Daughter to Dragons- a Skyrim inspired fantasy

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

“So what you’re saying is that you not only didn’t eliminate the camp but you also lost over half the men I sent with you to these savages?”  Though his voice was soft, there was a certain malice laced into Malborn’s words.

I thought he expected me to be afraid of him.  But I wasn’t.  I met his golden eyes with a scowl of my own.  “You act as if it was my intention to nearly lose my life to them.”

He shrugged.  “I merely expected more of you, my lady.  I hardly expected you to be felled by such primitive savages such as these.”

I shot out of my seat and slammed my fists on the table.  He jumped back, startled.  “Have you ever faced hagravens, elf?  Or Briarhearts?  You should know that they aren’t just savages.  They are deadly creatures.  Hagravens are witches corrupted by dark magic and Briarhearts are their undead puppets given power by the dark arts.  I’ve seen groups of men try to face a couple of hagravens and fail.  What have you seen besides the backs of your eyelids?”

He watched me, betraying no emotion.  My heart was a horse’s gallop in my chest.  I could imagine what I looked like to him.  Dark hair matted with sweat, dirt, and blood sneering down at him with a Daedric dagger in my reach.  I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, and sank back into my seat.

“Benjen and Rumhead tell me that you Shouted a man to death.”  The traces of malice that previously inhabited his voice were gone.  Instead, he sounded curious.

I nodded, trying to calm my beating heart.  “I know a single Shout,” I said, my voice just above a whisper.  “Unrelenting force.”

“I was unaware that the Greybeards accepted women into their order to be trained.”

What was he getting at?  “They normally don’t, unless their Dragonborn.  But my father asked to make an exception for someone of the dragonblood.  They relented eventually.  But it was Paarthurnax himself who taught me.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Neither my father or I wanted for me to follow the Way of the Voice.  He always had big plans for me.  Or so he would say.”  I snorted, shaking my head at the memories that came to mind.  “Of course, coming from him, that was a lot.  If I were to live up to him, I would have to have big plans.”

He turned away from me and ambled to a chest.  He began rummaging around in it, mostly in silence except for the occasional grunt or grumble.  “Aha!” he shouted as he turned around, wearing a triumphant smile.  A rolled up parchment of paper was clutched in his hand.  He plucked up the bottle of mead from the table between us and dropped it on the ground.  He rolled out the parchment on the now clear table.  I leaned forward, curious.  “A map of Skyrim,” he said.

“You don’t say.”  The map was a very well detailed one, having every town a village labelled as well as the hold borders and roads drawn in.  “Where did you get it?”

He grinned a wicked grin.  “Off the corpse of a Thalmor Justiciar.  She wasn’t using it.”  His gaze fell down to the map.  He pointed a finger at a group of mountains near the southern border.  “Our camp is here.”  He pointed to a different point of the map—a city labelled Whiterun.  “And here is Whiterun.  As you can see, it’s a few days journey from here, but from there, you should be able to find a carriage that will take you to Windhelm.”

I nearly fell out of my chair.  “Wait, what?”  He looked at me, puzzled.  “You’re just letting me go?  Just like that?”

“I suppose I am.  Would you prefer I not allow you to leave, my lady?”