“We’re set to leave Champion, the sleds are loaded, we’ve seen to everyone as best we can.” Hania called over from her steed. She had a fine horse, a massive nordic breed. Adalvald was mounted as well, but the other Vigilants had come on foot. They’d be hitching a ride on our sleds. We’d bought out every dog team the neighboring villages had to offer, and it’d still been a close call. The dogs hadn’t figured into my original formula for expenses, Wolfbite had made sure mine were fed and cared for while we were in the city. That had ended with the Jarl pointing out just how many new dogs were around the morning after the feast.
“Good. No friction with the passengers?” The Vigilants and my company had mostly gotten on well. The Jarl and the Stormcloaks on the other hand…
“Nothing important, gripes for elbow room. They’ll survive.” Hania smiled. The knightly woman had scarcely left my side since the fateful dinner, much to Riga’s annoyance. I hadn’t confronted it before now, but I knew Riga felt a bit more than friendly towards me. Under different circumstances, happier ones, maybe something would come of it. Suppressed affections hadn’t gotten in the way of anything we needed to do, but with a perceived rival now, Riga had been a bit prickly.
“Like we have before. Johannes, did anyone check the straps on your armor?” Riga had made a point of using my name anytime she had to say something to me in front of the other woman. It was petty, and so far Hania hadn’t risen to any of it. Riga was making her point.
I was here first, and we’re much closer than you will ever be.
“Yes, you did, twice.” I couldn’t suppress the smirk. She hadn’t forgotten, it was just another barb. It forced me to realize that I’d recruited a three kids that wouldn’t have been old enough to drink back in my life. Riga was smart, motivated, and capable, but she was also young, ambitious, and eager to please. The twins were the same, but they’d already spent time risking life and limb on the ice, years before I’d shown up. I whistled to Karliene, the dog was nipping at Icefoot on the next sled over. She went to attention immediately, looking back at me.
“Get to your sleds, we’re moving!” I was answered by a round of cheers, one of the loudest came from Jorn. He’d arrived the night before, with more men than I’d asked for. News that I had been named as Stuhn’s champion didn’t surprise the man, but it had inspired the men he’d brought along. The entire company was riding high from the whole incident. A proper nordic hero, that’s what Jorman had called me when I spoke to him about what had happened.
Everyone except for the Jarl had something nice to say for me after the dinner. The Stormcloaks were a bit more pensive in their support, probably orders from Kai to avoid any worse tensions. The Jarl had been humiliated in front of a hundred fighting men, a hundred men that had answered his call for aid. Mutters and camp whispers had spread around like wildfire afterwards. I’d taken my entire company out onto the snow for some practice with the dogs, and used the opportunity to thoroughly, and firmly put my foot down about that sort of thing. It had worked to an extent, but my ears couldn’t be everywhere, and it wasn’t exactly in my best interest to completely quash the talk.
I had no ambitions or designs for the Jarl’s seat. Governing the hold sounded dreadfully boring, and I didn’t have time for it in any case. That hadn’t stopped some from questioning why such an incompetent fool sat in the high chair, while a champion was doing the work. The men from Seacrest had been a problem there, the ones that had heard my outburst to Jori. It had gotten out that I had some choice words for the men in charge, and they hadn’t been quoted well. It would be political, and likely physical, suicide for the Jarl to come out with any harsh words for me. That hadn’t stopped a major wedge being driven between us. His own guards were questioning him, almost openly.
The Jarl hadn’t fought, hadn’t risked life and limb, he hadn’t gone into the darkness for his people. A stranger had. Two of the Jarl’s sworn men were dead, and what had he done? Thrown a tantrum like a toddler, howled hollow oaths, while the real warriors had gone to plotting a proper vengeance for them. The Jarl hadn’t rallied men with his martial valor and strength of will, he’d cut a political deal with the Stormcloaks to save his hide. He’d been scorned by Shor’s own shield-thane. Those were the words swirling around before we left. It all served to build my own image of legitimacy, a man worthy of their support, but it would cripple the Hold in the long run. I wasn’t going to depose Jarl Korir, it’d be a disaster if some sort of succession crisis happened. It would be for the better if the Jarl won a rousing victory that he could claim as his own.
Korir must have thought the same thing, because the Jarl himself announced he would lead the effort against the bandits. If he proved to be a competent field officer, all the better. I didn’t want to undermine his rule, I didn’t want the Jarl to fail, but I wasn’t going to get a score of good men killed for his ego either. Maybe Stuhn’s words had spurred something in his heart, maybe it was fear of being deposed, but the Jarl had taken the field. He had marched out with the infantry at first light. Kai and a retinue of his best riders had left just after him, to link up with the scouts that had been tracking the bandits through the mountains.
My job, up until we were sure the bandits were going to attempt a crossing, was to secure the flanks of the infantry column during the march and screen the route ahead. It was simple, and I doubted that we’d have any problems. The wildlife wouldn’t try to make a move against such a large group of men, not even trolls were aggressive enough for something so stupid. My concern was that the necromancers knew what we were up to, and had a counter.
With all the possibilities spurred on by our recent revelations, there was a thick fog of uncertainty rolling off the mountains. Kai’s scouts hadn’t seen any evidence of a large undead force, just the bandits we expected. It was hard to say what their true numbers were, the last report said there were forty and growing by the day. The mountains were rugged, and provided quite a bit of cover for small bands. The scouts had used that to their advantage, avoiding direct contact. A consequence of the terrain was that we didn’t know much about the state of affairs south of the mountains.
The Pale was a different hold, with different leaders and different problems. The Jarl had sent a letter to his counterpart in Dawnstar, asking if there had been reports of banditry on the south side of the range. There’d been no response. It was a week’s ride to Dawnstar on a fast horse, without having to worry about storms or any other delay. There was also the chance that the Jarl didn’t deign to answer. Korir wasn’t held in high regard by the other Jarls, ruling over a ruined city and an icy wasteland didn’t command respect.
Without a response, we had no idea if there’d be more bandits coming up from the south. The attacks on the western road had died down after my reprisals, whether that was because I’d killed the majority of them, or they’d retreated was difficult to say. There were some attacks to the east, but those had stopped a short while later, about enough time for the bandits to have gotten word they were being hunted. Those thoughts were doing their rounds in my mind when we caught up to the infantry. Jarl Korir and his personal retinue were mounted, about a dozen men in heavy armor, at the head of the column.
I whistled a call to Anglin and Angven, I’d nominated them to lead a screen in front of the infantry, and a dozen sleds split from our force. Jorn and Lodor took to the wings, leaving just a handful of sleds and our two riders with me as a rear guard. Jorman saw us coming, and had trailed behind the force to meet me.
“Champion, how are things behind us?” Jorman seemed a bit on edge.
“Quiet, you guys probably scared off the wildlife. Anything going on here?” I took a look out across the white plains. We’d reach the pass that Jurger and I had taken by midday tomorrow.
“Nothing to worry about. The snow isn’t too deep and the weather is clear. That can change quickly though.” Jorman looked up and down the horizon. His eyes settled on the mountains to our south. The stretch of land east of the Winterhold was a narrow choke, the city itself sat in the shadow of an offshoot from the main range. At present, there was only about fifteen miles between the sea and the mountains. It’d widen out the farther east we went, but we were in a strategic killbox until we made it through the ridges that led to the more open, expansive ice plain.
“You’re worried that we’re going to get hit tonight, aren’t you?” I asked quietly. Riga was sitting on the nose of my sled, and only the two mounted Vigilants were close enough to hear me. Jorman nodded, and pointed to a pair of peaks in the distance.
“Giant’s Door pass runs to the south there. It’s steep, but wide enough for a wagon to travel through. Unless there’s been a rockslide, a force could come up from the south. We’ll be five or six miles from it when the tents go up tonight. Have the…” Jorman looked at the Vigilants present, and rephrased his question.
“Adalvald, have you made any progress with the journals Johannes found? About what the Vampire had been doing?” Jorman asked. Adalvald had spent the time since the dinner well, assisting Jori and Tolfdir with deciphering the vampire’s writing. Adalvald held his tongue for a moment, looking at the men around. Jorman slowed so that he would be close enough for a whispered answer.
“Yes, we have. He did raise some undead, but the draugr remained stubbornly loyal to their crypts. The vampire could only render them neutral to his presence. The skeletons were passed off to the other necromancers. It didn’t seem like the vampire had made much progress with them. That was why he sought out the shipwrecks along the coast. The barrows are meant to serve the Dragon Priests, and the bodies within are well guarded against outside tampering. It seemed the vampire wasn’t able to raise many of the non-draugr bodies.” Adalvald and Jori had told me as much the night before, but he’d left out a key part of what the vampire was trying to do.
“Skeletons are less dangerous, and easy to see coming in the dark.” Jorman let out a relieved breath. The draugr had been a major concern, being that they could fight at a level on par with the levy troops. Some of the larger barrows were rumored to hold hundreds of the damned things.
“Less dangerous, yes, but numerous. Given that the scouts haven’t seen any evidence of the skeletons yet, we should be on guard.” Adalvald may have looked the part of a scholar, but his scars spoke for his experience. The man had been slashed, stabbed, burned, shot with arrows, bitten, mauled, and walked with a subtle limp. Jorman agreed with short nod.
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“I’ll set a guard around the camp. If you would spare some of your Vigilants, it would surely help us all the sleep better.” Jorman had started to come around to the mages after he saw the blades and history of violence they wore on their skin. Many of them donned chainmail under their robes, and kept good steel on their belts. Jori had surprised me the most, he’d joined us at the sleds in halfplate. It was equipment suited for long travels on the road, while still providing good protection.
“Of course. I have a few tricks for spoiling a raid by night that may be of help.” Adalvald raised a hand, a red ember glowing in it.
“I hope we don’t have need of them. Master Mage, Champion, I should be getting back to the Jarl’s side.” Jorman gave a respectful half bow before tapping his horse in the flanks. That left Riga, Adalvald, and Hania still around me. Jori was on Lodor’s sled, the young noble had taken a liking to the reclusive scholar and had a barrage of questions for him.
“You didn’t mention what the vampire was really after.” I noted to Adalvald.
“It didn’t seem relevant. The beast was serving two masters, his true work wasn’t to the necromancers here. I have kept my studies a closely guarded secret, even from other Vigilants. If you deem it that the locals need to know…” Adalvald deferred to me. It still struck me as odd. He was far more experienced, but I was the one that had been chosen.
“No, they probably don’t need to know that part. Small town gossip means it wouldn’t stay a secret for long. Have you come up with any plans on how to deal with the problem?”
“Jori’s first response was the best in my opinion. Seize the tomes and destroy them, hunt down any copies or journals detailing further study and burn them too. I understand that Tolfdir asked Jori to return any stolen property, but we cannot take that risk.” Adalvald spoke the same that I’d thought my self. If the College wanted their books back, they should have gone looking themselves.
“Finders keepers. If the vampires get their hands on the original tomes, we’ll be in deep trouble. The only thing that keeps necromancers from raising up entire armies is the fact that the strongest undead tend to fall apart. Draugr-like undead roaming the land is a recipe for disaster.” That was what the vampire had been after, the tomes that the Mer Kin had stolen from the vaults of the college.
They were deep studies into the nature and creation of the draugr, and how to replicate them. Preventing the rot and decay of a corpse, and retaining some degree of intelligence, was difficult magic to put it mildly. Gronvir had been capable of using the magic he held in life, and aside from looking ghoulish, was almost completely intact upon rising. It wasn’t as simple as the crude forms of necromancy, a spell channeled into the hand and flung at a corpse. The draugr had been ritually sacrificed, or buried, sworn to the service of their priest. The vampire had speculated it was the willingness that made the binding between servant and master so strong.
“Agreed. The ability of vampires to make thralls is bad enough, they can be broken from their trance. I have never yet known a draugr to be freed from their slavery by any other means than outright destruction.” Adalvald grimaced at the thought. Vampiric thralls couldn’t persist through the ages to serve their master after a thousand years had passed. A Vampire that could go into hiding with an army, only to reappear at the head of their host would be a never-ending threat.
“We have a good idea where those tomes might be though. Yngdaril was the barrow you suspected, wasn’t it?” Hania asked. Jori had narrowed down the search area for the barrow quite well, and a marker for it had appeared on my magic map. I had a plan to disguise the near perfect navigation in the works too.
“That’s right. Once we smash the bandits against the river, we’re turning back to the northwest to clear the place out. The prisoners we can take should be able to give us the location for the other barrow, south of the mountains. Then we’ll be rid of these bastards for good.” If everything went according to my plan, or at least close to it, every one of the Mer Kin would have their head on a spike by the end of next week.
“Stendarr willing.” Hania smiled, raising her amulet to her forehead.
“His champion walks with us, I’d say that’s a clear sign.” Riga leaned over the sled to pat my hand. Hania didn’t say anything, but I noticed the corner of her lip curl up.
The rest of the day’s march was a boring affair. Snow, ice, more snow, more ice, passing mountains, whistling wind, marching feet, clanking armor, even more ice and snow. Tents were raised, fires lit, stew pots set to simmer, cold sentry dug outs covered with white tarps as the sun set. My company had taken the southern side of camp, with the interest of keeping our dogs between the sleeping men and the most obvious avenue for an attack. I’d sent two dog teams each to the other three sides of camp, hoping that their hearing and sense of smell would spoil any approach that evaded Adalvald’s protections.
The Vigilants had drawn alarm lines in the snow a few hundred yards out. If an undead crossed them, they would shoot up magelights to warn the sentries. Ice wraiths, wolves, trolls, and living men could cross them unmolested, but Riga and I had laid a field of rune traps just inside the line. If anything hit the runes, the crackling noise and bright flash would sound the alarm just as well.
The other three sides weren’t as well protected, but we’d extended the minefield out to catch a pretty wide front. They’d dissipate by midday tomorrow, so we weren’t leaving anything behind for an unfortunate hunter to find with his feet. At dinner I sat with my company, listening to the men tell stories and sing the occasional song. A few men from the other contingents came around to listen to the daring tales Adalvald had to share. My favorite was one that he and Jori had handled.
They’d been called upon by the villagers of Rorikstead, who believed a werewolf was stalking out of mountains to attack the village at night. Terrible yells, howling roars, claw marks on the sides of their homes, it had tormented the village for five nights. Jori and Adalvald tracked the beast back to a hollow in the mountains, and opted to go in at first light, when it would be sleeping. Instead of finding a werewolf, they found a juvenile bear, and the remains of rucksack. Shattered vials were littered around the place, leaving a distinct scent in the air.
The bear had attacked a Khajit caravan, judging by what they found in the ruck, and stolen a bag full of skooma. The bear had broken a few vials open, drank the drug, and gotten itself addicted. Of course, when it ran out of skooma, it started having withdrawls. The bear was smart enough to connect the vials to people, and started searching the nearby village for more. Adalvald was able to use his healing magic to set the bear right, and went back to the town. The house that had been worst damaged turned out to be a skooma den.
The men had roared with laughter at the tale, some cursed the Khajits and their drugs. I slipped away to the line of dugouts as the men settled in to sleep. Angven and Harald were talking quietly with each other when I slid inside.
“Boss.” Both the men nodded to me as I came to sit on the floor of the dugout.
“How’re things? Can you see alright?” I asked.
“Moons are bright tonight, the snow reflects it pretty well. We’ll see everything coming a long time before they can sneak up on us. The fires in the camp are a nice distraction too.” Angven nodded to the bonfire the Jarl had ordered built. Rather than backlight the line of sentries, it was bright enough to ruin the night vision of anyone looking towards the camp.
“Good to hear. Make sure you get some sleep tonight, share the shift. If it gets too cold in here, trade out with one of the sentries at the edge of camp. They’re sitting with their backs to a fire.” It wouldn’t do for any of my men to freeze to death out here.
“Thank you, Champion.” Harald nodded, he was a bit stiff around me. I hadn’t spoken with him much before, and now I was an agent of the divine. Angven and Anglin had only gotten a touch more formal. Hopefully I could find a happy middle ground between zealous fanatics and casual conversation with the men that’d chosen to follow me. Respectful deference suited me just fine, but I didn’t necessarily want a cult of righteous crusaders following my word as gospel. That was something I hadn't thought about too much before enacting my little miracle.
“Keep your eyes sharp, and if you see something, don’t hesitate to sound off. I’m going to check down the line.” I patted Harald on the shoulder and slipped back out of their hole. It was the same with the rest. Don’t freeze, keep one man awake, and don’t be afraid to raise an alarm. I’d rather wake up the camp than find a horde of skeletons slitting our throats in the night.
Once I’d finished my rounds with the sentries, I headed for my tent. The way we’d set things, sled crews would share them, so I wasn’t exactly surprised to find Riga sitting by the fire outside. Hania sitting next to her did surprise me, especially with the fact that they were both smiling. I wandered into the firelight, behind Riga, and motioned for Hania to be quiet. To her credit, she didn’t give me away. Riga kept prattling along.
“...I’ve learned a ton in just a week! A week at the college and I feel like I’ve learned a years worth of magic studying on my own. When did you－ AH!” I had leaned in very close behind Riga, to the point that my breathing had startled her. She hadn’t just been learning from the College, she spun around with her dagger almost fast enough to stick me with it. Almost. I caught the girl’s hand as it was coming up, a grin on my face. The palm into my ribs was the part I hadn’t expected, the lightning in the palm, rather. There was a brief crackle as my legs tried to buckle, and my weight came forwards onto Riga. There was an ‘Eeek!’ that came from a disputable source, obviously a champion would never make such a sound.
“Johannessss.” Riga grumbled as she propped me up. Hania grabbed me by the arm and took most of the weight, standing me back up on my still wobbly legs.
“You’re getting quicker.” I managed to hiss out the words, electric tingles still radiating out from where I’d been zapped.
“And you’re getting dumber, sneaking up on me like that.” Riga wanted to hold her scowl, but couldn’t. Hania had a grin a mile wide.
“Don’t try that trick with me, Champion.” She tapped her plated knuckles to the steel on her thigh. Gauntlets were a weapon all on their own.
“I’m dumb, but not that dumb yet.” I agreed as I found a seat next to the fire.
“Are you sure about that? You have gotten thrown around by two trolls so far.” Riga smirked. She had me there.
“Hania’s a lot more dangerous than a troll. You are too, came as a bit of a shock to realize that.” We sat around talking for about half an hour before I called it a night. I tucked my self into the corner of the tent, head away from the flap. Riga was less picky about her position. She had an easy time of getting out of her armor, just the vest and padded leggings. It was only a short ordeal to strip my self out of the new set. It buckled together for the most part, and split open like a clam shell to pull the torso and shoulder plates off. A side effect of putting the torso buckles in places the enemy would have a hard time reaching was that it was damn near impossible to take the armor off by my self. The arms were a bit tricky, but the legs I could do my self. The straps and ties for the chainmail sections weren’t so bad once I got the gauntlets off.
“For as much as the ice and snow really sucks, I’d rather wear that armor in this than somewhere like Hammerfell.” I commented once I’d gotten the last pieces off. I’d need a proper squire soon enough. Riga’s help was welcome, but felt inappropriate. Sharing a tent did too, but it hadn’t seemed like a good idea to suggest Hania and Riga share before.
“I almost don’t believe that a great desert could be just over the Druadachs.” Riga put a name to the western range that I hadn’t been able to remember.
“Hammerfell isn’t all desert. Most of it is actually forests, jungles, and grassland, especially on the border. At least a thousand miles to the next desert from here. You know you live in a desert too, just a cold one.” Riga started to say something, stopped, then started again.
“Deserts have sand.”
“No, deserts don’t have rain. How often does it rain here?” That stumped Riga. She was smart, but things like that weren’t taught on a farm, or at the college. It also put her to sleep thinking about it, and I joined swiftly behind her. We had a long few days ahead of us, and I intended to get as much sleep as I could.