When the Breton sat with them and opened their new relationship with an awkward joke, Sevari had to remind himself that he was here to answer questions. Whether or not he would stay and be liked was another matter, but either way, Sevari didn't exactly want to make any enemies in the town, especially not when he found it in a strange and precarious mood as this. When Zaveed finally asked his questions, Sevari sat, taking a drink from his pewter cup and wiping his mouth on a sleeve. Sevari flashed his blue eyes at the Breton when Zaveed poked at Sevari's use of what non-Khajiit would consider a last name, completely defying the naming conventions of most Khajiit and going even further as to describe those bearing last names as liars, thieves and murderers.
Well, Zaveed, if This One was a more sensitive Cat…
"Sevari" He nodded, still looking at Markain,
"Sevari Sev'Ahmet. Knife-for-hire in Yoku. A given name, like the Nords, not a family one."
When Markain reeled himself back and spoke plainly, it painted an entirely different picture of him for Sevari. He decided he liked him, sure, but trust him? Well, no reason to lie when you're in dire straits, no? Sevari nodded,
"We have met plenty who've tried to send us to the dirt, my friend. Unfortunately, plenty of us have met the ones who have sent them to the dirt. Come with us, we could use a mage. I feel like we both know sharp steel is far unsuited to whatever lurks beyond the borders of this town, yes?" He drank again,
"Sevari knows the things we've faced bleed and they die. The Snow-Elf knows what goes on and she refuses to tell us. Even so, they bleed and they die. Better to hunt one's fears than let them hunt you."
Once again, the door to the tavern burst open with the help of the wind outside and the legionaries who'd been released from the day's duties walked in, ordering a round of ale. They looked as dour as the rest of the townspeople and some took seats close to the fire near Markain, Zaveed and himself. Sevari turned to one and asked,
"What of the Snow-Elf and your leader?"
"They argue. Queastor Maricus knows nothing of what we're fighting and the Snow-Elf refuses to shed light on what she knows. Some of us have been talking desertion but we're all getting paid double for this expedition." He shook his head, his frown getting deeper, "What the fuck is this?"
"Your last assignment if you let it be. Keep your wits about you and quit with your fretting like a courtly maiden on an unexpected detour." The legionary made to speak but Sevari fixed him with a look that dissuaded him, the lad looked at Sevari, Zaveed and Markain. He reminded him they were in a conversation,
"Where is your commander and the She-Elf?"
"Back at camp with the wagons." The lad said.
Sevari nodded and turned away from him, back to Markain.
"We need more bodies to fill our roster. We've lost a little over half of our legion escort to raids and other things and a mage like you would be a welcome partner. We'll let you tag along while we leave this place and pay you for it as well." Sevari drank from his cup, two big gulps and he'd drained the thing, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and fixing his hat,
"While we are at it, Sevari is tired of being pulled along like our friend here has put it, by our puppet-master. It does not please me to be lead blind." He got up from his chair, patted himself down and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword.
"We are not entirely beholden to the antics and blind loyalty of the legion," he spared a glance at the legionary he'd spoken to earlier, who gave him a scowl in return,
"I want answers from someone who is stuck here and not living safe beyond a narrow bridge in a college. No offense meant, friend."
Sevari sniffed at the air as he took his first step and froze. Under the rank smell of legionaries and volunteers made dirty and stinking by travel on the roads, he smelled something else. It was well hidden but rancid, he hadn't smelled it for a while, not since his ambushes on Imperial convoys. Rotting meat, dead things, and it must have been pervasive to penetrate through the cold air and smells of people in the same room. He looked at Zaveed, certain he smelled it too, but said nothing of it. He strode to the barkeep, wiping out a pewter cup and eyeing the inside, slapped down two septims and slid them across the counter. He looked to his side and saw Juin creep up to the counter, the odd Dunmer. He simply nodded, not knowing exactly how to feel in his presence. The way the man presented and held himself spoke more than his mouth ever could. He saw what his handiwork looked like though, a killer good as he'd ever seen at it. A killer, but something else too.
The barkeep set down the pewter cup and cleared his throat, looking at either man, "Can I help ya fellas? More drink? I swear, you'll bleed the stores down tonight that are meant to last us months."
"My friends and I are adventurers, hard men. We're accustomed to danger and odd things, the lot of us killed monsters just yesterday." The barkeep fixed him with a look that said he was starting to follow but didn't much like it,
"Something's got the town quaking in their boots and eyeing us up like thieves and brigands come to do murder. Why? What disappearances do you have? Who plagues this place? We'll send them to the dirt."
"I don't like yer tone, much. I don't like the look o' ya, none o' ya. But a man has to accept coin given in return for strong drink or food," he paused, his eyes hardening up for a moment before he nodded, "or information. Kids. The town's children just gone, no one's been breaking into houses or causing a fuss. Just up and went into the air, one by one. Ya been talking to that fucking College Fella, the Breton what that looks weird. You'll never get information from 'im more than dirty fucking lies, take my word for it. Ya want information, go to Finn or Grenna. That's it. Leave them coins and go to it."
Sevari nodded, understanding he meant it. No more information from him and he knew the people couldn't be blamed for seeing outsiders with disgust and regarding the College-folk with contempt. He turned to walk back to Zaveed and Markain to tell him what he'd found out and to tell Markain how much they hated him. He didn't like the conflicting stories, Markain would have him think the College did nothing wrong while the lowborn people scraping a life out of ice and stone had their children plucked from them easier than man in in his vineyard picks grapes. He didn't have to wonder who'd lose more if they were found out to be lying, the barkeep and the townspeople or Markain and the College. Just as he crossed in front of the door, he smelled it again, stronger and overpowering his senses. He turned to the door and half-drew his sword as it flung open.
Instead of a monster or some thrall like the day before, he saw that bugler lad he'd said he'd like to have a talking to about his habit of getting up before everyone else and interrupting a man's sleep to just to blow air through brass. The lad was breathing hard and Sevari looked to Markain, Zaveed and the rest of his fellow volunteers. It seemed they and the rest of the tavern seemed ready to scream or kill. "Quaestor Maricus wants the volunteers assembled at the camp this instant! Anyone willing to sign on for pay is instructed to follow the volunteers back to their camp with clothes, food and weapons. Any man of fighting age, he says." The boy said before running off back the way he came.
Sevari looked at Zaveed and Markain, nodding to the door. As the volunteers rose and walked out of the Frozen Hearth, Sevari stepped outside first. He sniffed the air, unusually still for just having been blowing harder than the breath of the Dragonborn was rumored to. The smell was far away now but still there. He didn't notice at first that his hand was squeezing his pommel and his jaw was clenched. His ears were pinned back to before he shook his head and walked with the rest to the camp. As they neared it, it became increasingly apparent that what he at first took to be the howling of wind across the mountains or a nearby pass somewhere was the cries of a woman. When the volunteers and the others who'd followed- almost the whole town it seemed with Markain among them- they were greeted by the on-duty legionaries and Quaestor Maricus standing around a woman holding her child. He looked at the She-Elf, standing pale, alone and silent away from the spectacle, hands on the front of her dress and steely yet also delicate eyes watching it all.
Maricus saw the volunteers and waved them over. Sevari and the rest stepped closer but not too close, unsure of what to make of the sight. Maricus stood in front of them, arms akimbo as he paced while talking, "One of my legionaries on guard for the wagons saw a shape in the snow right after the storm calmed itself. She walked up to the town and her mother started blubbering over her, like you see now. Odd thing is that, well, just take a look at her." He stepped closer so only the original volunteers could hear, though he doubted he needed to be quiet with the wailing behind him. "Her eyes aren't right. She doesn't talk, she doesn't respond to anyone, just looks off in the distance off in her own world. We sleep in the camp tonight and make ready to leave come sun-up." As he walked away, Sevari heard him mutter a curse under his breath.
"It looks like we'll not get warm quarters then." He looked out over the eerily calm tundra around Winterhold, looked at the College and then the mountains off a ways away. He clenched his fists and swallowed, getting the same feeling he had when his enemies in the cave were right there next to him, instead now he didn't even know if he had enemies waiting to fight him. Even so, he shook his head and steeled himself, he should live up to his words to Markain, words an old nightblade said to him once.
Better to hunt your fears than let them hunt you…
* * *
Sevari awoke with a start, breathing hard and there was a film of wetness over his eyes that snaked from them down into his fur. His ears were pinned back as if he was still in that alley, surrounded by scary men with scary blades and he looked around him, surprised to see it as the darkness of the tent. The legionaries slept soundly around him. One shifted in his sleep, farted, and another whimpered something but Sevari was hardly paying attention as he looked about himself. He stepped outside, the fire was gone, the girl and her mother were no longer there, wailing and crying. He swallowed and parted his lips, dry skin cracking apart.
Sugar, he thought,
sugar, just to help me along and after this supply is done I'll be done with it, done with it and my brothers will be proud. His feet took him stumbling to the stables where he peeked in. The torches didn't burn in their sconces and the horses slept. A drunkard was huddled in the corner covered in frozen hay and curled about his bottle, whispering something about a damned tower and the demon sounds, come from Oblivion. He shook his head, wondering what kind of town they'd come to as he rifled through his pack and pulled out the wax balls. The sugar would help him sleep while the skooma would give him a measure of strength and perhaps some lucidity. He looked from one handful of wax to the other at least ten times, every once in a while almost losing his nerve.
I paid money for these, I'd be damned if I would just throw them away. I'll use them. Just tonight, it's just that I need it, is all and soon it'll be gone and I'll be far away from anyone who could get me more and that means I'll be rid of the stuff.
He looked down and his hands shook, his vision started to blur and his stomach lurched, threatening to jump out through his throat. It happened again and he fell forward, gagging hard. With both balls of wax in his trembling hands, he rose with a groan and something a little like a whimper, stumbling outside. He had to prop himself against the wall of the stable as he doubled over and gagged again, and again and finally whatever alcohol was still in his stomach poured out of it. It didn't help. He rose, teeth chattering but while it was cold enough to freeze his bollocks solid it wasn't the reason for his shivering or teeth chattering. He sniffled and looked down at the wax balls. He felt an anger grow in him, a shame. He remembered Fa'azri calling him a worthless slave to the stuff, but what did he know about what happened to him while he sat pretty behind those walls, feeling up servant-girls and ogling bar maids, all while he fought, killed, watched men die, pissed himself scared at times and been on both sides of the sword, watching men beg for their lives and begging for his own a fair few times.
Fuck him, he thought, looking down at the wax balls,
fuck him. He stared at it for long moments and his anger came to a head as he growled and threw it out in the snow and the other handful too.
He breathed hard. He came to his senses and looked back to the town, he needed to get inside but what if someone found those wax balls and opened one to find it? He'd be skewered, for sure, branded a criminal and a treasoner. Treason means death, they'd said. Stumbling through the knee-deep snow, he found the wax balls resting at the top of it. What was one night, just to feel better? He opened one and emptied it out on his tongue. It must have been the skooma as the noise around him all of a sudden sounded like he was listening to the world through a pipe. Muffled, far away while his eyesight blurred around the edges and he felt like he could run all the way to Bruma. He felt like he could lift a horse or two and throw them a mile away. It didn't last long as he toppled to his hands and knees, sinking into the snow and retching it all out, spit as thick as mucus came from his mouth and he looked up to see his own shadow stand.
"A pitiful sight before me. A slave, retching and gagging up his master." He heard a voice come from his own mind. "For all your fury and dangerousness, you are but a whipped cur snapping at hands that stray too close rather than the feared killer you might see yourself as. I have seen it as many have, that you are capable of all and any evil, but if there is good in you, I have not seen." The voice said, though it was not his own, someone else's, a deep woman's voice and his own shadow gestured as the voice spoke again, "You do just as well on your hands and knees, but heed these words: Rid yourself of your self-made shackles, shed weakness and that fool's anger you cling to but be not afraid of your own claws. Too many think themselves righteous simply because they have none. The eldest among your family dislikes you, he plots and plots. They've burned the past and you with it. No more love for you. Journey on and pluck from yourself memories of them if you are to make your ambitions fruitful or at least survive, for your ambitions are empty and useless as you, so long as you give yourself things to enthrall you."
"Fuck your words-euch!" Sevari opened his mouth to speak but found his throat fill with blood and have it pour out of his mouth, wide-eyed and fearing he'd die.
"Furthermore, never let yourself be relaxed and never doubt the blade at your side. Hunt your fears, as you say. A dead man is not useful while a coward dies a thousand deaths." His shadow pointed towards the town and pointed out a figure big enough to have to crawl on all fours to be able to fit through an ordinary door. "It comes."
"Who are you?" Sevari croaked, body shaking in shock at the amount of blood spilled from his mouth. He could still feel rivulets trickling from his chin.
"I
am." And it seemed another snowstorm swept him over and the presence vanished with it. He found his eyelids growing heavy…
* * *
He woke in the tent, gasping for breath and he wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. No blood but his clothes were wet with melted snow. The taste of bitter skooma was still on his lips and tongue. He smelled that rotting meat again wafting into his nose and his heart dropped as he remembered the dream, had it been a dream? Before he could think on it any further he heard that fucking horn again. He rose first and wasted no time in rushing outside, purposeful steps bringing over to the bugler lad, blowing hard into his brass instrument. He stood in front of the lad, waiting to be noticed but after a few moments of it, he snatched it away. "Stow the shit, boy." He said as the bugler stepped back from him, not knowing what to do.
Hearing the pounding of footsteps, a couple of guards come from the town below sat panting. As they caught their breath, Sevari looked beyond them. He noticed the guards bustling around a house on the outskirts of town and he squinted to see if what he was seeing was true. The girl walked out, same blankness on her face as she sat on the edge of her porch. He flinched as the girl looked up, almost seeming as she looked right at him. Meanwhile, one of the guards caught his breath, "The Jarl wises to hold counsel with you and your compatriots, plus your leader. He says you've told the townsfolk you have experience in killing unnatural things."
Sevari did say they had killed monsters, man-shaped, but monsters. He could not deny that. He simply nodded and the guards stomped through the snow, knee-deep. Quaestor Maricus stepped up beside him, "What's this about?"
"Jarl wants to see us." Sevari said, not quite trusting himself about last night and what he'd seen. He shook his head,
It's better to hunt your fears than let them hunt you…
