“I am not looking for her spoon again,” Tara said.

“Come on,” Katla said. “Wylandriah is helping me.”

Tara crossed her arms. “No. She can find another idiot to do it. I literally found it for her two days ago. How absentminded can one be?”

Tara and Katla sat together on a bench along the docks in Riften. They’d been staying in Riften for just over a week now, waiting for Wylandriah, Riften’s court wizard, to give Katla some clues about the red soul gem.

The Winter Solstice, and new year, would arrive in a few days. Riften still looked like fall. Katla had been correct to suggest they winter here. Snow fell on the city, but it didn’t stick, and the weather reminded Tara more of what Cyrodiil had to offer. Cold, but bearable.

The land around the city was stunning. Tara had seen so many beautiful places in Skyrim already. The pine forests near Falkreath, the prairies of Whiterun. The aspens that dominated The Rift, with their blazing orange, yellow, and brown leaves against white trunks, beat all she’d seen before. The beauty sometimes took her breath away.

How such a corrupt city, a city she immediately disliked, could be the capital of it didn’t make sense.

Her dislike had started at the main gate to the city. The guards had demanded a “visitor’s tax”, saying they could not enter without paying. Tara had called them out for the obvious shakedown and they’d backed off.

Cowards, she’d thought.

They’d received thinly veiled threats from Maul, a brute sized Nord, who’d interrupted them as soon as they stepped inside the city, to not mess with the Black-Briar family.

When Tara had asked who they were, Maul had laughed and told them they’d know soon enough.

Then, there was Brynjolf, who immediately rubbed Tara the wrong way. He’d made assumptions about her and Katla and tried to rope them into some scheme. It hadn’t taken more than a day to figure out he was part of the Thieves Guild. It seemed open knowledge they operated within the city. Tara had told him off several times already.

One person Tara had liked immediately was Mjoll The Lioness, a warrior and adventurer, who seemed determined to clean up Riften. Katla and Tara were staying at The Bee and Barb, the local inn, well, the one of good repute, and had already spent a few nights drinking with Mjoll and her patron…friend…Tara wasn’t sure, Aerin, the man who’d rescued her out of a Dwemer ruin. Here was a woman with a good heart and belief in honor.

For all of her dislike of the obvious corruption in Riften, Tara did like the look of the city. The canal running through it, the dark wood and stone most of the buildings were built with. It reminded her of parts of Bravil. The Docks were her favorite area.

Here, they could look out across Lake Honrich and enjoy the land outside the city. Tara also liked the people working the docks; a few Argonians who worked the fishery. Down to earth, just surviving in a land that wasn’t especially welcoming. They, of all the people, evoked the heart she’d felt by the citizens in Bravil. They were what was good about Riften.

“You’re right,” Katla said. “Wylandriah is odd.” Katla took a deep breath. They both shared a love of being near docks and water. There was something to breathing the air near a large body of water. “Just hope she can give us some answers.”

Tara nodded. “Speaking of, how about we have another back and forth?”

Katla gave her a mischievous look. “Good idea. We have the time. Ask away.”

They were enjoying the early afternoon, waiting to meet with Wylandriah later in the day. After mentioning she was missing her spoon again, she’d told them to see her again this afternoon.

Tomorrow, Tara was due to start working at Merryfair Farm, which sat outside Riften, near the stables. She looked forward to doing familiar, honest work. Everything inside Riften felt like corruption and politics. Though, Katla was working as an apprentice for Balimund, the local blacksmith. Katla felt lucky, as he already had Asbjorn Fire-Tamer as an apprentice. Business had picked up, though, as tensions between the Stormcloaks and Imperials were rising, so demand for weapons and armor was up. He’d been happy to gain another pair of hands. Today would be their last day off together until the holidays.

“You told me you were born in Dragon Bridge, your mom worked at the tavern, your dad around town doing odd jobs. Then, you moved to Solitude, your mom worked at the alchemy shop and your dad helped the merchants in the market,” Tara said.

Katla nodded. “Yes. I think in Solitude is when they must have started with their necromancy. Or, had more access to ingredients and supplies. Maybe that’s even why they took those jobs.” Katla sighed. “I don’t know. I was only eight, so, there’s not much I understood back then.”

“Then you moved to Cyrodiil?”

Katla nodded. “Yes. To Chorrol. You ever been there?”

Tara inhaled. “No. Freta and I were headed there when…” she paused. “That’s where we were headed when she died.” She looked away from Katla, out over the water. Would the memory always tempt tears?

Katla reached out her hand, touched Tara’s face, and slowly turned it towards hers. They gazed at each other. Katla leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead, with the same tenderness as Freta had in the dream…premonition…at High Hrothgar. She then kissed her on the lips. Not with the intense fire that sparked within their other kisses. This one was soft, compassionate. A comfort.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was as soft as the kiss, the words meant only for her.

She straightened up and looked out over the water. “I never cared for Chorrol. Never suited my Nord blood. Too uppity. I liked Bruma a lot, when I visited. I think it’s the only city in Cyrodiil I’d actually live in, if I ever went back.”

Tara smiled. “I like Bruma a lot, too. Colin and Eris are wonderful people.”

“Ye Olde Special Brew will put one on the floor,” Katla said. “I think I flirted with Colin when I had a few of them there.”

Tara burst out laughing. “I definitely flirted with him. That voice of his.”

Katla raised an eyebrow. “Are you even attracted to men?”

“Not at all.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was,” Katla said. “This was when I was seventeen, having left home…” now it was her turn to pause. “…after they died.” She cleared her throat. “I stayed in Bruma for a few days. Didn’t want to risk staying too long, you know.” She looked out over the water.

Sunlight sparkled off the water, adding a deep tone to the air. The afternoon was turning into the kind one could lose all sense of time in.

“Anyway,” Katla continued. “I remember waking up the next morning with the worst hangover, apologizing profusely to Colin and Eris, and realizing I didn’t even know why I’d flirted with him. I wasn’t attracted to him, kind as he is. Women are…” she paused again. “There’s mystery, magic, and comfort.” She smiled at Tara.

Tara took in her eyes, they looked more golden in the moment, with the sunlight off the water highlighting them. A question crossed her mind.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

Katla blushed. “No.”

“I guess with everything that happened to you…”

“I’ve kissed before. Fooled around some when I was younger, with classmates,” Katla said. “But, no, since my parents died, I haven’t felt able to trust anyone, or stayed anywhere long enough, to get to know anyone. Not until you.”

Tara gave her a gentle smile. “I feel lucky, then.”

“You were so bold with that mead you offered me,” Katla said. “And…so gorgeous. You took my breath away.” Tara took a turn at blushing.

“I thought it had to be a trick,” Katla said. “Someone had found me and they were using you to get to me. Or, you were part of the group. I looked in your eyes, though, and could see such a kind heart in them.” Katla smiled. “I had to take a chance. So, I put on my defense of teasing and aloofness.” She looked back over the water. “I’m glad I took the chance.”

“Me, too,” Tara said. They both looked over the water for a time. The sun warmed their faces.

Katla finally stood. “We should go see if Wylandriah has any answers for us.”

Tara stood, too. “When will you tell me about how your parents died?”

Katla paused, lost in thought. “When you tell me the whole story of Freta’s death.”

She held up a hand. “I don’t mean to pry and bring up such pain, but…”

She took a deep breath. “I’ve never talked to anyone about this. It’s going to be hard for me to give it voice. I think I need to hear someone else’s…pain, to give me courage.” Her eyes implored. “I…I think you’re one of the few people that will truly understand.”

Tara nodded. “We share a type of grief not everyone does.”

“Yes,” Katla said. “I think that’s what I’ve been waiting for. Someone who gets me on that level.”

“Then let’s see if Wylandriah knows anything,” Tara said. “And, then, we need to plan what we want to do for the New Life Festival.”

Katla laughed. “Drink a lot of mead is on my list.”

They ended up drinking a lot of mead that night.

Tara pressed her finger to her lips, then pointed at the bones hanging from two ropes in front of them. Katla nodded that she saw and understood.

They were inside Boulderfall cave, crouched inside the entrance. The trip to the cave had been uneventful and they’d managed to open the doors silently and step inside. It was another failed mine, hence the doors. Now, they stood on a wooden plank walkway, with old, dry bones tied to two long ropes hanging in front of them, and some stairs that led into the rest of the cave.

The bones were a noise trap, meant to rattle and alert the occupants of the cave if someone came in. Smart, Tara thought. If also grotesque. She saw one of the bones was a human pelvis.

Boulderfall seemed to be a small, one room cave. She could see some of it from their vantage point. A bookcase with a few books, some storage chests and large burlap sacks, plus a table with several dead slaughterfish on it, took up the right cave wall. One brazier, lit with a small fire, was against the back wall, tossing light and shadows around.

She could hear at least one person, but couldn’t see them. The steady tinking sound of someone working a mortar and pestle told her there was an alchemy table just out of sight where this one person was. They’d have to maneuver around the hanging bones to see more or get to the person.

Tara studied the noise trap. She thought there was enough space between the ropes for her to get past without disturbing them. She turned herself sideways and slowly squeezed through. She almost made it.

Whether she tilted her shoulders too soon, or the gap was narrower than she thought, she heard the bones rattle as she finished passing past them.

“Huh?” She heard a male voice, human, call out.

Tara leapt down the stairs, heard the bones rattle again as Katla pushed through them, no reason to sneak now, and heard her draw her bow.

A blast of cold hit her and Tara felt her chest, and lungs, freeze. The mage had hit her with an ice spike, a level of Destruction magic she didn’t know yet. The icy spike had pierced right through her armor, into her left shoulder. Numbness shot across her body. She couldn’t draw breath, she felt so cold.

Two more spikes hit her, one in the hips, and another in her left leg. She lost sense of feeling in her lower body and fell. The mage was charging at her, readying another spell.

She saw Katla fire a shot at the mage. Whether her aim was off, or because he was charging Tara, the arrow missed and bounced off the alchemy table he’d been standing at.

Tara grit her teeth and launched herself back to her feet. Somehow, she’d held onto her axes through the numbness creeping across her body. She couldn’t feel her feet, but trusted they’d do what she commanded, and rushed the mage before he could send another spell at her.

He was wearing simple black robes and a hood; the attire of choice for necromages. They usually enchanted the robes with Destruction or Conjuration magic boosters. Otherwise, the robes were simple cloth. Tara drove both axes easily into his midsection. He collapsed and died.

The ice spikes melted, and the numbness ebbed. Tara pulled in a deep breath. She realized it was the first time she’d ever been hit with any type of Destruction magic, outside of hurting herself with that fireball when she was seventeen. She felt a moment of unease.

“So much for questioning him,” Katla said. She looked down at the mage.

Tara looked at her shoulder. The spike hadn’t damaged her armor, or shoulder. Strange. Same with her hips and legs. Once the spike melted, it was as if she’d never been hit at all. She’d not realized how some Destruction magic could work; leave one physically unharmed while the magic did damage. Fire spells did not work that way. She looked at the mage. What was he, kill number eleven, twelve? Did it matter anymore? He was the first mage she’d killed. First person outside of a bandit or assassin. Like the others, though, he’d not given her a choice, having attacked immediately. She’d been defending herself and Katla. Protecting.

This is what protecting is, she thought. Killing people.

She looked at Katla. “He didn’t leave us a choice.”

They both looked around the cave. There was another bookcase, that alchemy table, and two more tables and chairs scattered about. On one table, a wood bin contained numerous skeletal remains; a skull, hand and foot bones. More proof he’d been a necromage.

Tara walked to the bookcase and examined the books. There were a few, but the only notable magic one was Herbalist’s Guide to Skyrim. Tara had read much of it while at the Synod Conclave. Standard reading for anyone learning alchemy, even outside of Skyrim.

“Nothing.” She heard Katla mutter, a tone of frustration in her voice. Katla was digging through the chest in the cave.

“Looks like he had nothing to do with the ones after me,” Katla said. “At least, nothing obvious around here. Just a creep studying dark magic in secret. At least he’s dead now.”

Tara looked at her. Katla wore a look of satisfaction, glad he was dead. Why wasn’t she?

“I guess,” she said.

“Are you okay?” Katla asked. “I thought you’d be happy to take out a dark mage.”

“I feel, I don’t know, uneasy,” Tara said. She looked again at the mage, then turned back to Katla. “I’ve never been hit by cold magic before. I had no idea it felt like that. Could do that.” She shivered.

“Magic is dangerous,” Katla said. “I know it. Watched it kill my parents and…” she stopped.

“We’ve both been hurt by magic,” Tara said. Katla raised an eyebrow. “These scars on my nose are the least damage magic has done to me.”

Katla’s face shifted to one of concern. “I didn’t realize…”

“I haven’t told you much yet,” Tara interrupted. “Guess we’ll need to do more questions and answers.” She gave her a soft smile.

Katla smiled back. “Guess so.”

They culled through the remaining sacks and grabbed some food, seared slaughterfish and bread, and headed out.

They arrived in Shor’s Stone a few hours later, as evening was settling in. There was no inn, it was no more than a mining village. There was a blacksmith, Filnjar, and a few homes the miners lived in. The mine, Redbelly Mine, Filnjar called it, was an iron mine, he said, though he talked about finding some other ore veins. Tara tuned him out when he hinted at someone needing to check for an infestation of spiders inside the mine.

I’ve had enough caves and death for one day, she thought.

They were all seated around a central campfire outside the mine. It was the social gathering spot, and everyone was friendly and had immediately welcomed them to the village. Filnjar said they could camp behind his house for the night. After a few ales were shared by everyone, Katla and Tara made camp.

“Why don’t we set up my tent? Leave yours packed,” Katla said.

Tara raised an eyebrow at her.

“Separate bedrolls,” Katla said. “I still want us to take a watch shift, too. Doesn’t feel like this village offers much protection. And no one here is actually a fighter, by the looks of them. Outside of the guards.”

A couple of guards had wandered by on patrol, introducing themselves briefly. Tara hadn’t figured out the timing of their patrol, or how far they ranged. She had to agree they wouldn’t offer much protection should an assassin strike.

“Single tent it is,” Tara said, adding a smile. “Easier to protect you. I’ll take first watch.”

Katla didn’t immediately go to bed, though. She sat outside the tent with Tara. They kept glancing at each other in silence. Finally, Katla spoke.

“When I saw you hit by those ice spikes today, it scared me.”

Tara thought for a moment. How to word what she was feeling, so many hours after the fight? The death of the mage hadn’t sat well with her. She wasn’t sure why.

“I was scared, too,” she said. “I had no idea being hit by Destruction magic would affect me so much. No idea it could so quickly disable me.”

Katla nodded. “Magic is no joke.”

Tara shook her head. “I know that. It’s…” she paused. “The scars on my nose are from a fireball.” She pointed to her nose, then studied the ground, thinking. “That is nothing compared to what Illusion magic did to me my entire childhood.”

She looked up at Katla, her eyes intense, and wet from the tears forming.

“I…I’ve fooled myself all these years about how terrible Destruction magic can be. It’s what I want to study. Or, was. I don’t know.” She looked at the ground again. “I told myself Illusion was the worst magic because I know what it can do.” She took a deep breath. “Now, I don’t know. Maybe Restoration magic is the only magic anyone should study.”

“What happened to you?” Katla asked, softly.

Tara looked up at her. Tara marveled at how expressive Katla’s eyes were. More than most people, she let her emotions out through them, even when she kept a reserved expression. Right now, her eyes were warm, gentle. A glowing hazel.

“It’s that pedestal falling moment,” Tara said. “I’m not ready to tell the story tonight. Just…we both share a failure by our family when it comes to magic.”

Katla gave her a short nod. “Can I at least hear about that fireball to the nose?”

Tell her. She needs you to open up first.

Tara smiled. “The fireball went to a wall. It’s the burning stone that got me.”

She told Katla about the fireball, the ancient wall, the determination of teaching herself magic because her family was not allowing it. She paused, then confessed the part that might scare Katla.

“I’m a natural at calling forth fire, but I lack control. The fireball was too big, and also something I shouldn’t have been able to create yet.”

Katla tilted her head. “There’s a reason your family has kept you away from learning magic.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” Tara answered anyway.

“I hope you’ll tell me why soon,” Katla said.

“I will.” Tara gave her a small smile. “Why don’t we…when we get to Riften and see that court wizard…we should talk more. I want to hear about your parents.”

Katla gave her a long look. She sighed. “You’re right. I keep probing you with questions and don’t tell you much. It’s a deal.”

Tara leaned towards her and gave her a lingering kiss. They were both breathless within seconds.

“Go to bed,” Tara said, pulling away.

“Aye, my lady.” Kayla laughed. She stood and gave Tara a wink. “I love the scars on your nose. They add to your beauty.” She slipped inside the tent before Tara could respond.

Tara spent her watch studying the Velothi Mountains, which were within easy sight. The night was bright and she watched fog envelop and swirl through the mountains in endless patterns.

After a time, her mind stopped swirling.

Tara opened her eyes to see Katla’s soft, brown ones watching her. A smile crept across Katla’s face.

“This isn’t how I thought our first night sharing a tent would go,” she said.

Tara laughed. “Me, either. Something told me to stay with you last night, though.”

Katla raised herself up on one elbow and raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Tara matched the elbow raising and weighed how to word everything.

Had Freta been a vision? A dream? Another premonition? Some combination of it all?

Tara wasn’t sure. What she knew was it was the next morning, and she and Katla were safe, here in front of High Hrothgar.

“Do you believe in premonitions?” she asked Katla.

“I do.” Katla kept a steady gaze on her. Interest piqued.

Be honest with her.

“Freta visited me last night. As a premonition, I think,” she said.

“You’ve left me speechless,” Katla said. “Well, almost.”

Tara gave her a soft smile. “I’ve had this recurring premonition for over a year now. I thought it was just a dream, but Freta always insisted it was more than that. The premonition involves me protecting a woman named Rigmor. Name mean anything to you?”

Katla shook her head. “Never heard that name before.”

“It happened a couple of times when I was with Freta. I’ve also had it…since. There’s not much to it. I know what this Rigmor looks like and I have a sense I’m protecting, guarding, her. Not much more.”

Tara sat up. She kept the furs around her. She could hear the steady wind outside the tent, as if the cold was just waiting for one of them to risk stepping outside the insulating warmth of the tent and furs.

“Last night, it was different, but similar,” Tara continued. “Freta appeared. Like a vision. She told me to protect Rigmor. But…” Tara gave Katla an intense look. “She said to protect you first. That first I’d protect you, and then Rigmor and another.”

Katla sat up. She looked lost in thought for a minute. “I…well, I don’t know what to say.”

“Since I met you,” Tara said. “I’ve been drawn to you…”

“I’ve been drawn to you, too.” Katla reminded her.

“…and I’ve had a sense…no, desire…to protect you.” Tara finished. “I like helping people, but I’ve never felt this need to protect someone. Not like with you.” Tara cleared her throat. “It’s separate from being, you know, attracted to you.”

Katla smiled and looked down for a moment. Her hair fell forward, its deep brown hiding her face. She swept her hand through it, pushing the thick hair away, behind her ear.

Tara caught her breath. Katla looked back up. She’d heard that.

“Maybe it all has something to do with this.” Katla reached into her pouch, which had been lying next to her, and pulled out a soul gem.

Tara stared at the geode. She’d seen a few soul gems in her time. Strange geodes, which contained souls. Captured souls. Souls ripped from animals or people, by magic, and instead of being released to whatever afterlife they deserved, they sat trapped in these gems. To be used for enchanting armor or weapons. Tara wasn’t sure what happened to the souls after the gems were used.

The magic spell, called Soul Trap, was part of the Conjuration school. Part of necromancy. Tara had never had an interest in it.

The soul gem Katla held looked to be a black soul gem. The kind that held human souls. Unlike any she’d read about, though, this one glowed red. Not blue, or purple, as described in books, or as the ones she’d seen at the College of Whispers did.

It made her nervous.

“Why is it red?”

Katla shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “There’s so much I don’t understand about it. Or why these necromancers are after it.” Her voice caught. “Or why they killed my parents over it.”

Katla put it back in the pouch. They both stared at the pouch for a moment.

“Thank you,” Tara said. “Thank you for trusting me enough to show it.”

She leaned forward and kissed Katla.

She meant it as a quick, soft peck. An initial touch and exploration. The kind of kiss one took a chance on, to see if the spark between two people was real.

Katla leaned into the kiss. They both pulled away, breathless.

“Wow. You’re forward,” Katla said.

“I…” Tara started.

Katla interrupted her with a return kiss.

A second, or eternity, later, Tara found herself on top of Katla, more kisses being exchanged, and the two of them laughing.

“Very forward,” Katla finally said.

Tara sat back up. “It was supposed to be a peck.”

Katla raised herself up on her elbows. “I should be more open with you.” She winked.

“Come on. We need to go,” Tara said. She looked at the tent flap. The morning light was strong around its edges. The day was going to get away from them soon. They had to get off this highest of mountains.

They packed up the camp and started making their way down the mountainside. Tara kept two of Katla’s furs on top of the ones she owned, all of them covering her leather armor. She suddenly regretted having sleeveless armor.

“Tell me about Freta,” Katla asked.

Tara spent the trip down telling her everything about Freta. How she looked, Freta’s boldness and confidence, some of her favorite memories. She didn’t hold back.

“Was she your first?” Katla asked somewhere between the fourth and fifth wayshrine.

“I’m not telling you all the gory details.” Tara laughed. “She was my first true girlfriend.” She gave Katla a look. “And, yes, my first.”

Katla nodded. “I could hear that in your voice,” she simply said. “You really loved her.”

“She told me I was never meant to protect her,” Tara said, her tone quiet. They were near the bottom now, the wind and snow had been left behind. Autumn was back in its glory on these last few hundred steps. Tara took off the furs.

Katla stopped. “Last night?”

Tara nodded.

“Will you tell me how she died? The whole story?”

Tara thought for a moment. She thought of the Heal Other scroll. She thought of her waves.

“Soon,” she said. “There’s a lot to it. I should tell you other stories first.”

Katla nodded and they continued on.

“I should tell you why I want to head to Shor’s Stone,” Katla said. They had nearly reached the bottom of the mountain, nearly finished with the seven thousand steps. Again.

Tara hadn’t given much thought to Katla’s plan to get to Riften. She hadn’t checked the map to see where Shor’s Stone was in relation to Ivarstead and Riften. She’d assumed it was on the way.

“Tell me.”

They’d reached the first wayshrine. Finally at the end.

Katla pulled out her map of Skyrim and spread it out on top of the wayshrine. She pointed.

Tara saw that Shor’s Stone was not a direct path to Riften. At least, not the quickest from Ivarstead. The most sensible path to Riften would be to head south, then southeast as the road turned and swung around Lake Honrich. There seemed to be some farms and a mill along the way.

Shor’s Stone, on the other hand, while also southeast of Ivarstead, was more east, and the roads leading to it took one north for a bit, coming close to Eastmarch Hold, and around more mountainous terrain. One would still need to travel south to get to Riften, along the eastern border of Skyrim. This time of year, with the weather turning colder, the rougher terrain might be more problematic.

Katla pointed to a cave marked on the map, near Shor’s Stone. She’d handwritten in Boulderfall.

“I don’t care about Shor’s Stone,” she said. “I got information in Falkreath that some necromancers are living in Boulderfall cave. I want to kill them.”

Her eyes were serious and voice firm. She was on a mission.

“Do you think they’re related to the ones after you?” Tara asked.

“I don’t know.” Katla paused. There was a fire in her eyes. “I don’t care. I mean, I want to question them, in case they know something.” She held Tara’s gaze. “I want them dead, either way.”

Tara studied the map and thought. How did she feel about killing some mages outright?

She’d never cared for Conjuration magic. And agreed necromancy should be banned. That soul gem in Katla’s pouch seemed proof enough it was a dangerous school of magic. The kind one should avoid. Her time at the College of Whispers hadn’t challenged her thinking. No one there was studying it, though she’d known they didn’t ban the practice.

Was it truly worse than Illusion magic, though? The school that taught Calm spells, and others, that manipulated the mind. Had manipulated her? Had ruined her ability with magic?

Not ruined. Not yet. The College of Winterhold would fix that. It had to.

“I’ve never taken on mages in an actual fight,” she said.

“I have,” Katla said. “We’ll need to plan, but, avoiding magic is a lot like dodging arrows. Don’t get hit by a spell, and they should be easy enough. They never wear armor.”

Am I really going to kill some mages? Tara thought.

Stay with her. Protect her.

She thought about the strange red soul gem, dangling in a pouch on Katla’s hip. She thought about their first kiss and the brief feel of those hips against her body this morning.

“Okay,” she said. She looked at Katla, making sure her green eyes bored into her.

“I need you to keep being honest with me, though. Telling me these intentions sooner. Please.” She softened her voice and gaze with that last word.

Katla nodded. Her eyes had softened as well, the fire in them dampened. “I will.”

“Then, let’s get something to eat at the inn and make a plan,” Tara said, as Katla rolled up the map and they crossed the bridge, and river, that divided The Throat of the World from the town of Ivarstead.

Freta stared at Tara across the camp fire.

Tara blinked. She was still there.

“This isn’t possible,” she said. “You’re in Sovngarde.”

Freta smiled. She rested her elbow on her raised knee, then put her chin in her hand, as if settling in for a long story, as she had so many times in the past. She was sitting directly on the ground, impervious to the bitter cold and snow, it seemed.

She looked radiant. In her steel armor, really a mix of steel and leather, she was as commanding as ever. Her hair was down, dropping over her shoulders. She’d always worn it in a loose ponytail while in the armor, but not now. Now, it was as Tara had always preferred it, down and flowing. Her glacier blue eyes gleamed with joy. She looked happy.

“You have to protect her,” Freta said. Her voice was as silky as Tara remembered it.

A fresh pang of grief hit at the sight and sound of Freta. Tara fought back tears.

“Who?” she asked.

“All of them, my little Breton,” Freta said. Her smiled deepened. “It is so good to see you again.”

Tara couldn’t help it. She smiled back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Freta looked around, taking in the sights. “I never made the pilgrimage. How magnificent the view. And High Hrothgar.”

Tara joined her in looking around. The view was like no other.

---

She and Katla had climbed the seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar. Tara had not kept count, but her legs agreed there must have been at least seven thousand steps.

“You’re insane,” Tara had said to Katla when they stood at the bottom of the steps, at the first wayshrine. They’d read the plaque, the first in a series of ten, as told to them by a pilgrim who’d just come down the mountain. All ten describing The Way of the Voice.

“They are to be read and contemplated,” the pilgrim had said.

“I’m climbing,” Katla had said, firmly. The firmness in her voice that Tara understood always meant she would not take no for an answer, or tolerate argument. “When will I ever get this chance again? Come on!”

“I think you’re trying to turn me into a Nord.” Tara had grumbled.

“You’re the one reading all those Nord history books.”

They’d climbed the steps, read all the wayshrines, met one other pilgrim higher up, around the fifth wayshrine, killed two wolves, and passed at least six goats. The climb itself was indescribable.

The first few hundred or so steps had been in an autumn morning glory, full of the rich colors of this turning season. The wind and bitter cold had started soon enough, though. What Tara couldn’t get over was how quickly the world seemed to fall away. How separate this mountain felt from the world below. The snow, ice, and wind blinded one a bit, fading their surroundings, increasing the sense of separateness.

Tara had been good through the first leg of the journey. The wayshrines left much to contemplate; on peace, war, power. This Jurgen Windcaller had the right of it, she thought.

What Tara didn’t have the right of was enough furs for the cold. Nord blood was supposedly resistant to the cold. Not hers, though. Bretons were resistant to magic, instead. The cold was cutting right through her. She’d need to get a thicker set of furs, she thought. Katla was loving it, it seemed.

“Come on!” she’d kept insisting after they arrived at another wayshrine and Tara wanted to turn around.

“I’m cold! And hungry!” Tara said. She didn’t recognize her whiny voice. What was she, twelve? Scratch that. She didn’t even complain like this at that age.

“We’re almost there.” Katla had encouraged.

They hadn’t been almost there most of the day.

“Are we there yet?” had escaped from Tara more than once.

Then, they were.

High Hrothgar had come into view, a mammoth of a building, filling one’s sight. They’d already stopped at several points to look out over Skyrim. Everything was so small. Even the other mountains.

High Hrothgar was its own vision. Gray, ancient stone, with a center tower and two wings. It filled the path. In front of it, a shrine of sorts. A large chest sat at the bottom of where the two staircases met, each led to a massive set of doors on either side of the tower. There were flowers and coins strewn in front of the chest. Gifts from the pilgrims.

The chest was for supplies, brought up and left for the Greybeards, Klimmek had told them. They’d met him at the inn in Ivarstead. He usually made the trip to bring supplies.

“Stick around a week, I’ll have more to bring up. Maybe pay you to take them up for me?” He’d offered.

“We won’t be here that long,” Tara had said.

“Wow,” Tara had said upon seeing High Hrothgar. The sun was setting, leaving a rich golden hue to strike the building.

“It’s incredible.” Katla had agreed.

“They don’t let people inside?” Tara had asked, again. She’d inquired in Ivarstead, and people had looked at her funny, as if everyone knew this.

“Not unless you’re studying The Way of the Voice,” Katla had confirmed. “They take few students. Few can learn it. And it takes decades to master.”

“But they did that shout we all heard,” Tara had reminded her. “They’re calling this Dragonborn person.”

Tara had asked about the shout in town, as well. Everyone had heard it.

“Means Dragonborn,” one of the guards had told her. “In all my years, I never thought I’d hear such a thing.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and this Dragonborn will show up. And they’ll let us all in,” Katla had laughed and winked at her. She’d looked around, studying the area at the bottom of the steps, near the last of the wayshrines.

“We’re going to have to camp out here for the night. Didn’t time our climb very well,” she’d said.

Tara had agreed. Night was falling quickly. It was too late to consider traveling back down the steps. She hadn’t seen anything that would suffice for shelter on their way up, either. No caves, no real outcroppings to speak of. This corner, behind the wayshrine, with High Hrothgar behind it would provide some protection from the wind, at least.

They’d made camp and eaten a fast dinner. The camp fire struggled to stay alight, and it was so cold outside the tents.

They did enjoy the sight of Masser and Secunda rising behind High Hrothgar. That sight was a gift, Tara thought.

“Go to sleep,” Tara had said to Katla. “I’ll take watch.”

Katla had given her a worried look. “Are you sure you’ll be okay out here? I’ve got more furs…”

“I’m fine. Go to sleep. Get warm,” Tara had said.

Why hadn’t she taken the offer of more furs? It wasn’t long before she was shivering. She sat as close to the camp fire as she dared. She didn’t think it would last the night. There was no wood this high up. They’d been carrying firewood, but she was having to feed the fire a lot to fight the wind. They had not planned this pilgrimage well.

---

“Who?” Tara asked Freta again. “Who am I protecting?”

Freta’s eyes shifted to Katla’s tent. “Katla first. Then the others.”

Tara joined her and looked at Katla’s tent, then back at Freta.

“I didn’t protect you,” Tara said. It came out as a whisper.

“You were never meant to,” Freta said. Her tone stated it as a matter of fact.

Tara felt a tear fall, then freeze on her face. She wiped it away.

“Who are the others?”

“You know. Rigmor and…well, you’ll know her when you see her,” Freta said.

She leaned in closer to the fire, closer to Tara.

“When you fail the one, don’t fail the other,” she said. “She’ll be your way back.”

“What?”

Freta simply smiled.

“I don’t understand,” Tara said.

“Premonitions, my little Breton. I told you.”

“I don’t understand.” Tara repeated.

Freta stood, still smiling. She came and knelt down in front of Tara. Tara breathed in her scent, the mix of mead and leather that always enveloped her.

“You will always be the most beautiful woman I ever knew, Tara Blaton.” She kissed her forehead. “Go. Stay in the tent with her tonight. Before you freeze to death.”

“Freta…I…” Tara started.

“You’ll both be safe tonight. Go.” Her hand brushed Tara’s hair, as she’d done so many times, on so many nights. “Hair of fire. Heart of passion. Protect them well.”

---

Tara shivered awake. The camp fire had died. The wind had battered it into submission.

She blinked and looked around. No Freta. Of course not. It had been a dream.

Hadn’t it?

Freta was right, though. She’d freeze to death trying to stay outside the tents, keeping watch.

Tara checked the sky. The stars were bright against the deep black of night. Dawn was too many hours away for her to stay out here. And, Nord blood or not, she couldn’t let Katla be subjected to this, either.

Protect her.

Tara looked at her tent, then at Katla’s.

Stay with her.

Tara climbed quietly into Katla’s tent and pulled the flap closed, finally getting relief from the wind.

She watched Katla for a few minutes. She was buried in furs, fast asleep. Her breath came in soft waves, the shallowness of deep slumber.

Tara climbed under the fur blankets, still in her own furs, which covered her leather armor. Katla had a roomy tent, and Tara was able to lie down without being too close. She took a deep breath. Katla smelled of leather, wood, and something sweet Tara couldn’t quite place. The immediate warmth of furs, and the beauty of Katla’s face brought comfort. Katla looked so innocent, so relaxed. While asleep, at least, her face wasn’t carrying the stress of having assassins after her.

Stay with her. Protect her.

Tara fell asleep and did not dream.

“DOVAHKIIN!”

Tara and Katla stared at each other.

“What in Oblivion?!” Tara said. The voice had been everywhere. A booming voice that came from above. It shook them for a moment. As if the Divines themselves had spoken.

Katla looked to be in awe. She stared at the sky, looking towards The Throat of the World.

“That was the Greybeards,” she said. “I…that’s something I never thought I’d hear in my lifetime.”

They started walking again. Tara gave her a quizzical look. “The old men who teach this shout-magic thing? Was that a shout?”

Katla nodded. “Must be. Not like I’ve ever heard one before.”

They were walking along the road from Riverwood, heading, eventually, to Riften, a city in the southeast Katla insisted they go to next.

“It’ll be winter soon,” she’d said that morning. “I don’t think we should get ourselves trapped in Winterhold, or Windhelm, for the winter. It’s brutally cold.”

“You have business in Riften, I take it?” Tara had asked.

“Yes. There’s a court wizard there, Wylandriah. She might know something about, you know.”

Tara had agreed. She wondered why Katla didn’t want to go straight to Winterhold. Wouldn’t the College hold the most information? But, secrecy was probably a good idea. One court wizard versus an entire College of them. Plus, Tara had to admit she hadn’t thought yet about how cold Skyrim might get. She’d need to invest in some furs soon.

“What was that word they said?” Tara asked, as they continued walking. It was another gorgeous autumn day. The river, White River, Tara had learned it was called, was steady and sure on their right. To their left, some rocky and forested ground, which butted up to The Throat of the World. An ancient Nord ruin, Katla called it Bleak Falls Barrow, sat high in the mountains across the river. The architecture was striking, large angled stone archways leading to some stone structure built right into the rock. You couldn’t help but stare at it as you walked along the road.

Katla thought for a moment. “I think it’s an ancient language. The language they teach? I don’t know what it means, though. Maybe it’s in one of your Nord history books.” She stuck her tongue out at her.

“Not sure why you can’t just be my personal Nord historian,” Tara replied, also sticking out her tongue.

“I’ll be your personal Nord something else.” Katla winked. Tara laughed and blushed.

They continued down the road a ways, Tara keeping an eye out for danger. She’d heard wolves in the distance, but none came near them. Bandits were her top concern, as, at least by her map, there were several caves nearby. Caves almost always held bandits, wild animals, or even worse. They didn’t need fresh trouble.

Of course, there was still the concern more assassins would attack. Apparently, once the Dark Brotherhood took a contract, they wouldn’t stop. How to get the contract cancelled? Katla couldn’t have this over her head for the rest of her life. Maybe I need to kill whoever hired them, Tara thought. These necromancers. Once she knew what this was all really about, of course. Whatever the object was.

Give her time.

They came around a curve in the road, it was curving up slightly to meet another road, when Tara saw a sight that made her stop.

Three stone pillars sat at the edge of the road, at the river, on a stone, round platform. Each pillar was intricately carved, with a hole near the top of the pillar, letting light through.

“The Guardian Stones!” Katla exclaimed. “I’ve never seen them in person.” She skipped over to them. Skipped. Tara had to smile. That was charming, she thought. She sprinted to catch up.

They both stepped up on the platform. Each pillar had a different figure carved on them. They were constellations, with figures etched to what each represented. The Warrior, The Mage, and The Thief.

“They’re beautiful,” Tara said. Tara had seen various shrines to the Daedra in Cyrodiil during her travels with Freta. Hidden shrines to the deities, the ones considered lesser than the Divines, the ones evil by most standards. They’d avoided them, of course. There had also been a couple of the ruined Oblivion Gates, the old stone structures from the Oblivion Crisis, the great event two hundred years ago, in the Third Era, when Mehrunes Dagon, the worst of the Daedra, had tried to enter Nirn, their world.

She’d seen nothing like these pillars, though, in Cyrodiil, and they did not exist in High Rock, either. Definitely, a Nord custom of some kind.

“They grant blessings,” Katla said, her voice carried an aura of wonder. “You choose which one confers the blessings you want.” She stepped towards The Thief and pressed her hand to the stone. A blue, glowing light filled the etched lines, illuminating the figure. A blue orb of light appeared suddenly in the hole at the top of the pillar. It faded within a minute. Katla stepped back and smiled at her.

“Archers have to be sneaky. Seemed the best choice for me.” She nodded her head at The Warrior. “Touch it.”

Tara studied The Warrior, then looked at The Mage stone. Which one was she?

The Warrior.

No, she thought. I’m here for The Mage. I’m here in Skyrim for magic.

You deny who you are.

The Mage. All this time. All this sacrifice. For The Mage. To be a mage.

Let go of who never came to pass. Let go of that pain. Embrace who you are now.

Tara felt tears start to form. Who was she?

“Tara?” Katla asked. Her voice was gentle, worried.

Tara looked at her. “I…I don’t know which one.”

Katla studied her, then gave her a gentle smile. “That is for you to decide.”

Tara looked at The Mage. The sun was behind them, so its rays were just now lighting up The Mage. Was it inviting her? She looked at The Warrior. It was closest to the rushing river, sun rays already enveloped it. There was a strength, and comfort, in the face of the warrior figure.

Which one?

Stop denying who you are.

Who am I?

Tara stepped off the platform. “Let’s go,” she said.

Katla looked at her for a moment, nodded, and then stepped off the platform. She pointed to the section of road that curved to their right.

“That way,” she said.

They walked in silence for a while, the sun continued to rise, as did the road. They were climbing. Katla had said they’d pass by the now destroyed Helgen, then take the left road up, into the mountains. It was the pass that led into the Rift, the hold Riften sat in. A new hold, so a new jarl would be in control of the territory.

The assassin attacked as they passed under a small outcropping on their left. A short cliff, rich dirt and tree roots erupted out from it, just over their heads.

This one was an Argonian, the reptilian people from Black Marsh. Another Dark Brotherhood assassin, in red and black leather.

Tara heard a shift in the ground above them and looked up in time to see her leaping down, dagger out. Tara rolled right, coming out of the roll with both axes drawn. Katla was faster.

She’d jumped back, pulled out her bow and drawn an arrow before Tara finished her roll. Her arrow hit, catching the assassin in her heart. Tara sheathed her axes, approached, and examined the dead Argonian. She found the contract note.

“It’s for you.” She confirmed. “Same as the other one.” She crumbled it in frustration. How had they found them so fast?

Katla pulled her arrow out of the body and wiped it down. Her face remained still, unreadable.

“More will come,” Tara said.

Katla nodded, staring at the body. She looked at Tara, fear now on her face.

“I…How did they find us so fast?”

Tara thought about the past day. She sighed.

“I don’t know. Maybe they send more than one at a time. Maybe people are easily bribed for information. We’ve been careful.” What could she say to comfort Katla? She had nothing.

Katla nodded. “I guess.” She looked at Tara again. “I’m scared. This is serious.”

Tara felt her heart pulled. “I know,” she said, softly. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you. I’m not a soldier, or even a professional bodyguard, but I have good instincts. I’m not leaving you before we figure out how to cancel the contract.”

Katla’s face relaxed and she gave her a small smile. “That’s a commitment.”

Tara smiled, then chuckled. “You better make it worth my while.”

Katla laughed. She winked. “I will.”

“Let’s get to, what is it again, Ivarstead?”

Katla nodded. “Yes, Ivarstead, then Shor’s Stone, then Riften. Maybe we’ll climb the seven thousand steps, just to get away from everyone.”

“The how many steps?! To what?”

“Come on. I’ll explain,” Katla said. They continued on and Tara learned about the famous pilgrimages some made to visit the Greybeards. Her personal Nord history lesson.

Tara and Katla sat outside the Sleeping Giant Inn, eating an early dinner. Tara wanted them to go to bed early, so they could leave first thing in the morning.

They’d spent the day on errands. Well, after Tara had scoped the town out several times to make sure they hadn’t been followed to Riverwood. Nearest she could tell, they were safe. Everyone in the small town seemed to know each other. Tara and Katla were the only visitors.

First stop had been the Riverwood Trader. The shopkeeper, Lucan, was efficient, if obsessed with something. He kept talking to his sister, Carmilla, about a claw and whether he thought that adventurer would actually come back with it.

“It’s been days,” he said to her. “Probably got killed by the bandits.” He eyed up Tara. “Say, you wouldn’t be interested in a job, would you?”

“No,” Tara said. Katla was enough on her plate at the moment.

They still hadn’t talked yet. They’d agreed to run errands, then have their little questions and answers conversation. Tara needed to know things, understand how much trouble Katla was really in.

Be open with her. It’s the only way she’ll open up to you.

Tara wasn’t looking forward to telling her too much about herself. Not yet. Trust did work both ways. She didn’t want to scare her off with any sob stories, though. She certainly wasn’t ready to talk about her waves.

After Riverwood Trader, they went to the blacksmith, Alvor. Tara sharpened her axes, while Katla bought some arrows from him. He chatted with them amiably. His young daughter, Dorthe, was full of energy. Tara smiled at that. Alvor seemed a good father.

The rest of the day had been spent wandering the town and enjoying the perfect weather. Winter was coming soon enough, but today was a warmer than usual autumn day. Tara’s eyes kept being distracted by the gigantic mountain Riverwood sat in the shadow of. She’d thought Frostcrag Spire was high in the sky in Cyrodiil. But, this mountain was, well, there weren’t words for its size.

The Throat of the World, it was called. It was the highest point in all of Tamriel. Tara had read about it, but to actually see it in person. To be in a town next to it. Books could not do it justice. She couldn’t even see the top of it, unless she lay on her back. And near its top, High Hrothgar, where the Greybeards lived. The men who taught the Way of the Voice. That yell-shout magic thing she’d heard about in Helgen. How could anyone live up so high above everything else? It had to be permanent winter up there.

“Guess I should start,” Katla said. They were finishing up their beef stew. Tara swallowed her last bite, took a swallow of mead, leaned back, and waited.

Katla’s velvet eyes fixed on her. “My parents died when I was seventeen, a few days before I turned eighteen. They were murdered.”

“Oh, Katla…” Tara started.

Katla held up her hand and shook her head. “Let me finish.”

She looked away from Tara and gazed up at the sky. The light was a blend of pink and blue; evening light making its first appearance. She turned back to Tara with wet eyes.

“You ever think you know someone, someone you love deeply, and then find out something about them that changes everything? Knocks them off the pedestal you had them on?”

Tara thought of Mira. And her parents.

She nodded. They looked at each other, confirming the other was telling the truth.

Katla continued. “My parents were involved in black arts. Necromancy.” She swallowed.

“I still don’t understand it all, and I’m not ready to discuss what I do know.”

Tara frowned.

“Not until I understand it more, at least,” Katla said. “Please.”

Tara nodded. She couldn’t expect everything spread out before her. They’d only known each other, what, two weeks? It felt longer.

Katla continued. “They were killed for something they had. Something some other necromancers wanted.”

Katla sighed, and gave Tara an intense look. “I have that something. That’s why they’re after me.”

“What is it? I saw you give Farenger…”

“I asked you to wait outside his study.” Katla’s tone wasn’t angry, though.

Tara shrugged. “I couldn’t help but peek a little. So, what is it?”

Kara opened her mouth, closed it, and thought for a moment.

“I’m not ready to say.” She patted a pouch on her belt. “Maybe it’s safer you don’t know yet. Or, at least until I know more.”

Tara frowned. “I should know what it is. You’re asking me to risk my life for it.”

“I’m asking you to risk your life for me, not it.” Katla paused. “I know. That’s a big thing to ask.”

She leaned forward. Tara instinctively leaned closer, as well. Anyone watching might have thought they were about to kiss. Tara felt Katla’s warm breath on her face. Something about it was comforting.

“I really like you, Tara,” she whispered. “It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I am drawn to you like no one else I’ve ever met. If you’ll have patience with me, I’ll reveal all.”

“I’m not very good with patience.” Tara confessed, her voice low. “For you, I’ll try.” She swallowed. “I’m drawn to you, too.”

Katla leaned back. “It’s in this pouch, which I keep on me at all times.” She patted the pouch again. “I need to learn more about it, see if it is what I think it is. If you’ll stay with me, you’ll learn with me.”

She took a sip of her mead. “Now, questions for you.”

Tara took a drink of her mead. She suddenly felt nervous.

“You said you were kicked out of the Synod Conclave in Anvil. I want that story.”

Tara sighed. “By the Gods, start with a big question, why don’t you.”

“I will.” Katla winked. She was more relaxed. Tara realized for the first time in days.

“The short answer is I beat up a local orc,” Tara said. “I hurt him severely, more than I realized at the time.” Katla’s face had gone still. She was watching her intently.

“We got into a fight at the tavern. He was a sellsword. Kept harassing me, teasing me. One night, it got to be too much.” She took a swallow of mead. “News got to the conclave, they tried to heal him, but he still walks with a limp.” Tara sighed. “I was having trouble controlling fire magic, and learning any other magic. Plus…my sister had warned them I had a temper. The combination of all these things…well, Riser didn’t want to risk teaching me anymore. Thought I’d become a dark mage.” Tara looked at Katla.

“Will you?” Katla’s look was still intense.

Tara shook her head. “No. Never. I’m not that kind of person.”

“But, you’re still pursuing magic.”

“Yes,” Tara said. “I, my family, has a history of being good with magic. Mira, my sister, is tremendous with it.” Tara swallowed. That brought up sudden pain.

“I…I could be good, too. I…need extra help learning it.” Tara swallowed again. Why was there a lump in her throat?

“I’ve always dreamed of being great at magic. The College of Winterhold is my last shot at learning.” She wiped her eyes. She didn’t realize tears had formed.

Katla’s face softened and she looked at her for a minute.

“Have you ever lost your temper at someone you cared about?” she asked. “Ever hurt them?”

Tara looked at her. What was the correct answer to that?

Yes.

Tara sat back and looked up at the sky. Evening had fully come and gone, the stars were glittering in the deep blue of early night.

“My family also has a history of violence,” she finally said, still gazing at the sky. “I left home before eighteen for good reason. I’m not ready to discuss those details.” She turned back to Katla and leaned forward.

“I won’t hurt you,” she said, dropping her voice. “I’m not that kind of person, either. I don’t beat the ones I love.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m working on my temper. I know I have a ways to go.”

She leaned back. “When I was with Freta, I had infinite patience. I felt…calm. I think it’s the same, or will be, with you.”

Katla studied her. Tara watched her, waiting.

Katla finally took one last drink of her mead, finishing it.

“I believe you.” She laughed. “Well, we’re both full of happy stories.”

Tara laughed. “We’re pathetic.”

“Let’s get our pathetic selves to bed, then,” Katla said. “You insist we share a room again?”

Tara stood. “Yes. I’ll take first watch in that gods awful chair.”

The night was quiet and calm.

tw: violence

Tara crossed her arms and glared across the dinner table. The fancy dinner table of Sir Gondore Buckingsmith, father of Gaston, the noble boy Father had arranged for them all to dine with.

Another pathetic attempt by Father to match her with a boy for marriage. Another attempt to get himself tied to nobility.

They were invited by Buckingsmith, who was a preferred customer at Father’s store, The Rest’s Finest. A conversation a few days ago had led to the invite.

Tara wasn’t sure why Sir Gondore was a noble. She didn’t care about nobility, which seemed the exception in Breton society. What was even the point? To say you were better than others? Because some ancestor had once done something?

The only people who deserved extra attention were actual heroes, Tara thought. Did you save some lives? Then you deserved a title. Everyone else were just pompous asses. Like their dinner hosts.

At least the food was good. Tara couldn’t remember the last time she’d had roast boar, salmon, or a boiled creme treat. For all their supposed success, Father was tight with money, so they ate only what they grew and slaughtered. What they made Tara slaughter. Usually chicken or rabbit. Tara wondered if he did it to spite Mom, since she refused to sell the farm. Father wanted a home in Wayrest proper, not to live on the outskirts.

The food wasn’t making up for the conversation, though. Or the constant lecherous stares from Gaston.

Tara imagined even if she was attracted to men, she would’ve found Gaston repulsive. His eyes were beady, nose crooked, chin too sharp, with a forehead too big. His skin was pale, as if he rarely stepped outside. To say he was pudgy was being kind. He seemed a sload, in all the worst ways.

Tara understood others found her attractive. Words like pretty, beautiful, and gorgeous had been thrown at her, mostly by men, starting when she was twelve. Her skin crawled whenever men threw those words at her, as if the men who tossed them expected something in return for such compliments. As if she was supposed to feel special because they’d paid attention to her. As if she owed them.

At least she could threaten the boys who tried the same words, stares, and, on too many occasions, a quick grab and touch. At fifteen, she’d already broken nine local boys’ noses. Gaston seemed to be angling to be number ten.

When they’d first arrived to the Buckingsmith’s manor, they were all, Mother, Father, and Tara, given a tour. Mira was off studying magic in Cyrodiil. Sir Gondore had shown them his trophy room, full of swords and suits of armor from ancestors, pointed out paintings of said ancestors, and bragged about their supposed accomplishments. It was obvious Gondore himself had never been a knight, or warrior of any kind.

Gaston had made a point to bump into Tara twice in the trophy room, bumping into her shoulder the first time, and mumbling an apology. His eyes did not seem sorry.

The second time, he’d pressed into her back from behind, and Tara felt his hot breath in her ear. When she’d stepped forward to move away from him, he’d followed, keeping himself against her. She’d stomped on his right foot and glared.

For the rest of the tour, Gaston had kept his distance, but caught her eye as often as he could and winked. Sir Gondore was most proud to show off their collection of stuffed and mounted animal heads in the library room.

When it was time to eat, Tara was seated across the table from Gaston. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Mom sat next to her, with Father next to Mom, closest to Sir Gondore. Gondore sat at the head of the table, with his wife, Elona, next to him, then Gaston.

The table could seat up to twelve, and Tara desperately wished she could have sat in the unused half of the table. She avoided Gaston’s stare, and instead noticed the wait staff; the Buckingsmiths had servants on hand, bringing the various dishes to and from the kitchen.

One particular wait staff caught her eye. A blond Breton, who in a word was lovely. Her hair was neatly braided down her back, her eyes were blue-gray, wide and soulful. She looked to be sixteen, only a year older than Tara. She had curves for days. Tara felt an instant attraction to her.

Her voice was polite, and soft, as she offered up the various dishes to everyone. She’d smiled at Tara as she offered her the roast boar, and Tara had given her a huge grin back.

Gaston had given her a lecherous grin when she served him. Tara admired how neutral she managed to keep her face and avoid his gaze.

“Tara here is top in her classes,” Mom was saying to Sir Gondore. “She’s quite the reader.”

“And so pretty, too,” Sir Gondore replied. He winked at Tara. She looked away before a scowl crossed her face. Gaston gave her a toothy grin. Tara rolled her eyes at him.

“She’d look wonderful all dressed up for a fancy event. Stunning in a dress,” Father said. Tara had refused to wear a dress to this dinner. Seemed Father was trying to compensate for it.

Tara was about to retort, remind him how much she disliked dresses, when she felt Gaston’s foot rub against her left ankle. He’d taken off his shoes under the table, so she felt his toes working themselves under the edge of her pant leg.

Tara glared at him and kicked his foot with her right leg. His foot retreated, but he kept that stupid grin on his face.

“The next time there’s a dance, perhaps Gaston and Tara could go together,” Father was saying.

“Where’s the latrine?” Tara interrupted. They were making her skin crawl. All of them.

“Down that hallway, past the kitchen,” Elona said.

Tara made her way down the hall. She didn’t need to use the latrine, she just wanted to be away from the dinner, especially the men.

How could they discuss her like that? As if she were a cow, up for debate if it was time for slaughter. Or, a trophy. That’s what it was. A trophy to be dressed up and paraded around. Because she was pretty.

She leaned against the wall next to the latrine, closed her eyes, and rubbed her forehead. What would it take for her parents to respect her interests? She would never marry a male noble. Or, any male.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

Tara opened her eyes to see the blond Breton servant standing in front of her. Those eyes.

Tara straightened up. “I, um…yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

“Can I get you anything?”

Your mouth on mine, Tara thought. She cleared her throat. “Away from this dinner party?”

The Breton laughed, then quickly covered her mouth.

“I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of your bosses,” Tara said.

“Don’t hold back on my account.” The Breton whispered. “Gaston is quite insufferable.”

“He’s a leech,” Tara said, dropping her voice.

“Yes.” She gave Tara a long look. “Your parents trying to set you up with him?”

Tara nodded. “I’m not interested.” She paused. “In any man, for that matter.”

The Breton smiled. A knowing look came into her eyes. “I thought so. Me, too.”

They smiled at each other.

“Might I know your name?” Tara asked.

“Ginette. And yours?”

“I’m Tara. Hi,” Tara said.

“Hi,” Ginette giggled.

“When you’re not being a servant, what else do you do, Ginette?” Tara asked.

“Well, well. What are you two up to?”

The clipped, sharp voice of Gaston entered Tara’s ears. She and Ginette turned to see him standing in the hall, watching them. He looked angry, yet triumphant.

Ginette stepped away from Tara. She’d leaned in when they started whispering. It had been intoxicating to Tara.

“I was just checking on the maiden, sir,” Ginette said. A guilty look slipped across her face before she could assume a neutral expression. “Thought she might be unwell.”

Gaston sneered. “No you weren’t. Giggling. Flirting. I’ll have you fired for this.”

“No you won’t, if you know what’s good for you.” Tara stepped forward, in front of Ginette, as if she needed to physically protect her from Gaston.

Gaston stepped close to Tara. They were inches apart. His beady eyes were somehow more beady, narrowed into slits.

“This is my house! I’ll do what I want!” he shouted. The kitchen near them suddenly fell silent.

“You’re supposed to be mine,” he continued. “Father said you were being brought here for me!”

“I’m no one’s!” Tara shouted back. “I’m no one’s property. And certainly not yours, you slobbering sewer rat!”

“You want a servant girl instead?! Some poor slut we picked up off the streets…”

Gaston didn’t get another syllable in. Tara swung her fist and broke his nose. She’d never heard a more satisfying crunch of bones.

He collapsed with a yelp. “My node!” He managed through the gush of blood working its way down his face and through his fingers, as he held his hands to his face.

Tara looked up from him to see the cook and a mess of servants watching them. They’d come out from the kitchen to see the commotion. Behind them…her parents and the Buckingsmiths.

Mom looked aghast, and about to faint. Father’s look of anger looked to match Tara’s own.

“How dare you!” Sir Gondore yelled. That sprung everyone into action. Several servants bent down to help the whimpering Gaston.

Tara turned to look at Ginette. She had a look of fear. Tara wasn’t sure if it was Gaston’s threat of firing or Tara’s violence that had prompted it. Perhaps both.

Her father’s fingers wrapped themselves around her arm and Tara was pulled away, back to the dining room.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Gondore. We’ll pay for…” Father said. Tara had never heard him sound so simpering.

“Out! Out of my house!” Gondore bellowed. “Get her away from here! And don’t expect me to visit your store again.”

Father seethed on their way home. His face turned various shades of red. Mom trembled. Tara felt a wave building up. She’d looked back at Ginette one more time, but she’d avoided Tara’s gaze. She’d had a defeated, fearful look to her.

I was protecting her honor, Tara thought.

No you weren’t. You were getting Gaston back for harassing you.

She’d had one minute of bliss, chatting with Ginette. Now, things were a mess.

As soon as they arrived home, Father said to Mom, “Get a scroll.”

“NO!” Tara yelled. A small wave erupted from her. It shook the kitchen table. More were coming, she could feel it.

Father slapped her hard across the face.

Tara fell, in shock more than the actual force. Father and Mother fought, violently at times. He’d never hit Tara before, though. She’d thought she was safe. Thought they feared her waves enough.

“Use the scroll,” Father said to Mom.

“NO!” Tara started to get back up.

Father kicked her in the stomach. She fell back down.

“STOP!” she cried. Another wave erupted, this time almost knocking Father down. Tara heard some dishes crash and break on the floor.

Another slap, and Tara heard her mom reading the Calm scroll, releasing its magic.

Father switched to punching.

Tara never knew if it was the beating or the spell that finally knocked her out.

Tara heard a rustle in the bushes and shot to her feet.

The assassin struck, but was a split second too late. His dagger glanced off her bracer, as she managed to get her right arm up in time. With her left hand, she pulled out her axe and swung at his hooded head. Dark Brotherhood, based on the red and black leather armor he was wearing.

The assassin was quick and rolled away from her swing. Tara pulled out her right axe and leapt right as he lunged again with his dagger. Tara kicked with her left leg and caught him under the chin, sending him sprawling on the ground. That was all she needed.

She landed the first blow between his shoulder blades. If he’d lived any longer, he would’ve been paralyzed. She put her right axe through his skull.

Tara looked at Katla as she climbed out of her tent, a look of shock on her face. How long had Tara been on watch? Four hours? She’d certainly watched over Katla. She assumed after the assassin killed her, he’d have killed Katla, just so there were no witnesses.

“Dark Brotherhood,” Tara said. “I have no idea why someone would want me dead.” She bent down to check for a note, or contract. Didn’t they carry one?

“I don’t think…”

“Lucky I heard him,” Tara continued. She carefully rolled over the assassin. A Khajiit. She found a small bag attached to his belt and opened it. “Makes no sense for someone to come after me.”

“Tara…”

Tara pulled out a piece of folded paper and read it. She read it again, to be sure. She looked up at Katla, who now looked scared.

“Why is your name on this note?”

“It’s a long story. Can we break camp first? Get out of here.”

“Sure.” Tara nodded and tucked the note into her satchel. Her tone was clipped. She was angry. There was a contract out on Katla. Why the fuck hadn’t she told her that?! There was protecting someone; then there was protecting someone from professional assassins.

They packed up the camp quickly. Tara took the daedric dagger off the assassin. She’d never seen one up close. It was both gorgeous and deadly looking, with its dark, ebony metal and red stripe in the center of the blade. Rumor was you needed a daedric heart to smith such a blade.

“Where to?” Tara asked. They hadn’t yet planned where to go after Whiterun.

“Riverwood,” Katla said. “Small and quiet town. We can rent a room at the inn and…regroup.” She avoided Tara’s gaze.

Tara lit a lantern as they started their walk. Masser and Secunda were both in a new moon phase, lending to a dark night. Clouds had rolled in, hiding the stars from sight. With dawn hours away, they needed the extra light, though Tara loathed them standing out like oversized torch bugs.

They passed a few guards along the road as they made their way towards, and then past, Honningbrew Meadery, which seemed an unofficial edge of Whiterun. Otherwise, the roads were quiet. Even the wildlife seemed asleep. Tara stayed quiet, focused on their surroundings and staying alert. She was also afraid of what words might come out of her mouth if she dared open it.

Maybe Katla didn’t know there was a contract on her. Not like the Dark Brotherhood would announce themselves ahead of time, right?

But she knew that assassin was meant for her, not you.

She had. Someone was after her and had, what, grown desperate enough to hire assassins? Why?

“You saved my life,” Katla said. “Thank you.”

They were working their way up a winding road, as the elevation changed from the flat farmland of Whiterun into the lowest levels of the surrounding mountains. A roaring river was to their left.

Tara spared a glance at her. Katla’s expression was a mix of fear and wonder.

“Don’t mention it,” Tara said. She hadn’t thought of that. It seemed an aside to taking out an attacking assassin. She’d protected Katla, while saving herself from certain death. That was all.

“Seriously,” Katla insisted. “I’d be dead right now if…”

“I’d be dead right now if I hadn’t heard him in the bushes at the last second.” Tara interrupted. “Would’ve been nice to know there was an assassin coming after you.”

“I didn’t know,” Katla said.

Tara stopped and turned to her. “You knew someone was after you. Do you think I haven’t seen how you scope out inns, safe camping spots?”

“Look, I should have said something sooner…”

“Yes. You fucking should have.” Tara interrupted again.

The wonder was gone from Katla’s face. She was angry.

“Hey! Don’t yell at me! I didn’t know assassins were after me!”

Tara took a step closer to her. The height difference had her tilt her head. She imagined she might have looked like a spoiled teenager angry at her parent. She didn’t care.

“You knew someone was after you! I’ve been guarding you for days! At least a heads up, you know? ‘Hey, Tara, some people might be after me. People out to hurt me,’” she argued back. “I didn’t need details. Just some basics.”

Katla glared at her, then stepped back and dropped her gaze. She sighed.

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” She looked at Tara, tears forming in her eyes. “I should’ve trusted you. I…I just wanted to make sure you weren’t one of them. Like, someone trying to gain my trust to then…” she trailed off.

“Come on,” Tara said. Her voice still felt on edge. She was still on edge. “Let’s get to Riverwood. I need sleep.”

Riverwood was quaint and downright charming, Tara thought. They climbed along the road some more, then crossed a stone bridge over the river and entered the town. Hold guards stood atop the wooden walls marking the entrance. The streets were empty, not surprising at this hour. A lumber mill sat along the river, shut down for the night. Tara noted a general goods store and a blacksmith. Places that might come in handy. The log houses making up the rest of the town all looked snug. Quiet little homes in a quiet town.

The tavern and inn was named Sleeping Giant Inn, and they quickly stepped inside it. One patron sat at a table along the far wall. A man stood behind the bar, and an older, blond Breton woman wore innkeeper clothes.

That’s not an innkeeper, Tara thought. Or, not just an innkeeper. She carried herself differently. Like a warrior. Perhaps she’d fought in the Great War, then retired to owning an inn. She looked to be the right age.

“Welcome to the Sleeping Giant Inn. Name’s Orgnar,” the man said as they approached. “Delphine and I run the place. What can we help you with?”

“We need a room,” Tara said. Delphine had looked their way, then turned away. Tara felt like she’d been sized up.

We’ve only got single beds available right now,” Orgnar said, glancing at them. “Just one room for you both?”

“Yes,” Tara answered. “I assume the room has a chair, as well?”

“Of course.”

“Then, it’ll do. Thank you.” Tara paid and they were escorted to a room off to the side of the bar. It was narrow, clearly meant for one person. A single bed, side table, wooden chair, and wardrobe cabinet took up most of the space.

“Maybe we should rent another room,” Katla said. She was assessing the uncomfortable looking chair.

“We need to stick together. I don’t want you out of my sight right now. Well, figuratively,” Tara said. “I’m going to sleep. You get the chair and watch.” A yawn escaped her. She was exhausted. She shivered for a moment.

A few hours ago, she’d almost died. That hadn’t really sunk in until now. Now that her anger had died down. No wonder she still felt on edge. For all the bandits she’d dealt with, this was different. A professional killer, someone who’d taken who knows how many lives had nearly plunged a dagger into her. By Dibella’s grace, she’d avoided death.

She sat on the bed to remove her boots. She looked over at Katla, who was watching her, a mix of interest and sadness on her face.

“Are we good?” Tara asked.

Katla nodded. “Still up for some questions and answers tomorr..uh, later today?”

Tara smiled. “Yes.”

“Then, sleep well, Tara,” Katla said. “I’ll watch over you.”

Tara was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow.

“Wow,” Tara said.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Katla said.

Tara and Katla were walking up the long, stone stairs that wound their way up to Dragonsreach, the jarl’s home and, well, castle. It didn’t look like a castle in Cyrodiil, or in High Rock, but its distinctive design made a lasting impression.

Rich wood pillars holding up an overhang with intricate carvings were the first visual sight. Dragonsreach sat at the highest point of the bluff Whiterun was built upon. The different levels of the city rose along the bluff, and Dragonsreach was the epitome of it all. To call it a longhouse was insult, though it was one, a Nord longhouse in the most splendid way.

It was a busy place, numerous people passed them going to and fro, as they crossed the bridge over the moat and stream that surrounded it. Two guards stood outside the massive, carved wooden doors.

Stepping inside, a great hall greeted them. Servants were sweeping the rugs. The place was immaculate. Wood benches lined the sides close to the entry. Up some steps was a long dining table, food spread out. Pillars reached high to the peaked ceiling. At the far end of the room, was the throne. Jarl Balgruuf sat on it. Next to him stood the man Tara and Katla were here to see, his steward, Proventus Avenicci.

Tara immediately liked Balgruuf. His face was serious, with a sense of noble cause. Not noble snobbery. He looked like someone who’d earned the right to sit on the throne, not been sat there due to birth order.

Proventus, an Imperial, indicated for them to approach him. Katla had already told Tara not to consider disturbing the jarl.

“The stewards handle all the day to day minor business, like bounty payments,” she’d said as they traveled to Whiterun.

Tara let her take the lead, and Katla chatted with Proventus and collected the bounty. They’d brought along the bandit chief’s journal as proof. While Katla handled things, Tara studied the rest of the patrons in the hall.

The most impressive was Balgruuf’s housecarl, or bodyguard. Tara wasn’t sure if they used the term housecarl in Skyrim. The woman, a Dunmer, had the look of an experienced fighter. Not someone to mess with. Three kids were running around, two boys and a girl. Tara assumed they were the jarl’s children.

She spied a room off to the side, and noticed an enchanting table within. Was there a court wizard here? Maybe she could ask them questions about the College of Winterhold. Tara was about to ask Katla to wait while she inquired, when Katla surprised her.

“I need to see the court wizard, Farengar,” she said, after handing over the money from the bounty payment.

Tara smiled. “Great. I actually wanted to meet him.”

“I, um, can you wait out here?” Katla said. “I want to see him alone.”

Tara gave her a quizzical look. Katla gave her a wan smile in return.

“I…look, I’m not ready to talk about this yet,” she said. Her eyes dug into Tara’s. “I will, though. Just…give me time?”

Tara could see pain, and vulnerability, in Katla’s eyes. She nodded. “Okay.”

She sat at small table outside the entryway to the wizard’s study. She wanted to be respectful to Katla, keep her head turned away and not listen to anything she could gleam from her and Farenger’s conversation. She was too curious, though. She stole glances as she could and strained to pick up some words, some hints.

Katla kept her voice low, but Farenger’s naturally carried, and he seemed to not understand, or care, about the privacy Katla was angling for.

Tara saw Katla hand him something small, something that fit in one hand. She couldn’t tell what it was, as Katla blocked her view with her body.

At least I can admire her backside, Tara thought to herself.

Whatever the object, Farenger seemed to turn it over in his hands for several minutes, before answering Katla’s questions and handing it back.

“Not in my…” “You’d want…” “…the volume…” “Perhaps ask U…” “In the Ar…” “…hold”

Tara tried to commit the words to memory. She hadn’t heard enough to understand anything. But, “…hold”. That had sounded like the end of a word. Winterhold, perhaps? Did Katla now need to go to Winterhold?

Give her time. She wants to tell you.

Katla stepped out of the study and smiled down at Tara. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

As they stepped outside of Dragonsreach and made their way down the stairs, Tara asked, “So, where to? The Bannered Mare?”

Katla seemed distracted, lost in thought. “Oh, yes. I could use a drink.”

The Bannered Mare was crowded. It was mid-afternoon, but drinking seemed to be in full swing for many patrons. Nords and their drinking, Tara thought.

A gorgeous, voluptuous Redguard woman, Saadia, took their order. Katla had found them a table in a back corner. She again sat in a chair that angled her to have full view of the main door. Tara had noticed a second entrance, in the kitchen. She wasn’t sure if Katla had seen it, so she took the chair that let her catch a glimpse of it. She felt like she was on guard duty. Whoever Katla was always on the lookout for, Tara wanted answers soon. She couldn’t protect her if she didn’t know who Katla was afraid of.

They listened to the bard, someone had called him Mikael, for a bit. Tara couldn’t put her finger on it, but he rubbed her the wrong way. A blond Nord woman reminded Tara of Freta, as she sat nearby, dressed in steel armor, boasting of adventures. The pang of sadness didn’t cut as deep as it once had.

Drinks arrived and they enjoyed them slowly, and quietly. Katla stayed lost in thought. Tara threw out an occasional observation about someone. Katla would nod in agreement, then drift back into her own thoughts.

“And then Nazeem grabbed me and kissed me hard. I gutted him for that,” Tara said.

Katla nodded, looking distant. Then, she looked at Tara, confused. “What?”

“Welcome back.” Tara winked.

Katla laughed. “Sorry. Guess I’m not very good company at the moment.”

“See what happens when you leave me alone,” Tara said. “I make up stories about people you’ve warned me about.” Katla had pointed out Nazeem when they first arrived in Whiterun, pulling her out of his way. Apparently, he liked to brag about his wealth, by asking if people had been to the Cloud district of the city. Tara still wasn’t sure if Katla had pulled her away for her sake, or his.

Katla laughed. “I see. Not very original ones, either. Everyone wants to gut Nazeem.”

“I fed him to the slaughterfish? Tossed him on a giant’s bonfire?”

Katla winked. “Slaughterfish. Go with that one.”

Katla stayed present and they chatted about the patrons. One stand out was a red-haired Nord woman with stunning tattoos over her body.

“Her name is Danyca,” Katla said. “I met her on my last visit. A bit quiet, but there’s some fire there.”

“Are you making assumptions about redheads?” Tara asked. She wanted to sound insulted, but, wouldn’t that prove the point?

Katla gave her a grin. “I’m stating facts, milady.”

They both laughed.

As afternoon turned to evening, The Bannered Mare continued to get crowded. Tara noticed Katla get lost in thought again.

“Do you want to rent a room here, or…” she asked.

“No.” Katla stood. “Let’s camp outside the city. Where it’s quieter. Less crowded.”

They found a place to camp in a small grove of trees, within sight of the city walls, and not too far from a nearby watchtower. A Khajiit caravan was camped outside the city, as well. The area felt safe to Tara. Just enough people around, between the stables, farms, and the caravan, but the trees offered them privacy and a way to be out of sight.

They setup camp and made a small fire. Katla joked a little, but continued to get lost in thought.

Don’t pry, Tara reminded herself. It was frustrating. The woman was clearly upset by whatever Farenger had told her.

“I know I haven’t been good company since I met with Farenger,” Katla said. She offered a small smile. Her eyes held a sadness.

“I want to help,” Tara said. “Something’s bothering you.”

“I’ll…” Katla paused. “I’ll tell you a few things tomorrow. I…” She paused again. “It’s not easy for me to trust. But you’ve been patient and I…I really like you.” Another pause. “Maybe tomorrow, we can answer questions back and forth? Share more?”

Her eyes were imploring. Tara felt her heart skip a beat.

She smiled. “I’d like that. I certainly have stories to tell.”

“Thank you,” Katla said. “Can you take first watch?”

Tara nodded. “I’ll watch over you.”

She realized she’d now said that to Katla every night since they’d started traveling together. She liked the way it sounded.

Unlike those other nights, this one didn’t stay quiet.

---

(Check out the Danyca follower mod on Nexus, to see the red haired Nord I mentioned in The Bannered Mare: Link)

Tara and Katla crouched behind a rock and studied the entrance to Redoran’s Retreat. The cave had an actual door, so it was probably a former mine, Katla had said.

They were northeast of Rorikstead and northwest of Whiterun. The goal was to clear out the bandits, then head down to Whiterun and claim the bounty. Katla said Whiterun was a larger city than Falkreath, and she preferred it. She still hadn’t told Tara where she was from.

What Tara did know was how good of an archer Katla was. She’d hit the bullseye on targets in Rorikstead without missing, and done some trick shots. Under pressure with moving targets, bandits, might be different, but Tara was confident enough in her abilities.

She’d proven hers with some axe throwing and dummy work. Also, had killed a chicken for Lemkil and his daughters for dinner one night, but there was little skill in that, except giving the chicken a quick death so it didn’t suffer.

“Damn that door. Might make noise when we open it. We’ll need to be ready,” Tara said. “Stay behind me like we discussed. Plan to aim over my left shoulder as much as you can. I’ll keep favoring my right side.” Tara looked at Katla, evaluating. “I think that’ll work for our size difference.”

Katla winked at her. “Aye, aye, Captain. You’re the boss.”

“Focus,” Tara said. “Please.”

Katla’s face turned serious. “Got it. I’m serious when it counts,” she said. Her voice was dead serious on that last sentence.

The door groaned slightly when they opened it. A dog rushed them the second they were inside. Tara swung her right axe, catching it in the throat, hoping to reduce any final sounds it made. She hated killing dogs. She’d had to kill a few over the years, when they’d invade the farm, looking for the easy pickings of the chickens.

As she knocked the worst of the dog’s blood off her axe, she and Katla stayed silent and listened for any sounds. They were in a tunnel, which turned to the right. They both crouched, instinctively, and slowly made their way forward. At the bend in the tunnel, Tara heard the shuffling feet of a bandit.

Tara risked a quick look around the corner. A solitary bandit was walking near some barrels, as if deciding which to open. Tara waved Katla forward. Katla crept next to her and assessed the bandit. She already had an arrow notched. She quickly took aim and fired a shot. The arrow hit its mark, catching him at the base of his neck. He died without a sound.

Tara felt herself inhale. Neck shot. Like what killed Freta. She was going to have to get used to such shots, she realized. She looked at Katla and nodded. Katla gave her a long, serious look.

Tara crept forward, then stood. They were in a small chamber, with storage barrels and a few heavy burlap sacks along a wall. A tunnel was on the other side of the chamber. They both crouched again and moved along this tunnel. Almost immediately, Tara could hear a bandit muttering to himself about some card game, and cheating.

She almost missed the other bandit, a woman, walking unknowingly toward them in the tunnel.

“What the..?” The bandit woman exclaimed, alerted to them, just as an arrow from Katla hit her square in the heart. She collapsed with a moan.

Katla had killed two bandits. Tara, a dog.

She got her chance an instant later. The dying woman’s moan alerted the other bandit and Tara heard him draw his sword. She quickly stepped into the larger chamber, with a pillar of rock in the middle holding up the ceiling. This chamber was the living quarters, it seemed. Tara spied sleeping bags and one framed bed in the corner, plus a table with a few lit candles. On the other side of the pillar a small campfire was burning, smoke billowing up and out a small crevice in the cave’s ceiling.

The bandit with the sword, a two-handed sword, was clearly the leader. He wore steel armor, and was a hulk of a Nord. He rushed Tara, yelling he’d kill her. Tara stepped around the pillar and avoided the first swing of his sword. She heard an arrow from Katla bounce off his chest plate.

Tara side stepped his second swing and swung her left axe under his arm, catching him at the armor’s weak point, the armpit. He screamed and blood spurted as his right arm failed. With her right axe, Tara hit him in the neck, just under his helmet. He went down without another word, falling against some crates near the campfire.

Panting heavy, Tara looked around. They were alone. The cave was at its end, no more tunnels or chambers came off of this one. Two chambers and a couple of tunnels were all there was to Redoran’s Retreat, it seemed.

She looked at Katla. “I think we’ve done it.”

Katla smiled and relaxed. “We have. Guess we’re…bounty hunters now.” She winked.

Tara laughed. How was she laughing while standing next to a dead bandit?

“Impressive shooting,” she said.

Katla tilted her head, looking purposely cocky. “Two bandits for me. One for you.”

“Hey now. He had on steel armor. And the dog counts.”

“The dog does not count,” Katla said. “I will give you one and a half on the bandit, though. He was a big man.”

“Fair enough,” Tara said and smiled. “Let’s see if they have any useful supplies.”

They dug through several barrels, and a chest. Some gold, ale, and a rabbit haunch were all they considered worthy to take. Katla collected her shot arrow, and pulled some steel ones out of a quiver she found in the corner.

They made camp for the night out in the open, against a small rock formation. They’d agreed not to camp inside Redoran’s Retreat.

“I’m not camping where we just killed people,” Tara had said.

They were close to a giant camp, with pacing mammoths and a huge fire, at least the size of a small house. “The giants should keep away trouble,” Katla had said. Tara liked her thinking.

Dinner was quick and quiet, as if they were both contemplating what they’d accomplished.

Tara thought for a minute. What had they accomplished, really? They’d killed three people. And a dog. Had those bandits been killers? Had they’d murdered innocents? Or were they just low life thieves. She’d never know.

Katla handed her an ale and sat across the fire from her. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

Tara took a sip of ale, then ran her hand through her hair. She sighed. “I’m trying to decide if killing three people was an accomplishment.”

“It was a task,” Katla said. Her voice held a firmness. “We can’t know if they were ‘worth it’. The jarl thought they were. If we didn’t kill them, someone else would have.”

Tara nodded slowly. “I guess you’re right.”

Katla’s voice softened. “We worked well as a team.”

Tara gave a small smile. “We did. Thanks for letting me take the lead.”

Katla winked. “I liked you being forceful.”

Tara laughed and her smile grew. She put on a sultry tone. “Good. To. Know.”

Katla blushed.

Clearing her throat, Tara said, “Tell me where you’re from.”

Katla took a gulp of ale. “Dragon Bridge. It’s in the northwest, in Haafingar hold. Named after, well, the bridge. Most impressive thing about the place.”

“Go back often?”

“So many questions.” Katla looked at her. “I have one for you.”

Tara held her gaze. “Sure.”

“You inhaled deeply when I shot that bandit in the neck. Why?”

Honesty.

Tara straightened up and gave Katla her full attention. “It’s how Freta died. A bandit shot her in the neck.” She continued before Katla could interrupt. “We were setting up camp outside Chorrol. In the Great Forest. Five of them attacked. Couple of them were archers. I didn’t get to the last one in time. And I didn’t know Heal Other or have a…scroll of it to use on her. Wound might have been too great, anyway.” Tara let her gaze drop to the camp fire.

Katla was silent for a minute. “That had to be terrible for you,” she finally said. “Then for me to make a kill like that…”

“It was the shot to take,” Tara interrupted. “Always take the kill shot. Don’t ever hesitate.”

Katla smiled and nodded. “Understood.”

“I needed to see it,” Tara said. “To…I don’t know…process it? I’m okay. I’m glad it was your shot, not some crap bandit’s.”

They were silent for a bit, then chatted lightly. Finally, Katla stood and stretched. “Want me to take first watch?”

Tara shook her head. “No. I’ve got it. Get some rest.”

“Don’t let me sleep through the second watch this time,” Katla said. “You need some beauty rest sometimes.” She winked.

Tara gave a small laugh. “Yes, milady.”

“Who said I was a lady?”

Tara burst out laughing at that one.

She kept her word and spent her watch looking off at Whiterun in the distance. What other adventures awaited them?