When the business with Kodlak’s shade was done, and I was trying to figure out what being a Harbinger actually meant, I still had the journal in my packs. I had opened it and glanced at the script now and again, but I didn’t understand any of it. It was definitely going to need some expert help, and I was going to have to make my way to Winterhold to get it. It wasn’t a trip I really wanted to make – Winterhold was in Stormcloak territory, and while I may have been on better ground than most non-Nords due to aiding Ralof, I didn’t want to attract too much attention to myself – I had enough on my plate, I certainly didn’t want to be in the middle of a civil war.
But since I was going to be leaving the Companions again, I needed someone to stay behind and keep an eye on things. The only person I trusted for that was Vilkas – even though he had a temper on him, he tended to be more level-headed than the rest, and as long as I gave him instruction not to just declare death and destruction on anything that pissed him off while I was away, I figured things would be well enough.
Only it wasn’t. ”My brother can handle that, he’s insistent enough to keep people on track and training,” Vilkas said, gathering up his armour and beginning to put it on without even looking at the straps and fastenings, so well did he know his trade. ”I saw one Harbinger fall, and I will not see it happen to another, not while I live and breathe.” Any attempt to appeal to reason fell on deaf ears; the man just stared impassively and waited till I finally mumbled to a stop. ”Thank you for your counsel, Harbinger,” Vilkas said blandly. ”I’ll take it into consideration…now I’ll secure us some horses and provision, it’s a long ride.”
I gave up – when the man got an idea in his head, there was no chance you’d ever get him to sway from it. Actually, I was rather glad of that; he didn’t say much, but anything that got in our way as we ventured northeast didn’t stay an obstacle for long. By the time we had made our way to the Northern wastes the world was one dragon, three bears, and a troll shy. Winterhold: good name for it. I hate cold. Shivering and trying not to be utterly miserable, I made my way into Winterhold proper, a rather cheerless sort of place.
As it turned out there was little need to go to the College as I managed to get details about where Enthir, Gallus’ old friend, was located currently. It turned out Enthir was a Bosmer, and therefore I was able to exploit the idea that we were kin – we all look alike to Nord eyes, after all! For a mercy, Vilkas managed to keep his mouth shut though every barbed word aimed from guards in my direction made his jaw clench all the more tightly. I wouldn’t like to think what would have happened if I had brought Farkas, and even Aela may have compounded the trouble. Still, Vilkas muttered and cursed under his breath and I gave my most irritating smiles while I made my way to find the kin in question.
We found him in a tavern – eye contact made, I could see his surprise,and his delight as well. Our kin were even rarer in the Stormcloak’s holdings, and for good reason! ”Skyrim for Nords!” had been hissed at us ever since we entered the run-down city, but thankfully Vilkas had kept his head. After securing a back room and leaving Vilkas to keep watch, I got down to business after eating a habitual few bites of proffered meat, as is our tradition.
“Ah, Gallus,” Enthir said with a sigh as he took the journal into his hands. ”Too clever for his own good sometimes…well, I can recognise the script actually, although I cannot translate it. It’s Falmer; and there’s only one place in Skyrim where you’d be able to find the code for translation. Ever heard of Markarth?” I shook my head, and Enthir explained.
“It’s just beyond High Reach, and is a huge dwemer ruin,” he said. ”The Nords have moved in, and one scholar in particular is well versed in dwemer culture – has made it his life work, actually. His name is Calcemo. You’ll be hard pressed to get much out of him as he guards his research, but maybe you can convince him somehow. I’ve heard there’s some trouble in the ruins so perhaps you could manage to lend a hand and persuade him to be a bit more forthcoming.”
Well, nothing else for it…but at least another bit of travel would mean I wouldn’t need to freeze any longer in the North! After a somewhat miserable night spent in a half-frozen bed, I hauled myself out of bed and mounted the rested horses to make our way out of Winterhold. Vilkas actually looked worse than I did; he hadn’t slept the entire night apparently, staying watch outside the door.
“After spending a day in that hole, I have the urge to kill something,” he growled, his eyes blazing gold round the edges. ”I’ve never had to tried so hard to keep a hold on the blood.”
“And a good thing you did, too. But Vilkas, you’re not going to be any help to me if you can’t at least rest up a bit,” I admonished him after his umpteenth yawn.
He shot me a look then sighed, looking away. ”Later; that place wasn’t safe for you. The guard that asked if you were the one who fetched the mead at Jorrvaskr nearly got my fist in his teeth.”
I chuckled without much humour and shook my head. ”And very restrained you were, too,” I said, reaching into one of the pouches at my side and jingling a few gold coins in my hand. ”However, he’s probably a few gold shy today…just because I don’t say anything doesn’t mean I won’t do anything.”
Vilkas grunted, though a ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. ”Well, not exactly honourable…but I don’t blame you for the liberty.”
“Of course, punching him would have been more honourable. I’ll never understand Nord thinking.”
We stopped back in Whiterun long enough to exchange horses and check to make sure nothing at Jorrvaskr had gone terribly wrong; we had a few more recruits which Farkas were putting through their paces but otherwise all was well. Freshly provisioned, we made our way to the Reach in the West, Vilkas still insistent on shadowing me the entire way although he made more of an effort to be talkative this time. He gathered herbs and fungus on the roadside, explained their uses, and told me some of the history from the various ruins we passed. I was once again amazed by the intelligence behind the rather grim expression on face, and once again – curse my weakness! – I found myself besotted with him. Of all the stupid things to do…
It was almost disappointing to finally come to the Reach, and glimpse the gleaming spires of Markarth in the distance. Vilkas shaded his kohl-painted eyes and squinted, shaking his head slightly. ”I’ve never been this far west,” he admitted quietly. ”I’ve no idea what we’re going to find.”
“I’ve never been this far North,” I responded with a wan smile. ”But so far, so good. So, let’s go and see together.” I spurred my horse forward, and we rode into the Reach and Markarth proper.
I have to admit, it wasn’t what I expected; the ruins were extraordinary. I had heard of dwemer settlements, and how they had disappeared without a trace, leaving only their impressive machines in their wake, but I had never seen anything on this scale. The village was obviously quite old, and the Nords themselves were mere squatters in the city which surpassed their skill to ever create, but every door gleamed with pounded gold and alloyed metal. High peaks steamed from machine workings in the interiors. Waterfalls cascaded and crashed down into the canyons below, and scholars bustled here and there, arguing over notes and balancing sheaves of paper in their arms.
Vilkas and I gawped like tourists. ”Huh, this is impressive,” the Nord admitted as we walked through Markarth’s streets, making our way to a nearby inn to store our gear and rest our horses. We then were given directions to the Museum. ”I want to have a look round first,” Vilkas said, eyeing the whole valley with wonder. ”I’ve never seen anything like this before. Why not make a day of it? The journal isn’t going to crumble away in your back before nightfall, it can wait a little.”
So, he bought me some meat – I had taken the opportunity on the way to Markarth to explain about the Meat Pact – and he himself purchased a sweet roll, and we promenaded the streets and round the waterfall. I noted here and there that there was some of the signs of the Thieves Guild written on doors, as well as a few marks which were a bit more alarming; there was a Dunmer shrine somewhere in the city, but I wasn’t about the mention it to Vilkas. In any event, we had trouble aplenty as in the market square, I could see a man with a dark expression drawing a blade and creeping up through the crowds.
Vilkas sniffed the air at my side – my stiffening had alerted him to something, and our beast blood sharpened our senses. He scanned the crowd, picking up the man I’d noted and dropped his half-eaten sweet roll, already charging forward. Trust his sense of honour to spur him into action, although I was right on his heels. We almost thought we would be too late, but Vilkas was too quick a fighter, especially with the beast blood singing in his veins. He had the man’s wrist in his gauntleted fist, and within moments had snapped it backwards. The man yelped and dropped the blade as I managed to spin the woman round behind me and out of the way. Her cries of terror brought the guards from all corners, and Vilkas was locked in a brawl with the swarthy stranger.
He fought like something possessed, and he howled something in heavily accented Common…something about Forsworn. It didn’t mean anything to me, but it obviously meant a fair bit to everyone else. Vilkas’ eyes flamed brilliant hunter gold, and for a moment I worried he was about to shift right then and there, which would just make things worse. Drawing his fist back, Vilkas smashed it into the would-be murderer’s face, flinging him backward and sweeping up to grab the assailant’s dropped blade all in one go. The man had no time to recover – Vilkas surged forward and stabbed the blade between his ribs nearly up to the hilt, then let him fall.
“Are you all right?” I asked the woman behind me; her eyes were wide and round; terrified, but alived. She thanked us over and over again, pushing something into my hand before being led away by other stall-keepers who made to calm her down. The guards and Vilkas were staring down at the corpse, Vilkas’s gauntleted hands clenching and unclenching as if seeking something to throttle.
“So…Forsworn come into your very halls,” Vilkas grated as he gave the guards his sternest look. ”I’d have more care if I were you. You won’t always have Companions here to save the people who look to you to protect them.”
I winced; the beast blood was on Vilkas and his anger was up. I smoothly was able to disengage him from the throng and lead him away for the guards to deal with the corpse. ”Forsworn?” I asked, more to try and derail his fury than anything else, and it least it worked to some point as he sucked a breath between his teeth.
“Bretons, natives from this area. It was said they lived all the way to Whiterun, but we Nords were the stronger and pushed them back. They are hostile and barbaric, allying themselves with those wretched Hagraven witches. The Reach is thick with them, and if they’re coming into the very walls here, they’re getting bolder. I may send a few recruits here to help push them back once our business here is done.”
“So much for a quiet walk in the city,” I said with a sigh, looking down at the necklace in my hand, then shrugging it and putting it in my pocket. Who knew, it might be worth a few coins.
“Well it’s improved my mood at least,” Vilkas said dryly. ”I’ve needed to hit something for a while now. So, do we find this scholar?”
“How about tomorrow?” I sighed, rubbing at my eyes wearily. ”We’ve been on the road for days, and I need a bed to fall into.”
“Then I will keep watch over you.”
“Vilkas,” I warned, but he raised his hand with a small smile.
“For a little while only, until I’m certain there will be no follow up problems from that little murder attempt. My blood is still singing in my ears, I won’t rest easy even so.”
And so we made our weary way back to the Silver-Blood Inn; spacious but run by the snobbiest people I’d met so far in Skyrim. I was determined to maybe do a bit of bedlam here but that would be later. Much later…I was too tired at that point to do much else at all. I tumbled into bed, and Vilkas sat upon a stool, leaning against the frame of the door and his blade across his lap. He insisted he would sleep eventually, but I knew it for a lie. Once again, he guarded me the whole night. I suppose that should have been a sign, but no..in some things I need a bit more of a clue! In any event, I slept.
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