Chapter Twelve

“A bit of jewelry for your journey home?” The shopkeeper asked.  A woman browsed, picking up an amulet to inspect. Gaeolin and Inigo trudged into the Markarth square with sore bottoms. The ride had been long, uneventful… And most unfortunately rough. The wood elf was so tired, he almost didn’t notice a man drawing his dagger nearby. He watched, drawing his bow when he recognized the murderous intent. Before the man could react, Gaeolin’s arrow jammed into the back of his skull. He fell to the ground with a final sigh.

The jeweler screamed. “Forsworn are here in the city!” A few people ran off, but most didn’t get the chance. A guard ran up with his sword drawn.

“Everyone stay back. The Markarth city guard have this all under control. There are no Forsworn here.”

Gaeolin put his bow away. “So you just have occasional murderers roaming your streets?” The guard scowled, tightening his grip on his sword.

“You’re new here, so I’ll let it slide this time. But be warned,” he sheathed his weapon, “people who ask questions in Markarth don’t stay long.” The officer walked off, ignoring the corpse of the attacker as he stepped over it. The shopping woman approached him, startled out of her wits.

“By the Gods! That man nearly killed me.” She sent him a look of immeasurable gratitude. “You saved my life.”

Gaeolin stared at the body. “All in a day’s work, miss…?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Margret.”

“Any idea why he would be after you Margret?” Inigo asked. “He was quite set on seeing you dead.”

The woman shook her head. “No. I don’t have any idea. I was just shopping for a pendant for my sister back in the Imperial City.” She turned to Gaeolin, holding out a silver amulet, set with a large emerald. “Take this, I was going to send it to her, but in light of the circumstances… I’m sure she’d want you to have it.” With no real excuse to deny her, Gaeolin ducked into the chain to wear the gift.

“That man shouted something about the Forsworn. Do you know anything about that?” He asked, not missing the look yet another of the city guards sent him. Margret shook her head.

“Only that they live in the hills, attacking caravans. I’m sorry, I don’t know anymore. I’m only visiting from Cyrodiil.” She disappeared into the now growing crowd. A man walked up to him, shaking his head.

“Gods… A woman attacked right here in the streets. Are you alright? Did you see what happened?”

Inigo looked ready to launch into a fully prepared reenactment. He stopped when he saw Gaeolin looking at him. “We saw him trying to stab Margret, and the jeweler shouted something about the ‘forsworn’, but that was all.”

The stranger frowned. “The Forsworn? Strange. Well, I hope the eight give you more peace in the future, for what it’s worth.” He started, as if remembering something. “Oh, I think you dropped this. Some kind of note. Looks important.” He held out a folded bit of parchment. Gaeolin did not recognize it.

“That’s not…” He stopped, seeing the man’s eyes dart from him to the soldier nearby. Something in his face translated to desperation. “Thank you. How clumsy of me…” He took it, pushing it down into his bag. The man nodded, leaving the bosmer with questions. 

“Okay… Who’s idea was it to come here?” Inigo grimaced at the smell of wafting from a meat vendor. “And that is NOT beef…” Gaeolin followed the street toward a set of stair to the next level.

“There was a notice in Falkreath. Markarth’s Jarl needs someone to investigate some missing people.” Gaeolin explained. “They’ve been missing for a while now. We would have come out here earlier,” he cocked an eyebrow at his companion, “but I had to go see the Greybeards right away.”

The Khajiit rolled his eyes. “Fine… Next time I notice a health hazard, I’ll stay quiet.”

“Stop it. You know I’m just teasing you.” Gaeolin chuckled to himself. 

The steps wound up to a set of terraces carved into the mountain. Waterfalls poured down from a source out of sight, their thunders echoing off of the stone in a tumultuous roar. At the far west side, recessed into the mountain was the keep. Contrary to the carriage driver’s disbelief, the workmanship was clearly Dwemer. Gaeolin nodded to the guards as they swung open the great doors.

“What are you hiding, priest?” The voice belonged to a balding man clad in steel armor.  The priest in question looked irate, putting his hands on his hips in defiance.

“I’m not hiding anything. It’s closed for a reason.”

“Typical Imperial lies.” The man spat. “First you take away Talos, now you’re keeping us from seeing our honored dead? You and the Jarl will answer for any desecration of my ancestors’ bodies.”

“That’s enough, Thongvor. We’re done.” The priest massaged his forehead as the disagreeable Thongvor departed. Gaeolin sent an encouraging wave before heading passed into the main hall.

Understone Keep further reinforced the Dwarven theme that permeated the city. Long dead automatons stood on display, their silent vigil more intimidating than artistically interesting. The walls were adorned with rich green tapestries. They bore the golden ram horns of Markarth, motionless without a breeze to stir them. Gaeolin was headed to the throne room when he froze.

Inigo leapt in front of his friend as he drew his bow. “What do you think you’re doing?! We’re in the middle of the palace.” He turned to see what had alerted him.

Two Thalmor officers were walking away from them. Their moonstone armor reflecting the dim lighting. Gaeolin burned into them with his eyes. His fingers twitched, wanting to shot them without pause. A guard grabbed the haft of his axe. “Keep your arrows in their quiver, archer…” 

“He’s right,” Inigo grabbed the bosmer by the arm, “it’s not worth the dungeons.” Gaeolin looked him in the eye, an expression on his face the cat had hitherto not seen.

“Tell that to my family…” He put away his weapon. With a swish of his cloak, he stormed to the throne room.

“Halt!” A woman stood atop the dais, sword out to protect her Lord. “What business do you have with the Jarl of Markarth?”

“I seek an audience with Jarl Igmund’s steward, Raerek.” Gaeolin produced the request letter. “I’m here to answer the investigation mandate.”

“Very well, you may approach the Mournful Throne. Keep your weapon sheathed in his lordship’s presence.” She placed her sword back in it’s scabbard before standing next to the Jarl. Inigo bowed before the Lord Igmund, Gaeolin following suit before seeking an older man to the right of left of the high seat.

“I am Igmund’s steward. What can I do for you, young man?” Gaeolin handed him the notice.

“I hear you have some missing citizens. We are here to lend aid to search for them.”

Raerek looked surprised. “It’s been nearly three weeks. We had considered them lost. Algafa and Svega left their farm to travel to Solitude for the Burning of King Olaf festival next month. Poor girls were always working so hard, it was nice to hear that they were taking a vacation. The last we could find out about them, they had been seen heading towards Deepwood Redoubt. What they wanted there, Stendarr only knows.”

Gaeolin handed the steward his map. “Could you please show me where that is?” The man prodded with his finger. It was an area far to the northeast of Markarth, in the foothills of the Druadach Mountains. “Were they lost? That’s nowhere near civilization…”

The man shook his head. “We have no idea of their motives. However, it was no secret that Svega’s man Raddgerd went off to join the Stormcloaks. Perhaps they planned on feeding the rebels information about Imperial movements between Haafingar and the Reach. But, that is not why we asked for you to come here. We simply want you to locate them.” His expression grew bleak. “I fear you are looking for bodies.” 

Inigo seemed to fidget at the words. Gaeolin rolled up his map, a look of determination on his face. “We’ll find them for you, one way or another.” He bowed to the Jarl before sweeping from the hall. 

“Gaeolin…”

“If they are dead,” he turned with a reassuring look, “it’s not your fault, Inigo. No one with sanity travels the Druadachs in a party of two. They should have known better. Hopefully, they’re just lost in the sticks.”

“But there will only be the two of us…”

Gaeolin smirked. “I said no one with sanity traveled in small groups…”