The Traveler

Chapter 51

The horse's hooves struck the stones hard, great claps of thunder shedding from their every footfall.
His great nostrils, bottomless pits of black, flared as his breathing remained steady but fast, marked by small clouds of white smoke which shed from them.
White foam gathered at the corners of his lips and dripped off both them and the bridle which was pressed into his mouth.
His eyes were like fire, brimming with the glow of determination and narrowing into tight slits.
Brynjolf, his eyes locked on the road ahead and equally as narrow, leaned into Shadowmere's saddle and urged him to faster. His lips were drawn into a thin line and his expression stone. Every part of his body was poised to strike like a cat resting on its haunches, ready to strike.
The rain fell sideways from the heavens and shed off the horse's shimmering coat in huge droplets. It beat down upon his hood, dripped from his hair and streamed into his face and eyes but he ignored it and rode on, never stopping to wipe away the water.

Preston huffed and puffed violently, trying his best to match the supernatural steed's ungodly pace.
Atop him Maxine kept her eyes on Brynjolf, her concern mounting. She had known him a while but had never seen him so tense. He had been like this since Vex had mentioned the name Mercer Frey. That name seemed to lose all hell inside Brynjolf who, after she left, headed to the Windhelm stables without a word, mounted Shadowmere, and took off the down stone road to Riften.
"Brynjolf!" She cried over the rain, shielding her eyes against the flash of a sudden lightning bolt. "What's going on?"
She received no answer and hadn't since leaving Windhelm. He had been nothing but silent the whole trip, never taking his eyes off the road ahead. With another sharp flick of the reins Shadowmere increased his speed.
"Come on Preston." She urged, doing likewise but fearing the stallion was about at the end of his strength. After a few moments he caught up to Shadowmere and Brynjolf.
"Brynjolf! You got an explanation for why we've been riding in this downpour for three hours?" Maybe it was her soaked clothes or the ache in her butt from riding so long, but his silence was beginning to frustrate her.
He didn't look over to her but shouted. "Vengeance is a fine motivator isn't it?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Another thunderclap roared from the turbulent heavens and with it a strong breeze that threw a sheet of rain over them.
"It means I've got a score to settle with someone lass. Someone who wronged both Crystal and my organization."
"Organization?"
"Aye. Remember when I mentioned being a thief back in Whiterun? I'm part of a... questionable organization that operates out of the city of Riften. The Thieves Guild."
Maxine snorted. "A guild of thieves? What doesn't Skyrim have?"

On the horizon, shrouded by the downpour of the storm, the silhouette of a town took form. It was nestled in the endless forest of yellow and red birch trees which surrounded them, each leave dripping with rain.
Beyond the city lie a huge mountain range and next to it a small lake in which fish skipped about the speckled surface.
The town itself was constructed entirely out of wood and was surrounded by a stone wall. The black singled roofs of buildings stuck out from the top of the wall as well as plumes of smoke which rose from chimineas. Streams of water cascaded off the roofs.
"Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Riften lass."
Outside the wall to the town sat a small stable, barely more than a cabin with a few rickety stalls built behind it and a crumbling fence constructed around it.
Mud splashed onto Brynjolf's boots as he dismounted Shadowmere and tossed the reigns to the stable hand.
Maxine did likewise and he rushed the horses inside before running off to fetch fresh water and dry hay for the weary mounts to munch on.
Huge, heavy wooden doors marked the entrance to Riften and past them the town itself.
It amazed Maxine how diverse every city in Skyrim was. Each one had their own quirk and style about them and Riften's was that it was a fishing town and was constructed around a port.
Baskets of fresh fish dominated the small market in the circular center of town. Beneath the wooden boards they walked on, narrow waterways trickled and carried small boats into and out of the city. Bridges seemed to be the essence of Riften as they connected all the different sections of the town from the main street, to the tavern to the temple. Large wooden doors, which sat half submerged in water, were open on the side of the town that faced the lake and allowed the bigger ships to come and go. The homes and businesses were small and tightly packed but build like log cabins. Overall, Riften was quaint but nonetheless charming.

"Come on." Brynjolf chirped as he grabbed Maxine's wrist and led her through the town center, across a bridge and behind the temple to a small cemetery. It was a cramped space, crammed into a block of the town and surrounded by a short iron gate. Wisps of receding grass clung to the churned clumps of dirt and sagged under the weight of the rainwater.
"Brynjolf what are you doing?" She asked as she watched him traipse among the sea of headstones.
"It should be," he mumbled to himself, "this one."
They approached a mausoleum which was constructed of bricks and positioned against the side of the cemetery of which the city wall dominated. Inside was a stone coffin and candles which sat spread on the floor. On the wall closet to Maxine was a small pull chain with a ring attached to its end.
Brynjolf gave it a tug and the coffin slowly retracted into the wall revealing a secret ladder which disappeared down a dimly lit tunnel. That must be the entrance to the guild.
"Sneaky." She remarked as she gripped the ladder and set her feet on the rungs. Once at the bottom, Brynjolf took the lead again and brought her through what appeared to be their hideout in the sewers of Riften.

The central chamber was round and based on its shape Maxine guessed it was located under the town's marketplace.
How ironic. A group of larcenists working right under the noses of bustling shopkeepers and customers. They'd intentionally placed themselves in the perfect, target rich environment.
The rounded chamber housed for doorways at each quarter of the circle and from them branched four curved bridges which met in on a platform in the center. A walkway extended from the wall of the room and traced the perimeter of the circle but didn't fill it in. Along it sat beds, chests, nightstands and in one area a shooting range at which a member worked on his archery skills.
Under the walkways, bridges and center platform was a large pool of murky, still water which reflected the light that poured in from a manhole above and filled the room with an eerie green glow.
Water dripped from the ceilings, hitting the stone and water with loud clicks.
The room was chilly and had a lingering smell of waste to it but to Brynjolf and the guild it was home.

Standing on the center platform, strenuously pacing about, was a woman dressed in black armor with everything, but her eyes concealed by a cowl and mask. They were a delicate purple color and sparkled even in the shadows. Every piece of her armor was covered in carved swirling designs, the most notable of which being a large bird across the chest piece which had its wings spread out wide over her breasts.
"Brynjolf!" She exclaimed though her voice remained steady and meek. "I'm glad you're here."
"I heard you figured out where Mercer is." He said, shrugging off her warm greeting and jumping right into the thick of things.
"Yes." From somewhere in her armor she removed a tattered piece of parchment with odd drawings and cursive writing scrawled across it. "We've been analyzing the plans Crystal brought back from Mercer's estate and think we've finally figured out what he's up to." She hesitated and Brynjolf quickly grew impatient.
"And...?" He snapped.
"And we think he's going after the Eyes of the Falmer."

First his jaw dropped so low it threatened to hit the floor. "The Eyes of the- Karliah that's- he can't possibly..." Then anger overtook his features.
Meanwhile the woman, Karliah, shrugged. "His ambition was always staggering. We think he's heading to the dwarven ruins of Irkngthand, in fact he may be there now."
"Then we have no time to lose." He turned to leave but Karliah caught his arm. Even with her face covered Maxine could see the concern dominating it. Her eyes were a dead giveaway. "Woah. Slow down. I know you're anxious to get at Mercer, but you've ridden all day, you're soaking wet, you look a mess and you must be exhausted. You should rest for a while. We'll leave first thing in the morning."
"No!" Brynjolf cried, stomping his boot down on the ground and drilling his fist into his open palm. "Every moment he's still out there is one I can't rest. Crystal and I have been eager to finish him and now is our best chance. If he gives us the slip again, we may never find him. We leave immediately."
Karliah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why most you be so stubborn! Fine, fine. We leave immediately but not before you've at least had a drink. Divines know you need it. And," She peered over his shoulder at Maxine whom she'd just noticed, "introduced me to your friend."
With the flare of his nostrils, Brynjolf yielded. "Fine. This," he grabbed Maxine's shoulders and pushed her towards Karliah, "is Crystal's sister Maxine."
Maxine shook her gloved hand.
"Sister? I don't recall her ever mentioning a sister."
"It's been a long time since we've seen each other." She explained.
"Well it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Karliah."
Brynjolf thrust himself between them, forcing their hands apart. "Okay you've met. Now let's get a drink so we can hit the road."
They both watched as he stormed off towards one of the doors and vanished through it.

"Is he okay?" Maxine asked, wishing there was something she could do for him.
Karliah let out a sigh. "I'm not sure. Ever since discovering that our guild master, Mercer Frey, betrayed us, pilfered our gold, and lied about murdering our previous leader Brynjolf has been obsessed with finding and killing him. Mercer betrayed his trust and poses a threat to us. Not to mention he wronged the princess of night, Nocturnal by defiling one of her sanctuaries. I don't blame him for being so angry though. Before he met Crystal, the guild was all Brynjolf had. It's his home and his family and he'd sacrifice everything for us."
If he was anywhere near as adamant about protecting this family as he was his actual one Maxine realized how important this must have been to him. If it was that important to him than it would be that important to her too. He had helped her through a lot in her time here so the least she could do was return the favor.
"And where is Crystal?" Her purple eyes darted about from under her hood.
"Well... that's kind of a long story."
The door at the far end of the room flew opened and slammed against the wall as Brynjolf dashed back into the room. A bottle of mead was clutched in his hand. He raised it to his lips, downed it in a few large gulps then tossed it aside where it shattered, scattering glass across the bridge. "Alright. I had a drink. Now let's go."
The wind flipped Maxine's hair as he whizzed by her and leapt like a cat up the ladder.
"Guess I'll tell you on the way."

***

"Must we always camp in freezing temperatures and snow?"
"Shut up ya' sissy. It's not even that cold. Besides this is the first ruin we've come across that hasn't been overrun by the Foresworn. I'm telling you there's always good treasure in these."
"Doesn't make it any warmer."
The group of Bandits huddled around a tiny fire built in one of the large archways of the crumbled tower. Though the shelter kept the bite of the wind at bay it did little against the cold which penetrated even their thickest cloaks.
"Wonder when the others are coming back up. They've been down there awhile."
The other man shrugged. "I'm sure they're fine. Let's just hope they share the spoils."
"Yeah." He chuckled, "Maybe it would make freezing my ears off worth it. I swear its always snowing somewhere in Skyrim."
From the swirling wall of snow in front of them, the group heard a loud snap.
"What was that?" The bandit Chief stood and readied his war hammer, his eyes squinting, trying to discern shapes in the snow.
A black arrow zipped through the air and struck him right between the eyes.
His corpse fell and the others looked at him, adrenaline and fear taking hold.
"We're under attack!" One cried before a dagger planted itself in his back, appearing from nowhere.
From the shadows Brynjolf and Maxine appeared and threw themselves upon the bandits while from the entrance to the tower came Karliah wielding an ominous black bow. She removed another arrow from the quiver across her back and nocked it. Once her shot was lined up, she took and hit another bandit in the chest.
Brynjolf retrieved his dagger and spun wildly, bandits meeting his fury right and left.
It wasn't long before the area was clear.