Chapter I

-War Party-

They came at night. Driw was asleep, snuggled next to her sister, Freir, in the back of their father's one-room cabin. The hearth had burned down to embers, crackling softly. Muted shouts and the ring of steel carried in through the thick window glass. Driw fluttered her eyes, watching the shadows of dried elves ear and other herbs dance across the wooden ceiling from the glow of the faint fire light.

"What was that?" Freir yawned, just beginning to wake up. She pulled aside the deerskin covers and slowly slipped out of their shared bed.

"I don't know." Driw whispered back. She listened intently and glanced left, at her father's empty bed.

A deep voice cut through the cold night.

"FORSWORN!"

Driw had heard her father speak of the Forsworn. She thought they were only stories told to scare her. Old tales of savage men who stole away naughty children during the dead of night. She wiggled deeper under her deerskins, trying to sink into the straw-and-feather mattress. Her sister slowly crept up to the cabin door.

"Where's papa? What should we do?"

"Shhh." Freir hushed her. Freir was fifteen, eight years older than Driw, and now too old to properly be called a girl. Her long blond hair had been let down for the evening, and now hung past her waist. She gently nudged the cabin door open and peeked through the gap, staring into the dark night.

With the door open, the sounds outside were louder and seemed much closer. Men's screams, women's wails, and the screech of steel filled the night. Half of the village was on fire. Heat and smoke wafted in through the slender doorway gap.

"Freir, where's papa? I'm scared." Driw shuddered under the covers. "Is he outside? What can you see?"

Freir was silent, frozen in the threshold, watching her village burn. She snapped out of her shock, and went to slam the door closed, when a thick tattooed arm reached around the doorjamb.

Driw screamed. A man in bearskins smashed the door off its hinges with a single axe blow. He stomped inside the cabin and grabbed Freir by her hair. He was followed by another man wearing a deer skull as a helmet, and a woman dressed in leather, decorated with red-and-white beads. Freir shrieked, trying to break free from the savage, but he immediately dragged her outside, into the dark night.

Driw ducked under her bed.

"The little girl - get her!"

The man in the deer skull lurched forward and reached under Driw's bed. He grabbed Driw by the neck of her ragged tunic. It began to tear along the seam. Before he could pull her out into the open, she bit his hand, digging her teeth into his knuckles.

"Ahh!" The man let go, clutching his bloodied hand. His female companion drew a short sword and plunged the iron blade deep into the bed.

The sword embedded itself in the floorboards a few inches from Driw's face. She squealed and balled up tighter, wedging herself into the back corner, at the far end of the bed. The woman reached for Driw, but she flailed wildly and kicked her hands away.

The man walked up to the glowing hearth. He grabbed a piece of kindling and jammed it into the red-hot embers. It bubbled black, hissing, and then burst into flames.

The woman put a foot on the bed frame and pulled her sword out of the mattress. She looked over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving the child to the Old Gods." The man went to toss the fire onto Driw's bed.

"No." The woman stepped in front of him, blocking him with an armored forearm. "We should take her to the altar. The Hagraven will want a sacrifice. A beating heart. We must take her alive."

"Then you take her." The man opened and closed his wounded hand. He threw the flaming tinder onto the pile of kindling and walked outside.

The wood quickly caught fire. Smoke billowed through the small cabin. Driw began to cough and tried to crawl out from under the bed. The savage woman grabbed her arm and dragged her through the open door, into the cold night.

Outside, Driw's village was crackling at a high burn. A swarm of howling Forsworn savages were darting between the wooden cabins, throwing torches through their broken windows and onto their roofs, setting them ablaze. Several women had been taken captive. The savages were binding their hands and carrying them to a deep muddy ditch, a few dozen yards away.

Driw scanned the chaos for her father. A few dead Nord warriors were heaped together near the village center, in a makeshift funeral pyre. She tried to see if her father was among the fallen, but the woman who had captured her, jerked her away.

"Let go! Stop! Papa! Papa, help!"

Driw kicked and clawed at her captor. She spat on her. The woman merely laughed. She shoved Driw into the grasp of another tattooed savage, who grabbed Driw's wrists and tied them together with tree bark twine. Driw tried to bite through the restraints, but the woman came up behind her and gagged her with a leather strip.

"What are we taking this one for?" The male savage hoisted Driw over his muscled shoulder. She began to whimper. "She's too young to lay with. Barely older than a babe."

"She's for the Hagraven," the woman answered. "A virgin's heart to purify ours."

The man grunted. Driw stopped struggling. Bound and gagged, she could do little but cry. He carried her away from the village, into the surrounding woodland, toward the howling of a nearby pack of wolves. Once they were far from the others, he lowered Driw down and lashed her to a tall rock.

"You'll make the old hag very happy." The savage's voice was gravelly and coarse. "Be quiet and stay still. . .or you'll attract those wolves. It'd only take them a moment to pick you clean."

The savage walked away. After he melted into the darkness, Driw, again, tried to break free of her restraints. The twine around her wrists refused to snap. It cut into her skin the more she struggled. She tried to bite through her gag, but her teeth couldn't pierce the thick leather. She jerked back and forth, but couldn't break free.

It only took a few minutes for Driw to exhaust herself. She stopped writhing, now covered in a cold sweat. The air was icy, and she only had her night clothes on. A wolf's howl echoed through the forest, making Driw's heart skip a beat. She froze and then shivered in the cool wind.

More wails came from the direction of the village. The war whoops of the savages slowly morphed into women's sobs. Driw didn't move, only listening, holding still for what seemed like hours. The wolf howls became fainter as the pack moved on. The sobs from the village turned into screams, then laughing, then all grew quiet.

Driw watched the trees around her sway back and forth in the dark night. The moon above glowed orange, giving the forest a dull amber hue. Soon a group of seven Forsworn men and women emerged from the brush. Driw recognized one of the women as her captor, as well as the man with the deer skull on his head. The biggest man in the group, the one in bearskins, had a grisly scabbed-over wound on his torso. Where his heart should have been were three lines of crude stitching and a spiky plant bulb that had been sewn into his chest. He walked up to Driw, removed her gag, and cut her free from the rock.

"Where's my sister? Where's Freir?" Driw demanded. She stared at each of her captors, trying her hardest not to cry. Her father had taught her to show no fear around strangers. He used to say that a strong look and a stiff lip were all it took to scare a dragon away. "Where are Freir and my papa?"

"Which one was she? I had a taste of every girl in that village." One of the savages cackled. He smiled at Driw. Fresh blood was spattered across his arms and legs. "Was she the fat redhead? Or that withered hag? No. No, I bet she was that pretty blond."

"Freir! She's-"

"She's dead." The Forsworn with the deer skull didn't let Driw finish. "They're all dead. Them and your pa. You're dead too - if you don't shut up."

The woman from earlier grabbed Driw by her wrists and dragged her forward. She glanced back at the others.

"We should leave this place. By sunrise, Nords will see the smoke, and word will spread to Markarth. They'll send sell-swords this way."

There were murmurs of agreement, though none of the Forsworn spoke. Slowly, they walked forward, deeper into the woods, to where the land grew rugged and on every horizon, jagged mountains sprang up.

Driw tried to keep pace with the savages, but it was difficult. With her hands bound, she was unbalanced. Her feet were bare and now numbed by the cold. She kept stubbing her toes on roots and twigs, unable to feel her feet.

A Forsworn man wrapped a leather noose around Driw's neck and used it to pull her forward, as if she was a stubborn mule. She teared up at the humiliation, but refused to cry. Silently, she prayed for Akatosh to save her, picturing a fiery dragon swooping down from the stars, consuming the savages around her in a cloud of flames.

After several hours of walking, just as the sun began to rise over the mountains, the group approached a large, grassy hill.

A set of granite stairs ran up to the crest of the hill, with several stone monoliths setup on either side of the path. The Forsworn in the deer skull grabbed Driw and carried her up the stone steps. A loud rumble of thunder crackled overhead.

On top of the hill was a large slab of stone that looked like a table. Behind the stone was an old woman, dressed in rags. The Forsworn dragged Driw up to the old woman. She wasn't human. She had an eagle's claws for hands, feathers growing out of her arms, and bird-like feet. Her face was repulsive, wrinkled and wizened with a raven's eyes and gnarled gray teeth.

"What have you brought me?" the old crone rasped.

"A beating heart." A Forsworn warrior pushed Driw forward, into the hag's grasp.

Driw recoiled and tried to pull away. The hag latched onto her bound hands with a sharp, spindly claw. She hunched over so they were face-to-face. The hag's hot breath smelled like decay.

"Yes. . .yes." The crone crowed. "Hold her down. The Gods will be pleased."

Two Forsworn picked Driw up and set her down on the stone slab. The crone pulled a curved dagger out of her tattered rags. It glowed hell red.

Driw screamed. She tried to wriggle free, but the Forsworn warriors held down her legs and shoulders, pressing them against the cold stone slab. The crone began to mutter something in an ancient tongue that Driw couldn't understand.

"Papa! Papa, please!" Driw was crying now. "Akatosh! Stop! Stop, please!"

Driw's panic seemed to excite the old hag. She smiled, licked her glowing dagger, and ran it across her withered forearm until it bled.

"Colathri, Metri, Am. Oonathu, riicki som. Duletthu, arki sat. . ."

Driw's sobs grew louder, drowning out the old crone's chants. A Forsworn clasped his palm over her mouth to silence her, but she snapped her teeth at him, and he pulled away. The sky above began to heave and roar. The hag raised the dagger high above her head.

Before the crone could plunge the dagger into Driw's chest, a thunderous cry shook the altar - a man's voice that blew over Driw with the feel of fresh frost and the force of a winter gale.

"I WILL SEND YOU ALL TO SOVNGARDE!"

Chapter II

-Sullah-Kiem-

"Redguard."

Jivnar, an old Nord with gray dreadlocks and a long beard, held up one hand, signaling for Sullah to dismount. The old man crouched low in the thick leaf litter. His niece, a bear of a woman named Arngil, crept up beside him. She pulled an Orcish bow off her back and reached into her quiver for an arrow.

"I have a name, you know." Sullah smiled. "Most Redguards do."

Sullah patted the side of his horse until it slowed from its trot. He swung his left leg over the animal and hopped down onto the muddy earth. The horse shook its head and took a step back. He grabbed its reins and then retrieved his great sword from a scabbard lashed to its saddle.

"That may be true, but I can't pronounce it." Jivnar chuckled.

"All Redguard names sound the same. My father used to say that the Divines gave them too loose a tongue." Arngil added.

Sullah grabbed his sword with both hands and took a fierce practice swing. The blade was made of ebony. It looked like obsidian. It and his armor had been acquired through scavenging Skyrim's lawless countryside. He now had a complete - if cobbled together - suit of armor, with a steel cuirass, Orcish boots, and a Dwarven helmet.

"Ha! You Nords have no right to tease Redguards about names. Arngil. Jivnar." Sullah pointed to them with his weapon. "Those aren't names. They're a mother bear's angry grunts."

"Aye." Jivnar nodded with conviction, failing to see the insult. "There's no nobler a beast than a bear. My father was named Stone-Bear."

"I bet he was." Sullah laughed to himself.

"Quiet now." Arngil took a few steps off the trail and poked her head around a tree, taking aim with her bow. "Rodgin said there's a Forsworn camp on that hill. Up the steps and past the ruins."

Sullah pulled his helmet on and joined the others, kneeling in the brush. They'd met on the road from Markarth, less than a day ago. Three adventurers searching for the next sack of coin. Jivnar was looking to collect on a Forsworn bounty. Nords weren't prone to ask for help in their battles, but Sullah saw that Arngil was a bit green, and Jivnar wanted to have another man around. The Redguard was impressive to look at, with a five foot blade, and heavy plate armor; though Sullah's taste for refinement and love of idle pvssyr had begun to annoy the two dour Nords.

"How many of them are there?" Sullah whispered. He squinted up the stone steps, trying to see if he could make out anyone atop the grassy hill. All he saw were the stone monoliths that lined the stairs.

"I saw one head poke out, but there's bound to be more." Jivnar waved Arngil over. "I will go in first and stun them with my battle cry. The Redguard will follow. Arngil, you will cover us with your bow."

"I'm not a child, uncle." Arngil tapped a war axe pulled through her belt loop. "My steel needs to taste blood."

"Then give me the bow, and I'll stay back." Sullah suggested. "They say the Forsworn camp with Hagravens. I'd rather not run face-first into a fireball."

"If you want your cut of the bounty, you'll come with me." Jivnar stood from his squat, now clutching his two-handed battle axe. "Arngil, if we fall, leave this place, and let your mother know that her brother died with honor."

"Uncle-"

Jivnar shot forward, jogging toward the hill, keeping low to the ground. Sullah followed him at a casual pace, dragging the blade of his heavy great sword across the dew-drenched grass. The sun sparkled on the wet weeds, making the hilltop glow.

When the old Nord was halfway up the hill, he let out a roaring battle cry that seemed to shake the old stones.

"I WILL SEND YOU ALL TO SOVNGARDE!"

Jivnar raised his axe high above his head and charged into the unseen mob.

Sullah trotted up the hill a few seconds after Jivnar. On its summit were six Forsworn warriors, a hideous Hagraven, and a little Nord girl who was pinned against a large stone slab by a wild-eyed briarheart.

Jivnar waded into the camp without hesitation. The Forsworn were still stunned by his roar. He brought his axe down onto the head of one of the warriors with a sickening crunch. The resulting cloud of blood-spatter snapped the others out of their shock. They charged forward to meet their attackers head-on.

A warrior wearing a deer skull as a helmet was the first to engage Sullah. He ran in with reckless abandon, an axe in each hand, twirling in a circle. Sullah took a step back and swung his great sword in a wide arc. The heavy blade smacked the axes away, and on the back swing, the tip of the sword bit into the savage's throat.

The savage clutched his neck and collapsed onto the stone steps. Jivnar smashed his battle axe into the shoulder of a Forsworn warrior, bringing him down with one swing. Arngil appeared at the base of the hill and shot an arrow at the Hagraven.

The old hag had no defense against bows. She closed her beady eyes and began to chant. Her hands glowed blue. Arngil's arrow sank deep into her chest, but before it did, she was able to summon an atronach.

The atronach looked like a man made of fire with a bull's head and a saber-toothed cat's claws. It put its hands together and cast off a two foot wide fireball.

Jivnar was hit by the shot. His fur armor caught fire and he dropped his weapon, now screaming. As the flames scorched his skin and consumed his long beard, two savages surrounded him. One jammed his short sword into Jivnar's chest and the other buried his axe into the old man's brain.

The little girl on the stone slab let out a shrill cry, terrified of the atronach. The briarheart holding her picked her up, off the stone, and threw her to the ground. She disappeared from view with a scream that seemed to echo.

Arngil dropped her bow, drew her axe, and charged up to her uncle's charred body. In her rage, she quickly hacked one of the Forsworn apart. His companion caught her in the teeth with his short sword, and while she was staggered, another Forsworn shot an arrow through her eye, taking her down.

Sullah charged the Forsworn with the short sword before he had a chance to adjust, nearly cleaving him in half with his great sword. Another fireball careened down from the top of the hill, and Sullah grabbed the dead man's body, using it to absorb the shot.

The dead warrior caught fire. Instead of letting go of the body, Sullah clutched it even tighter. He rushed the Forsworn archer, and when she lowered her bow to run away, he dropped the body and stabbed her in the back, straight through the heart.

The briarheart worked himself into a frenzy. He and the last Forsworn warrior charged Sullah together. Sullah met them with his sword. Another fireball crashed into the hillside, near Sullah's left leg. He used the flames as cover and was able to cut a deep gash into the non-briarheart's belly. Blood and bile poured out from the open wound, wetting the dark stone steps, and soaking into the ground.

In the resulting moment of confusion, Sullah broke off his assault and ran at the Hagraven. She didn't expect to be attacked and hadn't moved from her spot next to the altar. She put her claws in front of her face as Sullah took a furious swing that nearly cut clean through her - from her neck to her belly button.

The atronach dissipated in a cloud of fire, its summoner now dead. The briarheart howled like a wild animal, charged Sullah, but slipped on the blood-slicked stone steps. Before he could get back to his feet, Sullah brought his great sword down onto the back of his skull.

"Mind the step."

Sullah put his boot onto what was left of the briarheart's head and pulled his sword out.

All six Forsworn now lay dead, scattered across the stairs. The Hagraven was slumped against the altar, eyes open, claws twitching in death. Arngil and Jivnar were heaped together. Jivnar's body was charred and unrecognizable. Arngil's was bloody, yet looked peaceful, at rest.

Sullah walked up to the Hagraven, cut her head off, and put it into his satchel. He'd need it for the bounty - which he could now claim all for himself. He glanced at the two dead Nords for a moment but didn't feel a trace of sadness. They died how they'd always wanted to die. Nords talked incessantly about a glorious death in battle. If the tales were true, they were now swigging mead with Ysgramor, swapping war stories up in Sovngarde.

Though Sullah doubted that.

Sullah began to rummage through the camp, searching the bodies of the dead for anything worthwhile. The Forsworn wore common leather armor and carried little gold. Sullah cut some leather strips off their garments but found little else of use. The Hagraven's claws were of some value. He picked up her body, placed it on the altar, and used his dagger to saw them off.

The altar reminded Sullah of something. It took him a moment to remember what.

The little girl. . .

The briarheart had thrown her somewhere behind the altar. Sullah rounded it and saw a small hole in the ground. The hole looked like an old well. It smelled foul and was coated with dried blood.

Sullah stared down the dark hole but couldn't see the bottom. He grabbed a torch that was propped up next to the altar. Using a flint from his satchel, he lit the torch and dropped it into the well.

The torch fell at least twenty feet before landing on a pile of severed legs and arms. Previous sacrifices. The dark chamber around the dismembered bodies didn't look like a well bottom. More likely, it was an alcove of an ancient dungeon, built into the hill. Next to the gore pile was a large treasure chest. Its golden trim sparkled from the light of the torch.

The chest made Sullah salivate. A fortune could be hidden inside it. He rubbed his hands together, trying to think of an easy way down.

The top of the well was only a foot or so wide. Much too narrow for Sullah. He would never be able to wiggle his way through it. There was probably another way into the chamber, hidden somewhere in the surrounding forest. Finding it could take hours, and there'd be a whole dungeon he'd have to crawl through.

"Hello?" Sullah called down the hole, hoping for a reply. "Hello down there! Are you alright, little elf?"

There was no response. Sullah wondered if the little girl had survived the long drop. He scanned the pile of bloody legs and arms.

"I know you're down there, little elf! Can you hear me? I saw you fall!"

No noise echoed up from the deep hole. Sullah bit his lip and pulled his helmet off.

"That's a deep hole you've dug for yourself, little elf. It'll be very hard to climb out. I bet you can't climb out of there - at least not before nightfall. And I wouldn't want to be trapped in a haunted ruin come dark. . .All alone. . .That's when snow elves come out. . .Hungry snow elves. . ."

Sullah continued to stare down the hole.

A pair of eyes peeked up from behind the treasure chest.

"There you are!" Sullah smiled. He waved his arms. "Up here! Were you hurt by the fall?"

The little girl moved into the light. She looked barely eight years old and was filthy, barefoot and dressed in rags. She stared up at Sullah without saying a word, too terrified to make a sound.

"The fall seems to have claimed your tongue. . .What's your name, little elf?"

"Driw." The little girl squeaked. She shivered. "I - I - I'm not an elf."

"Well you look uncomfortable down there, little elf. Would you like me to help you up?"

"Yes." Driw peeped. "Please."

"Sure. I'll need to find a rope or something that you can climb up." Sullah pretended to look around the camp for a moment and then peeked down the hole. "Say, little elf. . .while you're down there. . .could you. . .open that chest up? Tell me what's inside. Anything valuable? Take a look."

Chapter III

- Trapped -

Driw cringed in the dark. She could barely see anything. Shouts and screams echoed down from the small circle of light overhead. Her side burned. She'd landed on her shoulder. The ground below smelled like rotting meat.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dark and she realized she had landed on a pile of decaying bodies. Most had been chewed apart by something with sharp teeth. Some of the bodies were relatively fresh and supple; others were desiccated, like a draugr's mummified remains.

Driw screamed. Her shriek echoed through the narrow chamber and down an unseen hallway. She crawled away from the bodies, clawing at her nightgown, trying to scraqe the gore off. At the end of the chamber was a dark wooden chest, roughly a foot high. She hid behind it, crying.

A dark shape blocked the circle of light overhead. Driw balled up tighter. It was the fire demon. She knew it. The hideous horned creature had come back for her. She swallowed her sobs and tried not to make a sound.

The shape above disappeared, and a moment later, a small ball of fire fell down from above, landing on the gore pile with a loud whoosh.

Driw whimpered but didn't move. She expected the fireball to consume her. It didn't. It crackled loudly just a foot or two away.

"Hello?" The dark shape returned, peering down from above. It was just a shadow with a man's voice. "Hello down there! Are you alright, little elf?"

Driw tried to slow her breathing. She was panting and the deep breaths hurt her lungs. She peered over the chest and saw that the fireball was just a torch. Not a demon. The torchlight illuminated a long, earthen hallway that stretched on for several hundred feet.

"I know you're down there, little elf!" The voice above continued. "Can you hear me? I saw you fall!"

Driw couldn't make out the face of whoever or whatever was above. She wasn't sure if she should answer the voice. It could be a trick - another Forsworn savage, or another fire demon, or something much, much worse. If she stayed quiet, it might go away.

"That's a deep hole you've dug for yourself, little elf. It'll be very hard to climb out. I bet you can't climb out of there - at least not before nightfall. And I wouldn't want to be trapped in a haunted ruin come dark. . .All alone. . .That's when snow elves come out. . .Hungry snow elves. . ."

Snow elves?

Driw's father used to tell stories of snow elves. Stories of little white men who lived in the coldest, darkest crevices. At night, they'd emerge from their lairs to feed on human flesh. But that's all those tales were - stories. Freir had said so and she always told the truth. But the Forsworn were just stories up until now. If they were real, then snow elves could be real too.

And snow elves were always hungry. . .

Driw peeked up from behind the chest, letting the torchlight shine onto her face.

"There you are! Up here! Were you hurt by the fall?"

Driw took a step into the light. She stared up at the shape above, too exhausted to answer.

"The fall seems to have claimed your tongue. What's your name, little elf?"

"Driw. I - I - I'm not an elf."

Driw wasn't sure the denial was necessary, but no one seemed to like elves very much, and she wasn't an elf, anyway.

"Well you look uncomfortable down there, little elf. Would you like me to help you up?"

"Yes." The stench of death was choking Driw and the thought of hungry snow elves was unbearable. "Please!"

"Sure. I'll need to find a rope or something that you can climb up. Say, little elf. . .while you're down there. . .could you. . .open that chest up? Tell me what's inside. Anything valuable? Take a look."

Driw turned to face the chest. She tried to open it, but the latch was locked.

"It's locked," she called up to the voice.

"Aren't they all? Here."

The man above dropped something. It landed on one of the half-chewed bodies with a dull thud. Driw reluctantly crawled over to the body and picked the object up. It was actually two objects - a thin knife wrapped in linen and an even thinner metal spike.

Driw looked up in confusion. "Wha - what is this?"

"A lockpick," the voice answered, casually. "Know how to use it, little elf?"

"No. I - I thought you were helping me up."

"I am. I don't see a rope up here, so I'll have to make one. Improvise. May take a little while. While I do that, try and pick the lock. It's easy. Just take the prong wrapped in linen and push it into the bottom of the lock. Then take the other prong and put it in the top of the lock. Try and turn the lock using the bottom prong. If you feel resistance, stop."

The shadow above disappeared. Driw clutched the tools, grabbed the torch, and stared at the lock on the chest. She fed both prongs into the lock, not thinking about what she was doing. Her hands were shaking from the cold and her fear. She tried to move the bottom prong clockwise, but it snagged immediately. Without putting any force behind her attempt, the top prong snapped.

Driw dropped the lockpick, petrified. She'd broken it. The man above would be angry and he'd walk away. She knew it. She'd never get out of this hole. She'd die down here.

"I - I." Driw began to cry. "I'm sorry! It - it broke! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to break it. I didn't! I'm sorry! Please don't leave me!"

The shape reappeared above. It dropped another object down the hole.

"Calm down. And be more careful with that one. Elf."

Driw nodded. She scooped up the new pick and inserted it into the lock. This time she worked slowly, deliberately, stopping her attempt at the least bit of resistance. It was difficult. She thought she found the sweet spot on the lock, when she heard a scraping noise echo down the tunnel, behind her back.

Driw whipped around. At the end of the hallway, she saw a glint of movement. It quickly disappeared with a raspy moan.

"Uh. . ." Driw dropped the lockpick. She stared up at the circle of light, above. "Hello!"

"Yes?" The shadow peered down at her.

"I heard something." Driw pointed down the dark corridor with a trembling hand. "Over there."

"Well, I'm almost done up here. Have a good length of rope going now. Any luck with that lock?"

"There's something down here." Driw insisted. She got goose bumps. It felt like someone was breathing down her neck with an icy breath.

"Probably just a skeever." The shape above dropped another object down the hole. It clanked loudly when it hit the ground. "There's a dagger for you. If it tries to bite you, poke its eyes out."

Driw grabbed the dagger. The shape above moved away. She stared down the corridor but saw nothing and returned to the lock. Delicately, she reinserted the pick into the spot she'd found earlier, and the chest popped open. She pushed the top of the chest away and stared into the box.

Inside the box was a rusted mace, a handful of gold coins, and a large, black gemstone. Driw picked up the gem and studied it. It was cut into a beautiful oval shape. She had no idea what kind of stone it was but had heard Freir and her mother talk of rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. Rubies were red and emeralds were green. Driw didn't know what color diamonds were, but the gem was very pretty - glittery - and diamonds were supposed to be the best gem.

"I got it open!" Driw shouted.

The shape above reappeared, instantly. "What's inside it?"

"A. . .uh. . .a diamond?"

"A diamond?" The voice didn't seem to believe her. "Let me see it. Hold it up to the light."

The shuffling at the end of the corridor returned. Driw retreated behind the chest. This time, she saw a face poke around the bend. It was small and gray. Where its eyes should have been were two flaps of pale skin. The ugly creature sniffed the foul air and then gave off a loud hiss.

"There's a snow elf down here!" Driw shrieked. "I see it! It's right there! Please, help!"

"Snow elf? There aren't any snow elves. I was kidding. Let me see the diamond."

The white creature shuffled forward on all fours. It looked like a frail, deformed old man, with stubby arms and a skeleton that poked through its skin. It made another hiss and then lunged at Driw.

"AHHHH!" Driw threw the torch at the creature and cringed, balling up next to the chest. "Help! Get me out of here! Pleeeeeease!"

The creature cackled and batted the torch away. It continued to approach Driw, but now a bit slower, wary of the light, above.

"Hide in the chest!" the voice shouted. "Quick!"

Driw jumped inside the chest and pulled the lid shut. She heard the click of the lock. The chest was barely large enough to fit her. She had to tuck in her arms and legs.

The creature began to bang on the chest. Driw screamed. It banged on the chest even harder, until Driw thought it was about to shatter. She clasped her hands over her mouth and tried to hold still, praying the monster would go away if she was quiet. It continued to pound on the chest for a few more minutes, but then, it stopped.

Driw was hyperventilating. She tried to slow her breathing, but couldn't. The chest felt like it was suffocating her, and it was pitch black inside. She sobbed and then noticed that something on the floor of the chest was glowing.

Driw picked up the glowing object. The gem. It appeared black under torchlight, but in the dark, it looked like a glowing purple cloud was swirling inside of the gem. When she held the gem up to her face, it whispered to her.

Keep me.

Driw had never had a gemstone talk to her. That wasn't supposed to be possible. She wrapped the gem up in her dress and hoped it wouldn't say anything else.

All was silent for a very long time. Driw didn't know how much time. There was nothing to use for reference. The creature had stopped pounding on the chest, but it could still be there, waiting for her to open it.

It's locked!

Driw hadn't considered this. She tried to push the lid off, but it wouldn't budge. She was sealed inside the chest.

No! No, no, no!

Driw felt around the dark chest, searching for her dagger, hoping she could use it to break out. She couldn't find it anywhere. She must have dropped it when she saw the monster. She picked up the rusted mace, but didn't have enough room to give it a full swing.

Driw cried for a long time. She had to pee so bad it hurt. She was hungry too. She didn't know what to do. She screamed and sobbed but nothing happened. She banged the mace against the top of the chest, but it had no effect.

When all else failed, she prayed to Akatosh. He'd listened before and made the Forsworn go away.

Finally, something knocked on the chest. It was a deliberate knock, not random banging. Driw desperately knocked back.

The lock clicked and the chest opened. Driw crawled out, into the light.

"Are you alright?"

A man was standing over Driw. He wore a motley mix of black, silver, and golden armor. He held a torch up to Driw's face.

"Yes," Driw gasped.

"Good." The man removed his helmet. Under it was a mop of black hair, two jungle-green eyes, and a thin-lipped smile. "Now where's that diamond?"

"There. . .there is no diamond. I lied."

Driw wasn't sure why she said this. It wasn't true. The words left her lips without her having to think of them. But the gem wanted her to keep it. It'd said that.

"Really?" The man lowered the torch. He leaned in closer with a broad grin. "Why would you lie to me?"

"So. . .So you'd help me."

"Ah. Clever little elf." The man chuckled. "But what about now? I just trudged through this dungeon and you promised me a diamond. Now you don't have one. That wasn't very nice. I should put you back in that chest. Come back in a year or two. By then, maybe you'll have turned into a diamond. Ha!"

Driw bit her lip.

"Out with it, elf."

"I'm not an elf!"

"You already said that, but all elves are liars. Did you know that? And I can see the glimmer in your eye. You can't keep secrets from a Redguard."

The man looked serious. Driw reached into her tattered clothes and handed him the black gem. He snatched it from her and held it up to the torchlight.

"This is a soul gem - not a diamond," he sniffed.

"A what?"

"Doesn't matter. . .Hmmm. . .Pretty little liar. . .Pretty little elf." The man pulled his helmet back on and waved Driw forward. "Come on, elf. Before more Falmer smell us. Let's get out of here."

Chapter IV

- Home-

It was hard to stay angry at the little girl. Driw was so full of life, so energetic. Sullah watched her pick flowers as he took a brief rest, slowly brewing a cup of Nirnroot tea. Driw had begged him to take her back to her village, a little speck on the map, south of Karthwasten. He agreed only because Markarth was far behind him now, and her village was just off the road to Falkreath. Falkreath's Jarl would pay the bounty for the Hagraven's head, as the Forsworn were becoming a problem there too, pushing in from the Reach, eastward.

Driw added a branch of thistle to her wildflower bouquet. She'd used the free time to gather up a handful of Dragon's Tongue, Deathbell, and a variety of colorful mountain flowers. She walked up to Sullah and handed him a clump of lavender.

Sullah pretended to give it a sniff. "Smells very good. Thank you."

"It's for the tea." Driw tucked the Dragon's Tongue behind her ear. "To flavor it."

"Ah. Of course."

Sullah dropped the flower buds into the tankard and watched the water boil. He then wrapped his hand in linen and removed the cup from the heat, while using his boot to stomp the fire out. His horse walked up beside him, chewing on a mouthful of tough, wiry mountain grass.

Driw went over to the horse and pet it. Sullah tried his drink. It was too hot for his taste. He blew cool air over it.

The horse nudged Driw with its nose and she reached up and rubbed the animal's forehead.

"What's your horse's name?"

"Her name is Horse. She doesn't have a name. I found her outside of Markarth, grazing, saddle and all. I never name my horses."

"She needs a name. Every horse does. Freir used to say a horse draws strength from its name."

"Well, then give her one." Sullah took a drink from the tankard.

Driw scrunched her face, thinking. "How about. . .Lightning?"

"Every horse is named 'Lightning,' or 'Shadow,' or something like that. If you're going to name my horse, be creative."

Sullah handed Driw the tea. She sipped on it while staring off the mountaintop. Far below was a forested valley and a wide blue lake. Beyond that, to the north, was a craggy ridgeline of snowcapped mountain peaks.

"How about Dibella?"

"The Goddess? What about her?" Sullah began to ready his gear, taking apart what little was left of their makeshift campsite, and packing it into a knapsack. He saw Driw shiver from the cold mountain wind and wrapped a wolfskin around her tiny body.

"As a name." Driw snuggled into the thick pelt.

"'Dibella's a good name. A little odd for a horse, though."

"What do you think? Di-bella." Driw whispered the name into the horse's ear. The animal turned its head and gently nuzzled her with its snout. "I - I think she liked it."

"Then it's settled." Sullah finished off the tea. He picked Driw up by her waist and put her down in the saddle. "But tea time's over - up ya go. Let's get moving."

Sullah finished clearing the camp and then climbed onto the horse, just behind Driw. She backed into him, leaning against him for security and balance. He grabbed the reigns and coaxed the animal forward.

The horse trotted down the switchback mountain path at a slow, careful pace. One wrong step could send it tumbling off a cliff face. Slowly, morning turned to noon, and the sun rose high overhead. Sullah studied its angle to try and make sure he was still headed east. When he lowered his gaze, a large dark splotch cut through the clouds, flying directly over him.

"Whoa!" The horse reared up, nearly throwing Sullah off its back. He squeezed his thighs, trying to regain control of the animal, and direct it backwards. Driw began to fall, and, without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, clinging to her. "Gotcha."

The splotch in the sky glided over the mountaintop and across the valley, swooping in front of the sun. It was a very large creature with broad, green wings and a long spiky tail. Its head looked like a lizard's.

Can't be. . .

Driw wriggled out of Sullah's grasp, pointing eagerly. "Is that a dragon?!?"

The dragon let out a roar that echoed across the mountaintops. A deafening clap - like thunder. Sullah felt the beat of its wide wings. The dragon pivoted; banking left, and quickly took off, toward the snowy northern mountains.

"That. . .that was a dragon."

"There are dragons!" Driw was incredulous. "I thought that - that they were - that-"

"Me too." Sullah finished the thought for her. "I heard rumors of dragons and a Dragonborn back in Markarth. Thought they were drunken ramblings." He spurred the horse forward. "Looks like its headed north. That's good for us. Did you see the teeth on that thing? Don't want to wind up in its stomach."

"There are dragons," Driw repeated. "Dragons!"

Sullah couldn't believe it either. Sure, word of dragons had spread across the Reach, but more often than not, words were worthless. Especially in Skyrim. Especially when they came from Nords talking to a Redguard. The natives loved to awe travelers with tales of Dragon priests and their God-King, Talos. Sullah thought they were fantasies meant to stroke the Nords' ego. But now he'd seen a dragon with his own eyes. And if there were dragons, a Jarl was sure to have put a bounty on them.

I wonder how much. . .and how does one kill a dragon?

Sullah dismounted and walked up to the mountain's edge. He scanned the valley. Most of the land below was a patchwork of green, but just to the east, several wisps of gray smoke billowed up from the carpet of treetops.

"Looks like there's a fire down there." Sullah gestured to the smoke. "See the plumes? I'd say we're a half a day's walk from the Forsworn camp by now. Think that's your village? It's the right distance."

Driw followed his point, squinting against the bright sun. "It could be. I think so. . ."

Sullah climbed back into the saddle. "Hopefully there's still shelter there. If that dragon comes back, I'd rather not be caught out in the open."

***

It took less than an hour for the horse to wind its way down to the smoke. The trail was rocky and uneven. No villagers were out in the forest or the fields, and save for the chirps of crickets in the thick brush, the landscape was eerily silent.

When Sullah and Driw came to the end of the trail, there were greeted by an ashscape of six charred foundations, a sea of blackened grass, and the rotting remains of two fallen Nord warriors. The skeleton of a village that was no more. Sullah dismounted first and waited for Driw to follow.

"This is it. This is my village." Driw jumped off the horse. The devastation hadn't yet sunk in. She still looked excited. She began shouting, "Freir? Papa? Are you here? FREEEEIR! Are you here!"

"Not much left," Sullah muttered to himself. The smoke that hung over the village smelled rancid. "Where are all the people?"

"They burned the cabins and forced everyone outside."

Driw darted over to what was left of her cabin - two fallen walls and little else but ashes. She combed through the wreckage. The charred debris brought back memories of the raid. She pictured the ditch next to the path out of town; the place where the Forsworn had taken all the women. She could still hear them screaming.

"They led the women over there." Driw pointed to the ditch. "And then. . .I don't know what happened to them."

Sullah eyed the ditch. Foul-smelling smoke wafted up from it.

"That's where they took your sister?"

"I think so." Driw jogged toward the ditch.

Sullah grabbed onto her wolfskin, holding her back, like a dog on a leash. "Hold on. I want you to wait here. It. . .uh. . .it could be dangerous."

Driw eyed him, suspiciously, but then retreated. "Okay. . ."

Sullah watched Driw slink back to the remnants of her cabin. He had a bad feeling about the ditch. It was the smell. The whole village smelled of death. A rotten, overpowering odor. But the smell was strongest near the ditch. He held his nose and leaned over it.

At the bottom of the ditch were the remains of several humans. Sullah couldn't tell how many, or what six or race they were. They'd been burned. Some bits of bone. A few chunks of charred flesh. Ashes mostly. He counted the skulls, but stopped at the tenth. That one had barely burned, but looked grotesque. Rotting. The smell sickened him. He nearly vomited.

"What's in it? Is Freir there?" Driw inched up to him.

"Don't come up here." Sullah shooed her away with a scowl. She paused and then wandered back to her cabin.

The sister was dead. That was obvious. The father was too. There was no way to be certain, but there rarely was in Tamriel. Bodies often disappeared. People went 'missing.' Maybe Driw knew the truth in her heart already. Sullah wasn't sure. He glanced back at her, over his shoulder.

Driw had returned to the foundation of her cabin. She was sitting on the front step, the only part of her home that was still intact. She pulled the Dragon's Tongue flower out of her hair and slowly plucked off its petals. They fell to the blackened ground lazily, one after another.

She knows. She's seen the town. The smell. She must know. Just hasn't accepted it.

Sullah slowly walked back to her.

"Was Freir in the ditch? Or my papa?" Driw didn't look up. She sounded grave. Sullen.

Sullah didn't know what to say.

What do you tell a little girl when her family's been murdered? Do you even tell her?

"I don't know." Sullah knelt down in front of Driw.

Driw svcked on her tongue. Her cheeks puffed out a bit. She peeked up at Sullah from behind her bangs, teary-eyed.

"Do you think they'll come back for me?"

"I don't think. . ."

This was hard. Very hard. Sullah was normally good with words - but this - he didn't know how to put it. There was no good way to put it.

Why even try to be gentle?

"I think they're gone. They aren't coming back." Sullah was deadpan. "Understand?"

Driw shook her head. "But they wouldn't leave without me."

"No. They wouldn't."

"So. . .they're dead? You mean they're dead."

"Yes."

Driw didn't react. She didn't nod, didn't cry, didn't say anything. Sullah could see a change in her though. He could feel it. She wasn't energetic anymore - as if the life had been svcked out of her. Just a shell now. A sad shell of what used to be a happy girl.

"Do you have other family in Skyrim? Aunts or uncles?"

Driw didn't answer.

"No one?"

Still nothing.

"I'm sorry. . ."

Sullah sat down next to Driw. He stayed quiet, trying to console her with his presence. He wasn't good at consoling children. More often than not, children annoyed him. He expected Driw to cry and carry on and was surprised that she didn't.

She must have known already.

"Come on." He stood up and walked back to his horse.

Driw didn't move. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving. We're leaving." Sullah corrected himself. "Let's go."

"No. This - this is my home." Driw crossed her arms. She balled up on the smoky porch.

"This was your home. But not anymore. Come on."

"No." A tear streaked down Driw's cheek

"You can't stay here. Alone. You don't really want to, anyway. There's nothing left here." Sullah surveyed the circle of charred foundations. "Look around."

"Where will I go?"

Sullah hadn't considered this. It was an obvious question. The little girl didn't belong with a sell-sword, and she would only slow him down. He didn't want to drag her along anyway - but where to take her? She had no family. No friends, that he knew of. No living neighbors. He could take her to Falkreath, but what then?

Ditch her in the city? She'd starve. Quickly. Another street orphan.

Orphan. . .

Sullah smiled at the idea. He put his hands on Driw's shoulders.

"Do you know what an orphanage is?"

"No." Driw's voice cracked.

"It's a place for orphans. Full of little girls and boys just like you. You can make lots of friends there. A new family. And you'll be safe. No more Forsworn - or snow elves."

"I don't want a new family. I want my family." Driw sniffed. Her nose was running. She wiped it, and then stood up. "Where - where is it?"

"Riften. Far from here, but we'll make a few stops along the way. Like at Falkreath."

A cold wind blew through the surrounding forest. It sounded like a wolf's howl as it carried over the scorched grass. The sound made Driw shudder.

"They'll take me? The orphanage?"

"Yeah." Sullah nodded. "That's what they do."

"They'll love me?"

The smile faded from Sullah's face. He shifted his feet, listening to the wind.

Driw was still staring at him. "Can I say goodbye before we go. To my family."

"Sure." Sullah walked off. "I'll wait with the horse. Dibella. Come over when you're ready."

Sullah didn't turn back. He felt awful, like a cold drill had bored a hole into his stomach. He didn't watch Driw say goodbye. He didn't want to see it and was glad he didn't hear it.

Another sad memory. . .

Why clog your mind with sad memories when you can fill it with dreams of naked women? Tankards of Argonian ale. Heaps of gold and silver. . .

Sullah tapped the satchel lashed to his belt. The Hagraven's head was inside. He poked it.

It was a mistake to take the girl along. To come here. What am I going to do with her? I doubt she'll make it all the way to Riften.

Sullah frowned.

Stop thinking about it, Alik'r! Silver. . .think only of silver. . .