Blue skies dominated the landscape as we trekked north of the city, passing the tiny farms nestled among the rocks as we followed the river. The wind continued to bluster about even as the sun climbed into the sky and threw the environment into a study of deep contrast. To our right, the river burbled along on its course, crashing over low ridges in a series of waterfalls.
Outside of the wind and water, there was little sound here beyond the sounds our small company made. No crickets chirped. No birds sang. It was a cheerless, empty land, punctuated by the cries of carrion birds as they rode the wind. As I gazed at the jagged hills about us, I wished I could simply fly and avoid the meandering course we would undoubtedly take. Still, there was the Karth River, wild though it was, and we could use it as a guide to the Forsworn camp.
"We'd be better off riding these falls. They look perfect for it," Derkeethus smirked, breaking the relative silence.
"You're welcome to commit suicide. I'll look after your horse," I replied.
"Suicide! Nonsense. Besides, you'd miss me if I met my untimely end."
"Only your combat prowess," I quipped, grinning.
"You only love me for my pickaxes. I see how it is," he huffed, cantering ahead with his nose held high, but peering back at me furtively, his eyes glinting in amusement.
At length, the sun warmed the rocks and trees and the smell of juniper wafted through the constant breeze. The road, once level, began to dip slowly as it followed a particularly tall waterfall bursting from a cleft in the rocks. Mist clung to the higher reaches of the highlands obscuring much of the distant landscape from view.
"Halt! You come to the valley of the Forsworn! Come no further!" a voice cried.
Squinting ahead, I spotted a lone figure standing on the pylon of a stone bridge crossing the Karth River his bow was drawn and ready to fire.
"We mean you no harm! We're only passing through!" I called back, trying to arch my voice against the wind. Either the figure did not hear me or did not care for an arrow whizzed by my head, dangerously close to my ear.
"Guess they're not the friendly types," Derk grumbled.
We leapt off our horses and shooed them away, I drawing my bow and sinking an arrow into the groin of a fur-clad Breton who charged us, his eyes wild.
"Kaoc' Henny! You don't shoot people there! Especially males!" Derkeethus hissed, half-laughing anyway.
"Guess I have a vendetta against men at the moment," I called, frowning. My aim had originally been for his chest, but something had nudged my arms down against my will.
The Breton fell over his own feet, clutching his middle. I did feel terrible for aiming a shot there, so I drew my new sword and sliced his throat, ending his pain mercifully. Gently I closed his eyes, wishing he could have just waiting for us to speak with him. Yet even as I did so, I felt a terrifying glee over the kill.
Taking a deep breath, I fought with the emotion and succeeded in mastering it for a while, keeping the intensity cooled to a small ember.
Turning, I saw Derkeethus expertly wielding his pickaxes against two of the Forsworn natives. When he jammed one of them into the shoulder of one of his opponents, I saw lightening leap from the weapon and the man's body convulsed and shook as the power surged through it. His companion fled, seeing this terrifying power, and I drew my bow, automatically preparing to shoot him down when I thought of the native I just shot and the pain on his face. For a while, I stood fighting against myself, relaxing and drawing the string in a twitching battle of wills.
"Henny! Shoot him! He's getting away!" Derkeethus cried, taking off after him. At last I drew and shot in one fluid motion, the arrow speeding just over the Argonian's shoulder and striking the fleeing man in the back of the neck.
"Finally," Derk panted as he returned. "What was that about?"
"He was running away. We could have let him go," I said with a sigh, feeling world weary. The idea of retreating to my home back in Eastmarch was sounding more and more attractive by the day.
"And what? Have him rally his friends so they can shoot us down before we're even aware of them?" he said incredulously. "Henny, you know this. You know the rules of the wild. Don't tell me you're going soft on me."
I didn't respond as I carefully opened the bodies to allow the blood to flow and attract the carrion birds. It was gruesome, but a rough sky burial was better than burying them in the ground. At least they could do something useful and feed some other creature.
Setting off once more, we continued to descend and become closer to the level of the river. While I wasn't happy about shooting a fleeing man, Derkeethus had a point. We were in a land we didn't know--a maze of hills, stone, water, and grass--and what's more, in a territory claimed by wild men who, understandably, wanted us off their property. There was nothing I could do about us trespassing, as that was the inherent nature of our current quest. But we could at least limit casualties.
When we next stopped to eat a little and rest the horses for a moment, Derkeethus pointed off down a small tributary. "Where does that go, I wonder. The people we're looking for, maybe?" he wondered, more to himself than to me.
"I'd rather not get lost in these hills. Let's keep following the river for a while more," I suggested. Nodding, he clucked Burrs into a walk and we resumed our journey.
Afternoon pressed on, the sun slowly dipping closer to the high ridges surrounding us. Already the river had calmed and flowed, not sedately, but a little less wildly. Its clear blue depths gave me a greater sense of calm as we traveled. I missed the shelter of tall trees and did my best to ignore the feeling of being utterly exposed. It didn't help that I felt eyes on us as we passed along the road. When I looked around, studying the hills and rocks intently, I didn't see anyone or anything other than wild goats.
Then two figures emerged on the road in the distance. I kept my hand on my bow just in case, but eventually I saw them for what they were: farmers. Their faces were worn with sorrow and exhaustion--smudged with dirt and soot.
"What lies ahead on this road, traveler?" asked one of the farmers, a man.
"Markarth about half a day's ride along this road," I replied. "What are you doing out here unarmed? It's dangerous."
"We have nothing to arm ourselves with, unless you'd see us wielding burned debris," spoke the woman, looking utterly defeated. The man hugged her and whispered words of comfort.
"Our farm was burned to the ground by a dragon. We couldn't even afford a carriage to the nearest city, so we're left to wander the wilderness," he explained. Their eyes looked out at the world with an empty, lost, hopelessness and I felt compelled to do something for these people. Fishing around in my pack, I gave them some of our provisions and a few gold coins. It was very little, but at least they wouldn't starve just yet.
"That's a day's rations!" hissed Derkeethus in my ear, clearly displeased. The farmers, on the other hand, almost wept in relief, and the woman handed me a small, linen kerchief in thanks. She had nothing else on her. I tried to refuse it, but the look on her face when I did so stunned me into acceptance. I understood how much she hated feeling incapable of fending for herself.
"We can use it as a bandage," I smiled when Derk's face clouded with annoyance.
"Thin piece of cloth for provision and gold. That's a fair trade, oh yeah, sure," he grumbled, speaking to Eater-of-Burrs, who only bit the Argonian's horn and shook it.
"That's right, Burrs. You show that greedy lizard who's boss," I called, riding ahead.
"You're going to get it later," I heard him growl at his horse. Through the connection, I could sense he wasn't actually upset and was mildly impressed at what I'd done. And he says I'm the one going soft, I thought.
Comments
Nice interlude.