This is Our Home: A Collection of Skyrim Short Stories

Leap of Faith (Ylva)

Part of my wondered how the helmet managed to be stolen in the first place, if it was as valuable as he said. However, smarting off to Israal would undoubtedly be ill-received. He would probably dock some coin off my pay, which was something I could not afford.

"I'll retrieve it for you," I said. "You stay here."

As I started to move forward, Israal laid his hand on my shoulder. "No, I'll get the helmet. You distract the Forsworn."

"It's too dangerous for both of us to go in. We'll be seen."

"And I don't trust you enough to let you go after that helm alone. How am I supposed to know you won't run off with it and pawn it to the nearest shop?"

I scowled at him. "I'm not a thief."

"I can't take any risks. You mercenary types are always greedy. Do what I've ordered. Dispose of them if you can, but keep them distracted at all costs."

I started to protest, but the look on Israal's face was enough to quell any argument.

Without another word, the pair of us split up, I going to the right, and he to the left. I crept along as silently as possible; it may not have offered as much protection as steel or ebony, but my leather armor was a perfect fit for me. It was supple and quiet, enabling me to run without alerting anyone to my presence.

Only when Israal was a few feet outside the Forsworn's circle did I shout and stamp my feet. "Hey! Over here!"

All of the Reachmen jumped to their feet and drew their weapons. They bellowed deep within their throats as they charged me, wicked bone swords and axes held at the ready. These people had truly earned the name wildmen.

Taking a moment to see where Israal was—about to grab his helm from the table—I darted to one side and further away from the camp. My leather-clad feet flew over rough stone, loose hair flying behind me, and the thundering of half-a-dozen feet trailed just behind me.

I knew better than to fight them; just one of these men could cause me serious harm if I slipped up just a little. Their swords were designed not to slash cleanly, but to rip flesh from bone. Their axes had chipped edges, meant only to inflict the greatest amount of pain possible. I certainly did not want to be on the receiving end of such cruel instruments.

After running away from the camp for some time, I circled back to rendezvous with Israal at his horse. The Forsworn were still pursuing me, but if I had Israal's help, perhaps we could finish these men off together.

In the moonlight, I spotted Israal up ahead. He was mounting his horse, his retrieved helmet sitting on his head. He did not act like he could see me, which I did not understand how that would be possible. I had a crowd of Reachmen chasing me. How could he not see me?

"Israal!" I cried, hand tightening around the hilt of my sword.

He turned my way, but instead of riding to my aid, he remained in one place. "Thank you for your aid, Wilma. You've served your purpose." And with that, he wheeled his horse around and galloped away.

My jaw dropped, eyes wide as his silhouette faded over the horizon. Why, that dirty, rotten skeever!

Now I absolutely did not stand a chance against the Forsworn chasing me. I had no choice but to run back towards their camp and hope to lose them over the mountains. Swerving up the path, I used my sword to set off as many of their traps as I could, hoping to at least slow them down.

Through their encampment I ran, their angry shouts rising up behind me. I weaved around the tents and other sound traps, raced up a long flight of stone stairs, and across a bridge over a rushing stream. All I had to do was outrun them for just a little longer. If I could do that, I would be safe.