XXX
"So, before you leave," Nevras, accompanying them to the gates the next morning, pulled Vilkas aside, "I wanted to offer you a deal."
"I'm listening."
"I am in dire need of items to enchant. You probably kill people often, no? So. Get some unenchanted items for me. Weapons, armor, jewelery, clothes, whatever. Send them in a bundle once you've collected a few. In return, I will research for you whenever you need. No calling in that one favour you've been saving for ages. I might even send some pieces from time to time. How's that sound?"
"Sure. But I will not endanger myself more than needed to get things."
"Fair," Nevras grinned and offered his hand. Vilkas shook it. "Wouldn't want to lose a business partner."
XXX
"Look, look, look, there are ice wraiths up that slope!"
"Why are you pointing them out, Farkas? They are nowhere near close to us, they won't attack," Kodlak turned to him, surprised.
"Can we kill them? I need the essence for…stuff."
Vilkas sighed.
XXX
"At least the valley is not as bad as the coast. I imagine they are drowning in snow just about now," Vilkas grumbled.
"Yeah," Farkas nodded sagely, huddled in his thick cloak lined with wolf fur. "Do you think there will be any spare wine in the fort?"
Kodlak chuckled. "I doubt they will want to share their resources. Winterhold is not the richest of the holds."
XXX
Midwinter, 4E 187, Whiterun
"Finally home!" Farkas sat down with an overfilled plate. "I hope I can get some jobs closer around for now," he grumbled through his teeth as he bit into a piece of meat.
Erika, sitting next to him, took a gump from her tankard. "Who doesn't?"
"Falkreath would be bearable," Farkas mused after swallowing. "It's warmer, not as cold between the trees."
"But it's higher up the Jeralls," Erika countered.
"Nicer than Winterhold."
"That's for sure." Erika looked around. "Where is Vilkas, though? Haven't caught a glimpse of him since I came back."
"Kodlak dragged him downstairs the moment we came," Farkas shrugged. "Poor guy didn't even get to eat. I guess the books they read up in the College were real important."
"Wasn't that clear from the start?"
"I didn't listen," Farkas shrugged and went back to his food.
XXX
"Finally got you," Erika invited herself into Vilkas' room and sat on the table. "What did you research up there?"
"Skjor asked Kodlak about the Skyforge," Vilkas answered, as calm as always.
"Not the one in the Silent Moons?"
"It came up as well, but not much. Why?"
"Embla had me investigate how it is that a bunch of upstart mercenaries got a whole fort for themselves. Can you guess which one?"
Vilkas made a soft mhm. He had already overheard enough to know, but he couldn't reveal what he knew to Erika.
"I wonder what it is that makes them so interesting," Erika scoffed. "They are just another upstart mercenary group. They made a deal with the jarl about keeping bandits in that area in check for access to the fort, what's the big deal. They will sink like all the others have."
Vilkas couldn't share her confidence.
XXX
Spring, 4E 188, Whiterun
"He left off fast," Erika commented, watching after Kodlak hurrying down Jorrvaskr's steps. Her initiation ceremony had just ended.
"He's meeting the stablemaster," Vilkas noted. "There might be more horses for us."
"That would be good," Erika stretched. "Hey, how about we go celebrate at the Bannered Mare? Drinks are on me."
"Now you're talking," Farkas grinned. He grabbed both of them by the shoulders. "Let's drink!"
XXX
Mori watched Bjorn dealing with the man in charge of Whiterun's stables. She had to wait around, because Bjorn wanted her to make sure their horses would show off in the best of light.
Yvaine went to look at the camp of the Khajiit caravan.
Mori sighed. She wanted to go too.
Her head snapped in the direction of the city. An all too familiar presence approached, fast.
A werewolf.
There were no signs of alarm. They must be in human form. She backed to one of their horses, touching its neck.
"Ah, welcome, Harbinger," the stablemaster greeted as a robust man clad in heavy armor made his way towards them.
She could feel the lycanthropic presence emanating from him, dominating their surroundings. The horses, both Bjorn's and the stablemaster's, became unsettled.
She eyed him, wary.
He greeted Bjorn and the stablemaster, nodded in her direction. They began talking.
He seemed…civil enough. After she got out of the shock of a werewolf's unexpected presence, she noticed the man seemed…regal, somehow. Majestic and strong.
He noticed her scrutiny. His eyes wandered off to her from time to time, seeming more and more unsettled by her unwavering gaze. At one point Mori caught Bjorn explaining: "Oh, her? She's one of mine. Real handy with horses."
He shot her a glance.
Mori frowned, but turned her attention to the horse. It was nervous. Of course it was. Horses could smell werewolves and wouldn't delude themselves like people did.
Just a little bit of energy should do it…there.
The horse grew content again. Mori extended some power over to all of their horses, influencing their minds to not be scared of werewolves. From what she had understood, the horses were meant for the group that man was representing, needed to be trained for fighting and, as she saw it, at least ready for the presence of one werewolf.
The calmness of the animals drew the werewolf's attention. "May I?" he asked Bjorn, who nodded.
He came to the horse Mori had been scratching in the mane. The horse grew interested in him, slightly wary, but nothing more than a good sense of examining the new arrival.
The werewolf reached out, touching the horse's nose.
The horse snorted.
That was it.
His eyes widened in surprise. "These are…well trained."
Bjorn rubbed his hands. "She's good."
The werewolf turned to look into Mori's eyes once more. She looked back.
"May I have your name?"
He sounded polite. His voice was steady and carried authority, but not rashness, anger or malice.
She shot a glance at Bjorn, then decided on her own. She tilted her head a little, in what Falco liked to call 'an owl move,' and answered. "Mori."
"I am Kodlak of the Companions," he introduced himself. "I wanted to say you have done a great job at training these fine beasts," he patted the horse's neck again. "If all of them are trained so well, we'd be glad to strike a deal," he was still looking into her eyes, but his last words were meant for the other two men.
Mori looked back, unblinking, until he had to turn to the stablemaster and Bjorn.
Then, at Bjorn's gesture, she slipped away to find Yvaine.
XXX
Mori was so confused.
The Khajiit really were cat people. Their beast aspect was very strong.
And yet…she couldn't access it any more than that in other peoples.
Not that it mattered. It was simply confusing, nothing more. They seemed really nice. Warm and welcoming, with completely foreign lilt in their speech and strange wording of common tameric. As she wandered among the tents, new scents, words and colors assaulted her senses.
"Excuse me," she turned to one who looked just like a common forest cat, "my sister came here and I can't find her. Did you see a girl similar to me anywhere?"
The Khajiit looked extremely pleased for some reason. "This one has indeed seen a little blonde girl," she purred. "She was so endearing, Atahbah invited her for tea." She swished her tail from side to side. "Though, now that this one thinks about it, you should hurry, as Atahbah much likes moon sugar. Your kind is not known for dealing well with it."
After the Khajiit showed Mori the way, she thanked her and walked among the tents. She found her way to a richly blue colored tent with small golden decorations.
Inside, a tea party was in full swing. Yvaine sat on a pillow by a small, intricately carved table. With her, four more Khajiit sat, drinking an unknown dark brown substance.
Mori smelled a whiff before as she passed around the caravan, but now the bitterly refreshing scent floated around unscattered.
Though it felt interesting at first, Mori found herself disliking the scent the more she breathed it.
"Is that the sister of yours, eloquent one?" a large, LARGE Khajiit woman asked, smiling at Yvaine.
The girl turned. "Mori!" she beamed. Her eyes looked a little out of focus. "You have to try this tea! I bought some for home. But they wouldn't let me have more of that sweet white thingy," she saddened
"It is not tea," a more regular looking Khajiit woman smiled, her eyes turning into crescents. "In Elsweyr, we call it kah-veh. A refreshing beverage, especially in these cold lands."
"Particularly good with cake," a deep, masculine voice rumbled from the chest of a massive cat-like Khajiit, lying on the ground. He had been drinking from a bowl. "But alas, we cannot offer cake."
"The stories this little one has told would warrant one," the giant lady purred, her ears relaxing considerably.
"It would harm her," the last Khajiit, a smaller version of the other bipedal ones, added. "Let us trade more kah-veh instead."
In the end, Mori and Yvaine had left with a rather large sack of roasted beans. Mori had left some more coins behind, getting a basket of unknown fruits for herself.
As they walked uphill to Whiterun, Yvaine kept uttering strange remarks.
"Have you noticed how deep the sky is, Mori?"
"The lavender smells so strong, can we cut some scent and take it home? I want to eat it."
"The colors on the wall are dancing so prettily..."
Were those effects of the sugar the small Khajiit had mentioned? Mori stopped and seated Yvaine on the side of a little bridge just beyond the gates. She crouched to examine her.
Her eyes were unfocused and her pupils a little wider than usual. After a quick probe with magic, Mori found that Yvaine is somewhat out of her shell, but nothing serious would happen to her.
Just like eating certain mushrooms.
"Where do you want to go?" she grabbed her sister's hand and rose.
"I smell sweets floating in that part of the sky! Let's go there!"
Mori chuckled and let herself be led away.
XXX
It was...just...so...
Loud.
Mori felt her head throb and her feet ache. It was fun to walk around and look everywhere, taste things and look at shiny baubles, but she was starting to feel weathered.
Yvaine was cackling, her mouth sticky with honey.
Mori led them both up the stairs to a place she felt a peaceful presence from. A giant pink-leafed tree grew there. Sighing with relief, Mori sat down among its roots, the sound of bubbling water soothing her headache.
With her back against the tree, she could feel its great spirit, gentle and protecting. She closed her eyes and let her senses wander.
Innumerable small animals scuttled through the city, as expected. Larger ones too, like dogs, cats and outside the walls, cows, sheep, horses and more. Birds scattered everywhere.
She also bumped into...something.
Up the hill from her, there was a...feeling. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, as it was not a beast. Just that it was an arcane place. Yvaine would have known more about it, had she not been having a sugar-fueled ride. Oh well.
A shriek interrupted Mori's probing.
She flinched, hunching in on herself. That woman screamed really loudly. What was she even on about?
"You are an ungrateful piece of dung! And after all I did for you, you just want to leave me?!"
"I told you what I was about, Imelda," a calm, very deep male voice answered the shrill woman. "And you agreed. It's not my fault you didn't believe my words."
"I was hoping you'd change your mind!"
"You shouldn't have. If you didn't like it, you shouldn't have agreed to it."
"But I love you!"
"I don't," the tone was honest and unconditional, but not unkind.
More screeching followed, along with movement related noises. Yvaine perked up. "The blood smells familiar."
Mori didn't really listen to her, as she had been commenting on the strangest things ever since the sugar.
"Calm down, Imelda. This is beneath you."
Mori flinched. Looked like this Imelda knew only how to scream, and her lungs wouldn't get empty for a long, loooong time. She gritted her teeth.
The few crows that had gathered around her cawed and took to the air. Flapping of wings intensified a moment later and the angry screams changed into scared ones.
The crows came back after the Imelda woman fled the scene. The birds hopped around, looking at Mori with curiosity.
She cawed quietly at them and then produced small pieces of meat - leftover from her snacking.
There was a sigh, then heavy footsteps retreating from the other side of the tree. Mori saw a large dark haired man ascend the stairs on the side of the tree's square.
Finally some quiet.
She closed her eyes, leaning against the tree comfortably.
"TERRIBLE AND POWERFUL TALOS! WE, YOUR UNWORTHY SERVANTS, GIVE PRAISE!"
Mori bared her teeth. Does no one in this nature-forsaken city like quiet!
Wings flapped. Something made a wet noise.
The preaching stopped for a moment. Just as Mori was ready to enjoy her rest again, the man renewed his shouting.
With a growl, Mori peaked from behind the tree. She pointed at the robed man. "May your teeth itch every time you open your mouth today!" she hissed viciously.
Soon peace and quiet spread across the square.
She sighed.
"Yvaine, how about-"
Mori froze. Yvaine was gone.