We gathered around the counter in the dim and flickering candlelight. Shadows danced in the corners, and though I felt safe among the soldiers and Derkeethus, I couldn't help but imagine figures hiding in the dark shadows. The sensation of being watched never quite left me.
"Marcellus, escort the remaining patrons outside and guard the door," Hrollod ordered. "Including our innkeeper's son," he added with a meaningful glare towards a large mead barrel. The red-headed young man grudgingly stepped out from behind the barrel, utterly put out and disappointed. Mralki only shook his head as he watched his boy leave in disgrace.
"A blight upon my family," he murmured sourly to himself. "No sense of honor in that one."
"Be that as it may, he cannot be allowed to listen to our plans."
"And why have I not been asked to leave? Hmm?" Mralki asked with interest.
"You've been instrumental in keeping the peace as well as housing both my soldiers, Tormir, and the elf here. I believe you have the right to know why we're here," the Legate replied, pushing a lean-looking coin purse towards the Nord, who accepted it with thanks.
There was a beat of silence as Hrollod frowned, thoughts mustering on his brow like troops preparing for battle. "It is time we tightened the noose on our friend, Legate Constantius. Through much toil, and septims, I've managed to track his path across the holds of Skyrim. He has been a very busy man and a credit to the Imperial Army, twisted though he is.
"Over the past few weeks he has managed to muster a sizable force at Fort Dunstad, in the Pale. Fort Dunstad lies at the crossroads between Whiterun, Dawnstar, and Windhelm. It is from this comfortable position that he has managed to stymie the trade routes and extort supplies from both local and travelling merchants. My superiors are quite pleased with his efforts, though his methods remain unknown to them."
"How has he done this? Surely the Legion doesn't have enough men to lend him to do as he pleases!" Derkeethus exclaimed, his brow furrowed. I could sense him peering through the words of the Legate, seeking out the cracks and holes--the words unsaid.
"No. Instead he has paid off a local bandit faction known as the Wraiths. They have taken up their place as harriers in his service as well as guards on the forts."
"So, how large of a force is inhabiting the Fort?" I asked, thinking hard.
"Roughly twenty-seven from what I've heard," piped Mralki. "We've had plenty of folk coming in on the way from Solitude to Whiterun. Some have asked for the location of this place, and as near as I can tell, nearly all of them are hard as iron."
"And how many of us are there?" My stomach slowly sank as I counted our number present.
"Six," answered Hrollod.
"Seven." Tormir glared defiantly at her lover. "I'm going. No, don't give me that nonsense. I'm going. The Breton, Jouane has been teaching me healing magics. Subtle ones. You'll need me if any of you louts manage to get injured." Her chin was raised defiantly. Hrollod opened his mouth in protest, then closed it with a sigh.
"Very well, Tormir. You win. I don't want to argue over this anymore. But you're not going anywhere near the front line, understood?" Tormir nodded curtly, though I could see in her eyes that she had no intention of doing any such thing.
"That's not nearly enough to take on such a large force! We'll never survive those odds!" I exclaimed, thinking of the brutal training Constantius' men had likely endured. Derkeethus gently reminded me of his conversation with the Legate in Whiterun.
"Precisely. I need you and Derkeethus to make your way to Solitude. There you will make your way to the Blue Palace, where you will request the aid of a Thalmor agent currently stationed there."
"You'd have us work with those bloodless traitors!" Tormir spat, her lips drawn tight.
"I don't think we have any choice," Derk muttered meekly, nodding as he saw the Legate's plan unfolding before his eyes. The glimpses I caught made little sense to me--they were little more than nebulous images shifting too quickly for me to catch.
"Unfortunately he's right. We haven't been able to get reinforcements from Headquarters or Eastmarch, and our funding is dwindling. And I'd rather have trained soldiers alongside me than godsless roadside bandits. I will not stoop to his level!" Hrollod's tone was one of finality.
Silence reigned for several moments as we processed this information.
"How are we getting to the Blue Palace? It'll take a week to travel by foot and neither of our horses are in any condition to go anywhere quickly," I said at last. The Legate's brow creased in deep thought. I suspected subterfuge would have a part of play in Solitude, and I wasn't disappointed when Derk broke the pause.
"We'll go as injured soldiers," he suggested, smirking at me.
"That could work," the Legate ruminated, "There is an Imperial carriage scheduled to take some of my other men back to Solitude this evening. It won't do much to disguise your identities, but, I suppose those out for your bounty won't think to look for you where you'll least likely be: right under my superiors' noses." He grinned at this, no doubt thinking of the looks on their faces if they found out. "After you get to Headquarters, you'll be on your own from there. There's nothing we can do to plan for your arrival into the Blue Palace, but I will leave that in your capable hands, Derkeethus."
My friend nodded solemnly, knowing how much rode on our disguises working effectively. I, on the other hand, had my doubts. Play the ruse, Henny, he whispered in my head. Remember how well you did in Markarth.
"After you've met with the...agent, you will meet me at our camp east of Solitude in the marsh." He showed us on the map where it was, and I made an effort to commit the image to memory. "The men there are isolated and unaware of our present goals, so say nothing to them of this," he looked at the assemblage meaningfully.
I frowned, thinking of Nael and Eater-of-Burrs. They were no warhorses, but I knew they would be glad to aid in Hrefna's rescue. At last, I said, "Take Nael and Burrs with you, Hrollod. They need to recover and the trek to the marshes will do them some good. We may need them before this is over." The Legate nodded curtly.
With the bulk of our discussion done, I donned my old armor and cloak, heading outside for some air. I had spent so long trapped in that tiny inn, and it had been a long time since I truly felt the wild wind on my face. In this I was not disappointed. The rains had dissipated for the moment, and a bitterly cold wind blasted my face when I stepped outside. Somewhere behind the inn, I heard horses nickering to each other.
Rounding the corner, I watched the farmers tilling the fields and harvesting the last of their crops. Their forms were shrouded by various hoods and cloaks as they toiled, occasionally stopping to stamp life back into their feet. A small herd of horses drowned the village' tiny two-stall, stable, a structure little more than a few posts covered by a thatch roof, which drooped with moisture. Nael spotted me and slowly walked over. Her eyes were hooded and her head drooped, but she managed to appear pleased to see me alive. Delicately, she sniffed me with reddened, chapped nostrils, and then bumped her head against my right hand, acknowledging that it was no longer poisoned.
I smiled, patting her for a while and enjoying the feeling of standing upright. Within my gloved hand, I could feel the scar tissue from the pinpricks caused by the briarheart wriggling under my skin, fresh and new. Even after the wounds finally closed, the spiral pattern remained dark on my hand. A tattoo of my foolish disregard for magical flora.
"Don't worry, miss, the Legate will take care of your horse," a soldier said as he stepped around the corner of the inn.
"Goodbye, Nael. I'll see you soon. No galloping about, okay?" I whispered to her. She bobbed her head slowly in comprehension.
The soldier cleared his throat, thinking I hadn't heard him. "Anyway, Tormir needs to fit you inside."
"Fit me for what?"
"Your armor. You didn't think you were going to Solitude on an Imperial carriage looking like that did you?" he responded with a smirk.
Back inside the inn, Tormir stripped me of my armor and handed me a leather jerkin, red tunic, and leather-plated skirt. "All standard issue light infantry wear," she proclaimed. I donned it, feeling awkward in the ill-fitted armor. The tunic hung well past my knees as did the skirt. The jerkin had to be cut and laced in the back in order to fit me.
"I had no idea Bosmer were such tiny people!" she exclaimed, having made many adjustments just to get the armor looking anywhere near my size. "I could have garbed you in a child's armor."
"Yes, well, I suppose we would be small compared to the giantess Nords," I retorted. She only laughed, good-naturedly. With a sigh, I resigned to the fate of my kind. It seemed no one ever took us seriously due to our stature, and ever were we looked upon as no more threatening than an angered kitten.
Crossing the room, she extracted a pile of bloodied cloth strips from a bowl. Taking my arm, she began to wrap one of them around my wrist. I recoiled. "Not to worry, it is only pig's blood. You do have to look injured after all," she reassured me. My hands and wrists were carefully wrapped as if I had been burned executing some kind of spell. Then my head was bound and the tail of the cloth draped over my left eye and cheek, concealing my family's sigul from view.
"Ah, I should have known you had suffered a blow to the head. Now you truly look the part," a voice rasped jokingly. I turned to see Derkeethus coated head to toe in dented, dirty, bloodied Imperial armor. Somehow they had managed to reshape the helmet to hide his horns, but it didn't do much as the helmet itself now looked like nothing more than a strangely shaped lump of metal adorning his head. Between the plates, a bloodied bandage covered his midsection. "Ready to go?"
"Whenever you are, captain," I replied with a grin. Derk an Imperial captain...ridiculous. What was Hrollod thinking. I thought.
Outside, we waited under the gate for the carriage to arrive. I fidgeted with my armor nervously, feeling like it clung to me in all the wrong places. Legate Hrollod stood by silently, sternly, watching the horizon. When the sun's light finally faded to a dusky gloom, the rains returned in full force.
"We wouldn't happen to be waiting for a covered carriage, would we?" I asked hopefully
"No."
"Of course not," I sighed.
At last, just when my boots were becoming soaked from the wet road, the carriage trundled by. We climbed aboard with two other soldiers, huddling close for warmth.
"Remember, when you get to Headquarters, get out of there as soon as you can. If they discover who you are, they're likely to take the bounty themselves. They have no love for mer or beast." With a nod he dismissed the driver, and we rolled away into the rain and the dark.
Comments