When Kris had first joined the Legion she had been given the choice between an engineering unit and the scout. Few women had the physiques for the line companies or the cavalry though a number of them usually found their way into the archers. Becoming an engineer was a coveted position because after your twenty years you had a trade as well as your pension to live on but Kris had declined. In her heart she loved the outdoors and the wilds. Cities and towns were find places to spend your pay, but give her an open sky and a dense forest any day. In this regard Skyrim did not disappoint. As they trudged up the steep roadway, they were treated to magnificent views of the city and the bay beyond. Mountains seemed to claw at the sky in all direction, their sides covered with thick pine forests that chirruped and hummed with birdsong.

 

It was almost enough to make her forget she was working for traitors.

 

The thought was sour in her mouth and she uncorked a bottle of mead and took a swig. It was too sweet but had a warming burn to it that was bracing in the chill air. It had been a simple matter to memorize the map and dispositions in the Stormcloak war room, but it seemed unlikely they would run into any Imperial troops to share the information with. Tulius was, by all reports, up near Solitude with his legions, reluctant to plunge ham fisted into a cauldron of rebellion, trying to work with the local Jarls while that remained an option. Maybe she could send a raven when they got where they were going. Hello General, you don’t know me but I got a look at Ulfric’s war room and know where all his troops are. You can definitely trust me and this is not a trap. Bah. The road was thick with refugees moving down towards Windhelm, their meagre possessions piled on their backs. A few of the wealthier sorts had wagons, loaded to the axels creaked with furniture and other belongings. No one seemed to be heading west up the road. Kris got more than a few hard looks, her leather armor was distinctively Imperial even though she had forgone her red cloak in favor of a forest green one to reduce the chances of being shot from ambush by some would be Stormcloak. Veterans were common in Skyrim afterall regardless of political affiliations. Skyrim had long provided more than its share of Legionnaires. Only Cyrodil herself produced more, and Cyrodil had ten times the population of this mountainous land. With the White Gold Concordite and the disbanding of many legions, there were discharged troops a plenty. Some were with Ulfric now, eager to fight and die for something, even if it was the dream of a self-important moron.  Others had, no doubt, turned to banditry or mercenary work. A small fraction had maybe even settled down and made lives for themselves, though Kris found that hard to fathom.

 

Dax walked confidently along beside her, oblivious to the hard looks he got from many of the refugees. Like Dark Elves, Argonians were not popular in these parts. Too different to be comfortable at a time when so much was up in the air. Even in the legion Argonians were rare, though that didn’t mean unknown. Some had even won renown. Skixti Blackskin who had swum the Colovia in full flood to burn the Thalmor supply train before Kendas. Kamois Twice-Bitten with his great axe that could cut a horse in two in a single blow. Gam-Kur Nine-Toes who had stormed the breach and Enden. She glanced at Dax, wondering what he made of all this. Did it matter to him? Was it just human nonsense far from Blackmarsh, none of his business? Was it any of hers? High Rock was on the other side of the province and Daggerfall even further. A disturbance up ahead dragged her out of such thoughts.

Three men in tattered pieces of armor had come out of the trees and were shouting at one of the wagon drivers. The man shouted back, his face red. Two women, possibly a wife and a daughter were drawn up atop the wagon, trying to keep out of the range of the grasping men. Kris and Dax exchanged looks. They weren’t in High Rock or Blackmarsh, but they both hurried forward. One of the bandits had stopped the wagon by grabbing hold of the reigns of the tired dray pulling it. The beast whickered and whined nervously.

 

“We are questioning refugees,” the leader snarled, “Ulfric Stormcloaks orders. Cant be too careful!” That brought a laugh from his men, who were continuing with their game of trying to grab the women.

“I suggest you sod off before we have to question you too outlanders,” he added, patting a rusted axe in threat. There was a slight rustle in the trees in the woodline above. Kris didn’t turn her head, but her eyes tracked upwards, making a pair of men, probably archers, crouching in the woods above.