Rough gales of icy winds kicked up snow into Malg's eyes as he and Wiggles-Her-Fingers trudged through ankle-deep slush. It was difficult to see in such terrible weather, but Malg had been through worse. He squinted his eyes and continued forward.
"We are nearly there," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said, her teeth chattering in the cold. "It should be very close now."
Malg could already see the shapes of structures appearing out of the snow. The buildings promised warmth and respite from the bitter cold as the temperature had already begun to drop with the setting sun. They passed a guard who politely pointed them to the Windpeak Inn, and the two quickly ducked inside. When Malg opened the door, the warmth hit him like a wall. His skin tingled all over as it enveloped him like a hug, and he heard Wiggles-Her-Finger sigh in delight. They ignored the tables and moved directly toward the stone firepit in the center of the room where they stripped off their wet boots and put them up on the edge to dry. After he had turned several times to offer every side of his body to the warmth of the flames, Malg looked around for space at one of the tables. Wiggles-Her-Fingers, however, seemed content to stay by the flames, eyes closed, with a satisfied smile on her face.
"What will you have, stranger?" asked a red-headed Nord. "Dinner, a drink, or a song?"
"Food would be nice," Malg replied. "And a place to stay for the night."
"For you and your friend?" she asked with a sly smile.
Malg's face instantly flushed. He had not asked Wiggles-Her-Fingers about the arrangements at all, and he was now mortified at the server's insinuation. He tried to speak, but only managed a few words that tumbled out in an awkward stutter.
"One room will be fine," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said, handing her a few coins and sitting down next to Malg. "We will need two plates, though, and a couple mugs of mead."
"Wonderful," the server replied. "I'll be right back with your food. My name is Karita. Let me know if you need anything else or if you have a song request."
"I wouldn't mind hearing your lute," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said.
Karita smiled, nodded, and went over to the bar to get their order. Soon they had hot food in front of them and the beautiful melody of Karita's lute filled the inn. Malg quickly shoveled down the first half of his meal but slowed once the keen edge of hunger had been satiated. Wiggles-Her-Fingers took her time, switching between her food and drink, and watched as the fire seemed to dance to the lute's tune.
"She is very good," Wiggles-Her-Fingers commented.
Malg nodded. Now that his stomach was full, drowsiness was creeping up on him. The journey had taken more out of him than he had realized, but it did not matter. He relaxed and let the music flow over him until he could no longer keep his eyes open.
Malg awoke the next morning in a bed with no recollection of how he ended up there. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and as he moved his legs toward the edge of the bed, he felt the hard, cool sensation of scales against his skin. The shock sent him tumbling off the small frame and onto the floor. A tail poked out from under the thick sheets and furs covering the bed, but it was quickly drawn back under like a snake escaping back into its den. At that moment, Malg realized he was wearing nothing but his undergarment. He quickly scanned the room, found his robes sitting nicely folded on a wooden chest, and nearly fell over himself trying to get dressed.
"You take up a lot of the bed," Wiggles-Her-Fingers groaned sleepily. "I almost had to leave you on the floor."
Malg's face was flushed as he tried to piece together what had happened the night before. "What happened?" he asked. "Did we...?"
Wiggles-Her-Fingers peeked out from under the covers and glared at him. "Shut your mouth!" she snapped. "What kind of woman do you think I am? Someone has been reading the wrong kind of books!" There was rustling under the covers, and a scaly hand snatched the college robes that were sitting next to Malg's and disappeared under the sheets again.
"Sorry, I did not mean to presume anything," Malg apologized. "I just did not remember anything after dinner last night."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers threw back the covers and gingerly touched the stone floor with one toe. She winced and quickly withdrew it. "Do not worry about it," she said casually. "Can you toss me my boots?"
Malg obliged, handing her the boots and then putting on his own. "Where do you want to start?" he asked.
"At the docks," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "Someone there should be able to tell me what happened to him. That line of work is not so dangerous. If it was an accident, someone will have seen it. If not, well, we will deal with that if it comes."
The two made their way from the inn down passed the smithy to the cove around which the town was built. The snowstorm had cleared away during the night, and the sun shone brightly in the wide-open sky. The brisk air was invigorating, and both Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers found themselves more awake each time they breathed it in. A long pier was built from the western shoreline out toward the center of the small inlet where one ship was currently docked, and a dock worker and several sailors were unloading cargo.
"I thought it would be bigger," Malg said.
"Me too," Wiggles-Her-Fingers agreed. "Something more like Riften."
Malg followed his friend along the edge of the water. Ice had formed at the edge where the water touched the land, and it crunched under their feet as they made their way toward the single pier. Malg was fascinated by the ship, which though average size for a cargo vessel, was far and away the largest he had ever seen. He knew that the Nords made such vessels that allowed them to navigate open waters, but his imagination had failed to realize just how big they were. By comparison, the small crafts the Redguards used to traverse the limited waterways of eastern Hammerfell were hardly worth mentioning. As he admired the ship, one of the sailors noticed their approach and called out. Other sailors on the upper deck began to appear at the gunwale to observe the mages, who seemed to be as rare a sight to them as their ship was to Malg.
Before they were able to get the attention of the dockworker, a salty old Nord with a shaggy beard and greying blonde hair stepped in front of them. "What's your business here?" he asked. "I got no use for any more hands if that's what you're wanting."
"We are not looking for jobs," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "We are with the College of Winterhold. My egg-brother used to work here, Watches-The-Waters, but he died recently. Did you know him?"
The moment the college was mentioned, the man's countenance changed. He tried to interrupt and turn them away, but when Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked about her brother, he fell silent. He seemed to want to say something, but his eyes darted around as if he was suddenly worried about doing so. Eventually, he called over to a resting dockworker. When the worker came over to them, he whispered something into the man's ear and then retreated inside a nearby building without another word.
"What was that about?" Malg asked.
The dock worker, his head slightly bowed, spoke in a low voice, "He wants you to know what happened, but he doesn't want to be the one to tell you."
"Very well," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "What happened to my egg-brother?"
"He was killed," the worker said.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers' face hardened. "Dark waters," she muttered. "Why?"
"I don't know myself," the worker explained. "But it was one of the Blood Horkers. Maybe he angered 'em in some way?"
"Blood Horkers?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
"Pirates," the worker explained.
"Who names themselves after bloated pig-whales?" Malg asked.
"They come to Dawnstar regularly," the worker continued. "Sometimes they cause a bit of commotion at the Windpeak, but they don't usually kill anyone. Most people know they are trouble and stay clear of 'em."
"Why was he afraid to tell us?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
"He doesn't want any trouble," the worker explained. "I wouldn't be talking to you myself if he hadn't just threatened my job."
"I see. Does anyone else know about this?" she asked.
He shrugged, "Didn't see it myself. I 'spect someone had to, though, since most people know about it."
"Alright," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "Go back to work."
"Thank you," the nervous dockworker said. He scampered back to the pier and grabbed the first barrel he could find to haul to the ship.
"What is wrong with these people?" Malg asked Wiggles-Her-Fingers as the dockworker heaved the barrel up onto his shoulder. "I have heard Nords tell of the brave exploits of their ancestors ever since I crossed into Skyrim. Now they are cowed by some stupid pirates? I think some of them have forgotten how to deal with criminals."
"They are afraid," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "There is nothing wrong with being afraid."
"If it keeps you from acting as you should," Malg retorted. "There is."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers huffed, but she did not respond.
"You want to wait for the Blood Horkers to come back then?" Malg asked. "So, we can avenge your brother?"
Her resolution faltered. Wiggles-Her-Fingers was not a fighter. She had considered what she wanted to do if her brother had indeed been murdered, and she had come here with every intention of killing them. Now, however, she was unsure. She had assumed that if he had been killed, the culprit would have been some drunk Nord who had lost control. Here she was faced with an entire ship full of brigands, and Malg seemed completely immune to the terror that was slowly enveloping her mind and turning her spine to jelly. "Yes," she gulped. "That is the plan."
"Good," Malg said. "Let's go back to the inn. We can wait for them there."
The two mages returned to the inn. Wiggles-Her-Fingers told Malg that she did not sleep well and disappeared back into their room to lay down. Malg felt bad about it, absently rubbing a hand across his belly. His friend needed to be at her best to avenge herself, and his big belly had kept her awake all night. He decided to stay out of the room, so she could rest, and maybe he could find out a little more about the pirates to make up for it.
Malg asked Thoring, the innkeeper, what he knew of the Blood Horkers, but he was either unwilling or unable to give much more information than the dockworker had. Once Malg gave up trying to get any information from him, he ordered some food and sat down at one of the tables.
Malg stared deeply into the flames that danced up and down the long stone firepit rising like an altar in the center of the floor. The melody of Karita's lute and the talking patrons seemed to fade into the background as he tried to think of what else he could do. He wanted to have every advantage over the pirates when they came, but he did not want to try to ambush them in the inn and possibly endanger everybody else inside. At the same time, if they attacked the ship at the pier, all the pirates would have to do is escape back out to sea.
Lost in thought, he hardly noticed the inn quieting down or the food set in front of him. He was unsure of exactly what kind of meat was in the soup, but it was good, and he happily slurped it up. When he picked up the hunk of warm bread to soak up the last remnant of the soup, he noticed a small piece of parchment hidden underneath. Malg paused and looked back at the innkeeper, but Thoring was cleaning a mug and paying the orc no mind. Malg looked around and then, trying to be as nonchalant as he could manage, he slowly unfolded the scrap, which read: "Meet me behind Windpeak." Malg pocketed the parchment and stuffed the rest of the entire piece of bread into his mouth, an action he quickly regretted when he nearly choked on the loaf, his eyes filling with tears as he tried his best to chew without spitting it out. Once he managed to down bread, he considered what he should do about the note. His first inclination was to go and wake Wiggles-Her-Fingers, but he still felt guilty that she had not slept well. He did not want to wake her up just to walk out into the cold and listen to information he could easily relay to her later. That just did not make any sense, and she might get even more upset with him, so he decided to meet up with whoever had left the note on his own. His decision made, Malg stood up, scanning the room for anyone acting suspiciously, and then walked out the front door.
Around the backside of Windpeak Inn, Malg saw the bard Karita leaning against a large pine trunk. "It took you long enough," she said.
"You left the note?" Malg asked.
"Of course," the bard replied. "I heard what you were talking to my father about, and I hate those blasted pirates. They're a foul sort that I would personally rather be rid of for good. They stink of fish, their language is worse, and any time I walk by they try to slap me on the rear. If that wasn't bad enough, they hardly ever pay what they owe us. My father started counting it as a win when they left without breaking anything."
"I'm sorry for your troubles," Malg said.
"Forget the sympathies," Karita said, waving him off. "Are you and the Argonian going after them?"
Malg nodded. "One of them killed her brother," he said.
Karita's face fell. "It was that nice Argonian that worked at the docks, wasn't it?" she asked.
"She did say that was where he worked," Malg said.
"It happened in the Windpeak," Karita said. "A couple of the pirates grabbed Abelone while she was tending the fire. It looked like they were trying to take her out of the inn. When she screamed, Gjak and some of the miners from Iron-Breaker Mine tried to intervene. Then it was all blades and pickaxes. The Argonian tried to stop the fight, but one of the pirates slashed open his stomach right in front of us. I still remember the look on his face when he saw his guts spill out onto the floor. It was terrible, but that was nearly two months ago. Why did you wait so long?"
"Wiggles-Her-Fingers only just recently received a letter from the jarl," Malg replied. "Did no one pursue the pirates? Surely he had friends who would not let that stand."
"A few of the miners did," Karita said. "And they called the guard on them, but the ruddy felons were too quick to their ship. They haven't been back since, and I doubt they will be any time soon unless they want to tangle with the guard."
"Is there anything else?" Malg asked.
Karita thought for a moment. "I don't think so," she said. "Good luck. I hope you kill every stinking one of them, and if you see the skinny one with a crooked nose, torch him extra for me."
She left Malg standing out behind the inn, his mind racing to work out another way to find the Blood Horkers. They could not sit around Dawnstar forever waiting to see if the crew returned one day. Waiting to ambush them was already going to take longer than he anticipated. It was doubtful any of the crew would let their location slip to any of the town's general populace, but there are those who would have a vested interest in knowing where the pirates were when they were not in Dawnstar. He was going to have to wake Wiggles-Her-Fingers. They needed to see the jarl.
In the winter, the days in the northern province of Tamriel were rather short. The sun was already diving toward the horizon when Malg walked back into the Windpeak, and to his surprise, when he opened the door to their room, Wiggles-Her-Fingers was already awake. In fact, it looked like she had not slept at all. She was just sitting in a chair next staring distractedly at an empty plate of food.
Malg decided to ignore it. "We cannot stay here waiting for the Horkers," he said. "They will not come back without risking the wrath of the jarl. We have to go find them."
"I am not sure I can handle this," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said as Malg closed the door behind him.
"Handle what?" Malg asked.
"Hunting down brutal murderers," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "I am not sure I have the constitution for it. My egg-brother is gone, but if we continue with this, we might also die at the hands of those terrible people."
"Perhaps," Malg conceded. "But so will others if justice is not done."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers looked directly at him. "Is that not what the law is for?" she asked. "To protect the innocent and punish those who break it?"
"They will, if the pirates return," Malg said. "But I do not think they will. They will hide from justice, so we must bring justice to them."
"Is it just that simple?" she asked.
"Yes," Malg replied. "It is simple."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers rose from her chair, a slight smile on her face. "What will we do then?" she asked.
"We will go to the jarl," Malg said. "She may not have been willing to hunt them down, but she should know where they are hiding."
"Alright," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said.
The inn was much quieter than usual as Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers exited their room. Karita was no playing and no one speaking, preferring instead to quietly retreat into their cups. Thoring was staring angrily toward the door, and Malg followed his eyes to three men clad in steel plate. As the two mages walked out into the common room, the three men, who had taken over the table nearest the door, stood up. One of them, who carried a large battleax stepped forward grinning.
"You have been poking your nose in where it don't belong, orc," he said. "We have been sent to remedy that."
"What is it you want?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked fiercely, but the slight catch in her voice told of her true emotions.
"Shut up, scaleskin," the Nord sneered. "I didn't speak to you, nor do I want to hear your frog voice." His eyes turned back to Malg. "What are you two even doing here?" he asked. "This land is for Nords. Your kind don't belong here."
"Everyone is welcome in my inn!" Thoring yelled.
At that, one of the armored men walked over to the innkeeper and belted him across the face with the back of his steel gauntlet. Karita screamed and blood sprayed from Thoring's crushed nose. He wobbled backward, bringing up his hands in an attempt to defend himself, but his assailant struck low and the innkeeper collapsed on the floor groaning. He went in for another attack, but suddenly Karita's cries were drowned out by a deafening roar.
"Stop it!" Malg bellowed.
The leader of the small group held up his hand, and the assault stopped. "Now, that is the kind of spirit I was hoping for," he said. "Something vigorous and lively. I have pounded on far too many people who were just begging for mercy. It wasn't any fun. This contract we have on you says I'm supposed to beat you until you agree to leave Dawnstar, but I want you to know I will be killing both of you. It'll accomplish the same end, and I think your tusks will make a nice necklace. Plus, I think my wife would like the color of her scales."
"Wait," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "We were just leaving anyway. There is no need for this."
The Nord's smile widened as he ordered his henchmen to attack. The Nord who had put Thoring on the ground drew his sword and cried out loudly before charging the mages. Malg heard Wiggles-Her-Fingers hiss angrily from behind him just before the mercenary took a bolt of lightning to the face. The powerful surge of energy dropped the man to his knees. Black, scorched flesh hung from his face, and he wailed until Malg clubbed him across the side of the head. The Nord crumpled to the floor, blood oozing from his ear.
Malg turned in time to see the other lackey advancing quickly on Wiggles-Her-Fingers. He moved to help, but he need not have bothered as two bolts of lightning leaped from the Argonian's fingers and dropped the man instantly to the floor. The thug struggled to one foot, but Wiggles-Her-Fingers struck again. This time the lightning seemed to sear the very air around it as it traveled from the mage's hands. The mercenary's body arched terribly and then convulsed unnaturally before it was consumed by the spell. The armor clattered to the floor and ashes spilled out over the stone floor. Wiggles-Her-Fingers looked at what was left of the man in horror, stunned into inaction by what she had done to her attackers.
The leader of the hired thugs, however, was not so taken aback, and his strategy became clear as he followed on the coattails of his accomplice, his ax raised to strike. It nearly worked, had Malg not hit the Nord with a paralysis spell, the man would have cleaved Wiggles-Her-Finger's head from her body. Instead, his stiffened body fell sideways coming to rest against one of the table benches. Malg strode forward, wrenched the ax from his hands, and tossed it into the firepit. He picked up the helpless mercenary and slammed him against the table.
"Who sent you?!" he yelled.
The Nord was unable to answer, but Malg knew the spell would not last forever. He pinned the man's neck to the table with his staff and waited. Soon, he saw the effects of the spell fade.
"Answer the question!" he commanded.
"Rot in oblivion, orc," the Nord gurgled.
"Kill him!" Karita yelled as she helped her father to another table.
Malg pressed down harder on the man's neck. The mercenary groaned in pain, but he refused to cry out. "Answer me!" Malg roared, but the only answer he received was a sharp pain in his side. He looked down to see the hilt of a dagger protruding from his stomach and the Nord laughed as he pulled it free for another attack. Unfortunately for him, he never got the opportunity. As the pain hit him, impulse and muscle memory worked in conjunction with magic. His skin hardened and darkened to a glossy black, but just as quickly his blood boiled as he was overcome by the bestial rage common to his kind. The other people in the tavern could only look on in abject horror as the orc lifted the mercenary over his head and slammed him bodily down on the table. The blade was forced from his hand as the oak planks cracked under the impact of his body. The orc raised him again and again, slamming him into the table until boards broke, and the table collapsed into splinters and firewood, but the orc's rage had not yet been satisfied. Leaping on top of the mercenary, he began to beating the man's head side to side, denting the steel helmet with his ebony fists. The Nord was no longer resisting, and blood leaked out from inside the helmet onto the floor. Still unsatiated, the orc ripped the helmet off the mercenary and slammed it down repeatedly on what was left of his fractured skull until he finally grew weak from loss of blood and passed out. Blood and brains covered the floor of the Windpeak Inn, a sight seared into the memories of all those who had been unlucky enough to behold it.
A warm, golden glow emanated from Wiggles-Her-Fingers' hands as she healed the wound in Malg's side. The skin closed up over the wound and the color returned to his face. Once his eyes opened, she ended the spell and helped him to his feet. Malg looked around, embarrassed and ashamed of what had happened. It did not help that those in the inn were staring at him with what appeared to him to be looks of fear and horror. He was about to suggest to Wiggles-Her-Fingers that they leave when Thoring, his nose broken, approached them.
"Do not worry about the damage," the innkeeper said. "I will sell their armor to Rustlief and recoup the losses. It was not right what they did, trying to kill you like that. I am only sorry I could not help stop them myself, if for no other reason than to show the two of you that not all Nords are like them."
"Of course," Malg said. "I do not think you are."
"Thoring," Wiggles-Her-Fingers interjected. "Let me fix your nose."
Thoring nodded, and a moment later, no one could tell the assault had ever happened except for the blood staining his shirt. "Thank you," he said. "I wish I could fix this shirt as easily. Oh, well. Forget that. All these clothes will be ruined by the time I clean this place up. Are you indeed leaving as you said?"
"We are," Malg replied. "We need to talk to the jarl, but I think we will stay here another night if that is alright."
"Fine by me," Thoring said, and with a final nod, he got to work collecting what he could from the bodies and cleaning up his inn.
Outside, Malg breathed in the evening air. "I'm sorry for what I did in there," he said. "I know it was horrifying. It is not something I want to do."
"Neither of us wanted that," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "They forced it upon us. Neither of us should have to justify defending ourselves from those who would murder us."
"At least you defended yourself properly, like a mage, not like an uncontrollable beast," Malg replied.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers grabbed him by the hem of his hood. "We're alive, Malg," she reminded him. "If you want to say mine was a better method, you can, but the result was just as hard to witness. None of it was good. It was just necessary."
Uncomfortable, Malg tried to look away, but Wiggles-Her-Finger refused to let him escape. When she caught his gaze again, she whispered, "You did nothing wrong by defending yourself. You killed someone who was trying to kill us and very nearly succeeded. Just because you did it with your hands doesn't make you any less of a mage. Anyway, you did use magic. Not even orc hands can dent well-made armor like that, and a few moments earlier you saved my life with a spell. He would have killed me had you not paralyzed him. You are an orc, Malg. There is nothing wrong with that, but do not be deceived. You are very much a mage also."
Malg smiled despite himself. It was the first time anyone had ever called him a mage, and he felt a swelling in his chest to hear it from someone who was an accomplished mage herself. At that moment, his shame had been washed away along with his self-doubt.
The sun was just dipping below the horizon, and the temperature was quickly dropping along with it. The White Hall was not far from the Windpeak, and when the two mages walked in, they were glad to see Jarl Brina Merilis was still willing to see them. As they approached the jarl's throne, Imperial soldiers walked on either side, swords drawn.
"It is nothing personal," Brina said. "But your jarl and I are on opposite sides of a war. Two attempts on my life have already been made, and both of you are covered in blood."
"I am sorry for our appearance, Jarl," Malg apologized. "We were ambushed at the Windpeak Inn by armed men."
"I see," the jarl said. She whispered something to her housecarl, Horik Halfhand, who sent a messenger fleeing from the hall. "Very well," she continued. "What do mages from the College of Winterhold want here in Dawnstar?"
"The College of Winterhold is neutral in the war, Jarl," Malg said. "As are the two of us, but we are here on personal business. I am Malg, and this is my friend and colleague, Wiggles-Her-Fingers. Her brother was killed in your city, and we are here to deal with those responsible."
Jarl Merilis' face turned grave. "You must be referring to the Argonian who was murdered at Windpeak Inn," she said. "A truly unfortunate affair." She turned toward Wiggles-Her-Fingers with true empathy in her eyes and expressed her condolences, then continued, "I am sorry, but I do not remember his name."
"His name was Watches-The-Waters," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said.
"I want you to know that I wanted to deal with those bloody pirates the day they killed your brother," Jarl Brina said. "However, holding the northern front of the war requires all the legionnaires, auxiliaries, and everyone else I have under my command. I still have every intention of root out the brigands and hang every single one of them for their crimes against the people of Skyrim, but until this war is concluded, I cannot spare enough to take Japhet's Folly."
"What is Japhet's Folly," Malg asked.
"It is where the Blood Horkers are laid up acting like I will forget their crimes if they just lay low long enough. I am not Skald, the doddering old fool. Those pirates will pay for their crimes. You have my word. However, I would understand if you do not want justice to wait. If you decide to go after them yourselves, I can pay you a bounty from the city's treasury. In addition, you would have my personal thanks."
"That is what we had in mind, Jarl," Malg replied.
"Very well," she said. "I may not have any legionnaires to loan out, but I do have plenty of ships and some mercenaries who are growing fat in my hall." When she said this, a few men standing around the hall suddenly did everything they could to appear busy.
"We would be appreciative of any help you could provide, Jarl," Malg said.
"My Jarl," Horik Halfhand interjected. "These mercenaries are veteran fighters who are here for your protection."
"As are you, Horik," she reminded him, though he did not need it. "I have every confidence in you to protect me while they are gone. Besides, thanks to General Tullius, I also have three legionnaires stationed here for the same purpose. White Hall is getting crowded."
"Very well, Jarl," Horik relented.
Jarl Brina Merilis raised her voice and commanded, "All mercenaries who have been assigned to White Hall are now assigned temporarily to these mages for their fight against the Blood Horkers!"
One of the younger mercenaries seemed genuinely excited by the jarl's proclamation, but the command was met mostly by lackluster groans from mercenaries who had been happy with their cushy assignment. One of the more irritable mercenaries smacked the younger one for his exuberance and a tussle immediately broke out. A quick nod from the jarl and Horik Halfhand intervened, and the two unconscious mercenaries were dropped unceremoniously down the stairs and piled near the door.
"Your ship will be ready at sunrise," Jarl Brina said. "The mercenaries will be onboard as well. Feel free to dump them overboard if they cannot behave."
Malg thanked the jarl for her help and generosity.
"Thank you, mage," she replied. "I look forward to hearing the good news when you return."
Both Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers bowed and then stepped out of the White Hall into the cold Skyrim night. Malg stopped at the road leading back to the end and looked out over the Dawnstar's cove. The merchant ship being loaded up was now gone, leaving the inlet empty of ships. The jarls ships must have been anchored offshore somewhere out of sight.
"How would you like to go for a walk?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked. "The sun sets early, and I am not tired."
Malg nodded and followed Wiggles-Her-Fingers down to the shoreline.
"The water is beautiful," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said.
Malg did not answer. The water was nice looking, especially in the moonlight, and he listened to the tiny waves lapping at the icy shoreline as he stared out at the open water. Looking out on the Sea of Ghosts from Winterhold was the first time he had seen a body of water to large, but he had never gone down to where he could touch it. There was something about being next to something so immense. Malg knelt down to reach out past the ice and dipped his finger into the water. It was incredibly cold and stung his finger, but he didn't care. He followed the shoreline with his eyes off to the right, but then suddenly saw something alarming.
Malg stood up and squinted into the night. Walking along the shore next to a house with numerous red banners was the small silhouette of what appeared to be a child moving slowly toward them in the darkness. Malg rushed over to the girl who appeared to be completely fine despite the bitter cold, though her skin was as pale as the moon itself.
"Are you alright?" Malg asked the girl.
"I am so very cold all alone out here," the girl said.
"We need to get you inside somewhere," Malg said, looking over to the inn.
"Oh, yes, thank you, kind sir," the girl said, coming closer.
"Malg!" Wiggles-Her-Fingers hissed. "Move away!"
Malg turned back toward the girl who was already quite a bit closer than he had anticipated. Taken aback by her speed and the strangeness of her form, he stepped away.
"Look at her eyes!" Wiggles-Her-Fingers said.
The girl did indeed have peculiar eyes of a bizarre orange color which Malg had never seen before. They stared at him with a deep hunger that left him rather unsettled and seriously regretting not returning to the inn. The girl advanced on him fearlessly, and as she did, she smiled revealing short, sharp fangs. Vampire! A string of flagrant curses shot through Malg's head. He had never seen a vampire before, but he had heard tales of the evil blood-suckers who lurked in the darkness waiting to feed on the blood of men or mer. Immediately Malg attempted to defend himself from the encroaching she-leech by hardening his skin, which turned glossy black just before the creature leaped at him. The force of her attack wrenched Malg's staff from his hand and knocked the large orc to the ground. The two wrestled for a time before the vampire managed to slip his grip and bit down hard on the underside of his wrist. Malg felt the sharp pinch of her fangs, but they were unable to penetrate his hardened skin. The little she-devil reeled back in surprise, and Malg slammed his fist into the side of her face, knocking her to the ground.
The vampire rolled to her feet in the snow, but her separation from Malg was the moment Wiggles-Her-Fingers had been waiting for. She hurled several bolts of lightning at the creature. The first arced over the little beast's shoulder, but the second hit her square in the chest, launching her backward into the water.
Malg got up, retrieved his staff, and retreated back to where Wiggles-Her-Fingers stood, scanning the water for any movement. Suddenly, the little monster was standing in the water before them, her wet hair sticking in long strands to her sallow skin. She glared menacingly at the two mages, her eyes ablaze in unnatural hunger. Malg slung a paralysis spell at the vampire, but the little monster sidestepped the green orb and attacked again. This time her target was Wiggles-Her-Fingers, who was quickly overwhelmed by the little she-devil's ferocity. Before Wiggles-Her-Fingers could react, the vampire had sunk her fangs into the Argonian's neck. She cried out in pain, and Malg swung his staff as hard as he could, catching the little beast in ribs. The blow broke ribs and sent the vampire rolling through the snow once again. She leaped to her feet, but Malg followed up with several discharges from his staff, catching the creature each time and knocking her back to the ground.
Behind the smoking form, Malg saw guards running along the shoreline and down the hill toward them, but he was not taking the chance that the vampire would get back up. He kept unleashing bolts of lightning from his staff until the guard was able to surround the creature. When the staff was empty of charges, the guards set to work, chopping and hacking at the abomination until there was nothing left but a charged and dismembered corpse.
Once, he was sure that the creature was no more, Malg turned back to Wiggles-Her-Fingers who lay groaning in the snow. He picked her up and called to one of the guards, "Where is the alchemist?!"
The guard waved for him to follow and led them over to the Mortar and Pestle. Banging on the door, the guard called out to the proprietor, "Frida! Open the door! We have an emergency!"
A few moments later, an elderly woman came to the door holding a candle. "What is it, Carsten?" she asked. "What happened?" Her eyes opened wide when she saw Wiggles-Her-Fingers in Malg's arms, blood oozing from the wound in her neck.
"There was a vampire attack, Frida," Carsten replied. "Can you help her?"
"Of course, of course!" the old woman said, waving them inside. "Lay her down on the bed and put pressure on that wound. If she's infected, it won't bleed out of her."
Malg did as he was instructed. Wiggles-Her-Fingers was already unconscious, and her breathing was labored. He laid her in the bed, turned her onto her side, and pressed the clean cloth Frida had given Carsten on their way to the bed.
Frida appeared a moment later with a healing potion. "Get this down her throat," the alchemist said. "It should stop the bleeding and help close the wound."
Malg tilted Wiggles-Her-Fingers' head back and gently poured the thick red liquid down her throat. She coughed a little at first but then started to swallow the elixir. Instantly, the wound began to clot, and the wound quickly scabbed over and started to close. However, the color did not readily return to Wiggles-Her-Fingers' face. The Argonian opened her eyes, but she was having trouble speaking.
"She has been infected by the creature," Frida said. "I need to get another potion." The alchemist returned shortly with a potion in an opaque red bottle and softly pushed the two men out of the way. "This will not taste good, dear," she told Wiggles-Her-Fingers. "But I need you to swallow all of it, alright?"
Wiggles-Her-Fingers nodded weakly, and the alchemist tilted the bottle to her lips. Malg watched as his friends drank the alchemist's concoction. He could tell by her face that it must taste vile, but she swallowed every drop from the bottle.
"Good girl," Frida said. "Now just relax. Let the medicine do its work."
Frida motioned to Carsten and Malg, and the two men followed her a short way away. "She should be fine in a few hours," Frida told them.
"Glad to hear it," Carsten said. "Unless there is anything more, I will take my leave."
Malg thanked the guard for his help, and Carsten left the alchemist's shop.
"Thank you for saving her," Malg said to Frida.
"I am just glad I could help," Frida replied. "She is a strong girl. With the elixir's help, she will be fine. Do you want to stay with her?"
Malg nodded.
"Very well," Frida said. "Stay the night. If there is any change, especially if her scales start to lose their color again, wake me, but I don't suspect there will be any problem."
Malg thanked her again and then sat down beside his friend. Wiggles-Her-Fingers was already asleep and snoring lightly, so Malg made himself as comfortable as possible. Over the next hour, her scales regained their original luster and returned to a healthy shade of green. Malg relaxed against the wall, relieved to see his friend recovering, and soon he was snoring right along with her.