Prelude: Part five
Part five of the prelude
I woke up feeling well rested. Kexu brought me a bowl of venison stew, along with a hefty ration of red wine. I was ravenous, so it tasted as if it had been cooked by the gods themselves, though Kexu was a much better healer than cook. When I was finished, I thanked him and promised to be back soon with his payment. I left the Xameer through a hidden back door.
It was early evening and the sun was setting. The streets were busy, and I had no doubt that Arnault and Varron had people watching them for me, hoping I'd show up. I had to be very careful, with my torn cloak covered in blood stains I would be easy to spot. Fortunately, I knew the area like the back of my hand and had a few tricks up my sleeve. One of these was the experience gained from years of climbing the massive trees of the Marsh in my younger days. I spotted a run-down building with a wall that offered plenty of climbing points on its loose planks. When the alleyway was empty, I quickly climbed it and ended up on the tiled roof of the house. One of the things I always liked about the Imperial City was how close the buildings tended to be, and how narrow the streets were, allowing me to cross great distances undetected by the street bellows when the sewers were inaccessible. Even the most experienced guards rarely looked up, and the same was true of informers.
I moved from rooftop to rooftop towards my house, careful not to make a sound or dislodge a tile. Fortunately, it hadn't rained for days, so the roofs were dry, which made my progress much easier. I stopped when I reached a house that overlooked my street. I crouched down and crawled to the edge, trying to spot any unwanted guests. I expected the building to be watched, in case my enemies had paid the Thieves' Guild to find me. My instincts were right. They were going to great lengths to hide, but I could tell that something was wrong. Across the street from my door was a beggar I had never seen before, sitting on the porch of an abandoned house. Above him, a window on the first floor had one of its shutters slightly open, when it was normally always closed. Finally, two men were sitting at a table at the corner of the street, playing cards and drinking beer. I recognised one of them, a Nord with a flower tattoo on his left cheek. I had seen him before, in the bar that served as the Thieves' Guild's public office, when I had come to pay the rent once. They had underestimated me, and they would pay the price. I crawled back from the edge and made my way to a dark alley that ran past the backyard of the house with the open shutter. I climbed over the fence and quietly picked the lock of a door that led inside. Invoking a small flame at the tip of my left forefinger, barely more than a candlelight in the pitch-black house, I entered a small kitchen that looked as if it hadn't been used for some time. Every surface was covered in dust and cobwebs. I walked further into the house until I came to a living room. The furniture had been piled up in one corner and there was not a single decoration on the walls. To my left I saw the door to the main road. Footprints had been left in the dust, leading from the door to a crooked-looking staircase leading up to the first floor. I followed them, and instead of even trying to walk on the wooden steps, which would creak, I actually walked on the much sturdier looking railing that followed the stairs. It was an exercise in balance, but I was used to it. I reached the first floor without a sound and saw him.
There, through a doorframe just in line with the stairs, was a silhouette sitting on a chair, looking through the narrow opening of the shutter, his head resting on crossed arms on the window frame. Beside him, on a small table, was a bow and a filled quiver, along with a dagger. He hadn't noticed my presence. I silently drew my dagger. I had to act quickly before he could make any noise. The wooden floor made it impossible to sneak up on him, so I jumped down from the railing and lunged at him. Before he had time to turn around to see what was coming at him, I grabbed his forehead with my left hand and drove my dagger across his exposed throat with my right before pushing forward hard. The blade sliced through his neck, severing his windpipe and arteries. Blood splattered on the wall in front of us, and the body, which belonged to a young Imperial woman, fell slowly as I carried her down so she wouldn't make any noise. When she was at my feet, I stood up. She looked up at me, her eyes wide open in shock, her body shaking in small convulsions, blood pooling around her. After a few seconds, the life left her eyes and she stopped moving, a last breath escaping her. I stepped over the body and looked down the street through the narrow open shutter. Not a sound, not a movement, the killing had gone unnoticed. I searched the woman and took her gold. Then I returned to the ground floor.
As I approached the main door, the fresh blood of my victim dripped slowly between the cracks in the wooden ceiling and splashed onto the orange tiles. I ignored it and peered through the keyhole instead. The 'beggar' was there, leaning against the door, possibly asleep. The door itself was held shut by a single latch. I quietly stepped out of the way and with a small kick opened the latch. The door swung open violently under the weight of the beggar, who fell backwards onto the pool of blood. Before he had time to react, I covered his mouth with my left hand and stabbed him three times with my right: once through the throat, once through the heart and once through the liver, all fatal blows. He died in much the same way as the woman above, without a sound, his blood adding to the growing puddle. He was an old Nord with a large, dirty grey beard. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled his body all the way inside. I peered through the door to check on the two card players in the corner. They hadn't noticed anything yet. I closed the door and searched the dead Nord. To my surprise, the man was probably not a member of the guild. He had no weapons and hardly any coin. Just a poor soul who had probably been promised a few coins in exchange for calling out when he saw a blue Argonian entering the house in front of him. Killing him had been necessary, I could not risk being discovered, but I still felt sorry for him. I closed his eyes and said a short prayer for his soul. Then I went back upstairs.
I slowly opened the shutter all the way. The alleyway appeared fully below, with the two men in the corner still concentrating on their game. I took the bow from the table and strapped the quiver to my back. When I was done, I notched an arrow and hid outside the window frame before deliberately knocking over a chair. It crashed loudly on the floor. I waited, holding my breath. After a few seconds I heard a man's voice calling from the street.
"Ilde, are you all right?"
I didn't answer. I heard the man's footsteps as he approached, muttering something about this useless beggar and recruit. The sound of him trying to open the door was my cue. I stepped into the window frame. The companion of the approaching man had stayed at the table, still sitting and looking in my direction. As soon as he saw me, he started to get up. I took aim with my bow and released the arrow. The man screamed in pain as it hit him in the upper chest. I dropped the bow and jumped to the edge of the window, dagger in hand. Below, the Nord I had identified as a member of the guild looked up at me with a surprised expression on his face. I fell on top of him. The impact sent us both to the ground, but I recovered much faster. As he struggled to get to his feet, I lunged at him, and with a powerful shove of my shoulder, sent him flying into the door of the abandoned house. The hinges broke and the door came crashing down on the beggar's body, with the thief on top. He was completely stunned. I went up to him. As soon as he collected his thoughts and saw me, he tried to kick me. I deflected his foot and with a quick slash cut the ligaments at the back of his knee. He screamed in pain and tried to grab a knife from a sheath on his belt, but before he could, I jumped on top of him and straddled him, pinning his arms with my legs. I slowly placed my dagger at his throat and lowered my head to his, looking into his eyes. I could see the fear in them. I spoke in a calm, clear voice.
"I'm going to ask you some questions. Any lies will cost you a finger. Nod if you understand."
He nodded.
"Good. Who hired you to find me?"
"I don't know. We got our orders from the Guild Master."
A lie. I grabbed a throwing knife with my left hand and stabbed the thumb of his right hand at the root. The finger separated from the hand and he screamed.
"You lie. All the business is being done in this tavern of yours. You may not know his name, but you have seen the customer. Speak.
-It was Lord Arnault Jalwen! Older imperial, rich, grey hair, little bear.
-Was he alone?
-Yes!
His eyes tried to escape mine as he answered. Another lie. I stuck him again, this time in the middle finger. Another agonised cry.
"Another lie, another finger. I ask again. Was he alone?
-No! he replied, sobbing with pain.
-Who was with him?
-A Dunmer.
-Describe him.
-Short, small goatee, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was wearing a red robe with gold symbols on it."
That was Varron all right. It was confirmation of my worst suspicions. Arnault had indeed betrayed me and was working with Varron to take me out. I continued.
"What were your instructions if you saw me?
-Not to engage and to warn Lord Jalwen immediately.
-Where?
-In his manor, in the temple district.
-What was the password for authentication?
-What password?
I stabbed again, this time aiming for the little finger. He screamed again.
-Don't take me for a fool. You would have used a password to prove that you were not speaking under threat. I'll ask again. What is the password?
-The lizard basks in blood!
He shouted his answer and then sobbed quietly. I had all the answers I needed.
-Good. What is your name?
-Kercht.
-Thank you Kercht, that was all I needed to know.
With a quick flick of my wrist, I slit his throat. His eyes opened wide. He tried to scream in pain and shock, but only a wet gurgle escaped his severed windpipe as he began to drown in his own blood. He struggled beneath me, but I straddled him and he lacked the strength to throw me off. Eventually his movements became sluggish and he expired one last time. I got up and pulled his body away from the broken door. I searched him, but he had nothing of interest except a few coins. I left the body beside the dead beggar and grabbed the door. The hinges were ripped off by the force of the impact, and I was forced to balance it on the door frame to make it look closed from a distance. I walked down the alley towards the man I had shot. He had crawled a few metres on his back towards the main road, probably hoping for help, but none had come. He was alive, but his wound was fatal. The arrow had missed the heart but pierced the lung. The man was coughing blood and looking very pale. He had only a few minutes left to live. I stabbed him through the heart to end his suffering. When he was dead, I lifted his body and hid it in a nearby barrel. Then I went to my house, opposite the one where I had conducted the interrogation. I opened the door to my room and went straight to the chest. Inside, I took my two sabers and fastened them to their familiar places on my back. Then I grabbed a travelling rucksack, which I had already filled with everything I needed as a precaution, and slung it over my shoulder. I left the room without looking back, knowing it was the last time I would see it. Then I made my way to my last stop for the night. The Temple District.
I travelled through the Waterfront District on the rooftops, switching to the sewers once I reached the city walls. I emerged from them away from Arnault's manor, as he must have had them guarded. He probably knew them as well as I did. I left my rucksack in a hidden corner and returned to the surface. It was very late now, and only beggars, orphaned children and guards were left roaming the streets, making my progress through the back alleys much easier. Every now and then a patrol would come along, but it wasn't too difficult to avoid them. When I arrived at a street that ran parallel to the mansion's street, I climbed onto the roofs using a gutter and crawled slowly to the edge where I had a good vantage point. The house was there, on the other side of the street, and it was obvious that it was full of guards. It had three floors, and in each of them flickering lights were occasionally seen through the windows, probably candles held by the guards as they patrolled. There was no garden, and two guards were stationed at the front door. The façade was made of white stone with a tiled roof in the typical style of the Imperial City. The windows on the first two floors had been reinforced with bars, making access through them impossible. I had been inside once before, to get instructions from Arnault when the Cliff Racer was closed for renovations, but I had never been further than the ground floor. I remembered a luxurious house with high walls covered with magnificent paintings and various trophies, curtains of rare textiles and large rooms filled with fine furniture. Varron was staying there with his men, and if you added Arnault's bodyguards to the mix, an attack on the mansion would be suicide... I had to avoid Varron and reduce the number of guards inside. I knew just what to do.
After a few minutes of waiting at the corner of an alley, a small figure emerged from the night and ran in my direction. As soon as he passed me, I called out to him.
"Hey, kid. Come over here."
It was a young Imperial boy, probably about ten. He had dirty, curly dark hair, his clothes were full of holes, he was barefoot and obviously malnourished. There were many such children in the capital, all with the same story. All orphaned by the many wars of the Empire, or abandoned at birth and raised on the streets. They lived a violent life, full of hardship, and would do anything for a few coins, which usually led them to all sorts of jobs, such as delivery, thieving, or in some cases, prostitution. The child turned his head to see me. He hesitated. I couldn't blame him, after all I was a stranger in the night and an Argonian to boot.
"Do not be afraid, I have no intention of harming you. I have a job for you that will only take a few minutes of your time."
The boy looked at me, a frightened expression on his face. I raised my open hands for him to see that they were empty.
"I'm expected somewhere for a delivery," he replied at length.
-How much does your boss pay you a day?
-Two septims.
-I'll pay you ten for just ten minutes of your time, in advance."
Judging by the look he gave me, that got his attention. I continued.
"I just need you to deliver a message to a man just around the corner."
-All right. What's the message?
-Before that. You have never seen me, do you understand? You were sent from the waterfront by a man called Kercht, a Nord with a flower tattoo on his left cheek. The message he asked you to deliver is "The lizard basks in blood". That's it. Repeat everything I said.
-I have been sent from the waterfront by a Nord with a flower tattoo on his left cheek called Kercht. His message is "The lizard basks in blood".
-Good. I want you to tell that to the guards at the gate of Lord Jalwen's mansion, just around the corner. You can't miss it, it's the only house on the street with guards at the door. Got it?
-Yes, sir.
-Good. Here.
I gave the boy the agreed price.
"One last thing. Wait here for five minutes and then go."
He nodded with a smile. I retreated into the darkness.
I was hiding in the dark of an alley, in the backyard of a house with a clear view of Arnault's house. The guards were still there, standing still, but obviously used to long shifts and fully awake. The boy walked past me in the alley, not seeing me, and ran straight towards the men. When he reached them, he spoke to them in a low voice for a few seconds. The man to the left of the door patted him on the shoulder, unlocked the door with a key and went inside, while the boy ran off and disappeared down another street. Over the course of a few minutes, the whole building woke up. Lights appeared in every room, first on the top floor and then all the way down to the ground floor. Finally, the door opened and a group of soldiers came out, led by none other than Varron. The mere sight of him made me feel as if an icy finger ran down my spine. His party consisted of about twenty guards in heavy armour, led by the most perfidious Telvanni Master that ever walked Nirn. I wouldn't have stood a chance against them if they had surrounded me in my house, as they had hopped to do. They turned right as they left the manor grounds, and the noisy procession moved quickly towards the waterfront.
I moved as soon as they were out of sight. Even with the reduced number of guards, it would be impossible to sneak past all of them. The two at the door were still there, and probably several more inside. Fortunately, I had no intention of sneaking in. I adjusted my cloak so that my tail was hidden and my face was in shadow. Then I took on the walk of a drunken man. The guards spotted me as soon as I left the dark alley, but they didn't react. To them, I was just another drunken citizen trying to make his way home. I walked towards them until I was standing directly in front of the man to the left of the door. Clearly annoyed by my proximity, he held out a hand to push me away.
"Get lost, drunkard."
Those were his last words. As soon as I felt his hand touch my shoulder, I grabbed a knife from my belt and plunged it straight into his throat. As he fell, I struck the other guard in the throat with the edge of my hand. The force of the blow knocked him to the ground with a loud crash, as if a cupboard full of frying pans had just collapsed. He tried to get up, but I grabbed his neck in a chokehold from behind and held him down. His breathing was cut off, he panicked and tried to hit me, but he couldn't quite reach me as it forced him to try and get me over his head at an awkward angle. I didn't have much time, so I cut it short. I twisted his neck with a sharp movement of my arms, and with a loud cracking sound, he stopped moving. I let go of the body and stood up. His colleague had propped himself up on his elbows, the knife still in his throat. I walked over to him and kicked the hilt of the knife violently. The man fell back onto the pavement with a metallic clang. I realised that it was the tip of the knife that had made that sound, as it had gone all the way through the man's neck under the force of my blow.
I grabbed the keychain from his belt and opened the door. It led into a large deserted hallway, lit by a few candles on a chandelier. It was exactly as I remembered it. The floor was beautifully tiled with alternating squares of white and black marble, and the high walls were covered with crimson wallpaper, complemented by expensive-looking paintings and draperies. There were several doors on each side, and at the back a white marble staircase led to the upper floors. I went back outside and dragged the two bodies in one by one and locked the door. Then I went further into the house. Arnault was probably upstairs in the master bedroom. But I had to clear the house before I could get to him. I had no intention of keeping our conversation cordial, and I didn't need any uninvited guests.
I opened the first door on my right, which led to the dining room. It was where Arnault had given me my instructions when I had come to the manor. I remembered it as a large rectangular room with a long mahogany table and comfortable chairs. But now it had been transformed into an improvised barracks. The table had been moved to the side to make room for bed rolls. All of them were now empty, except for two, where an elf and a Nord were snoring loudly. I moved slowly towards them in silence. The floor was littered with empty bottles of mead, which slowed my progress, but once I reached them I made quick work of them, cutting their throats in their sleep without a sound. They reeked of alcohol, indicating that they must have been left behind due to their inebriation. Once they were finished, I checked the rest of the room. At the far end was a door leading to a kitchen, which was empty. Inside, a door led to a pantry, while another led outside to a small enclosed courtyard. It was decorated with neatly trimmed bushes and colourful plants, and had a large well right in the middle. I saw no movement, so I went back inside. As I passed the two dead men in the dining room, I quickly searched them and grabbed their coin purses. They were quite heavy, confirming my suspicion that these were no ordinary mercenaries, but the more expensive and well-trained variety.
I walked back to the entrance, this time choosing another door. It led into a comfortable living room filled with sofas and armchairs. At the far end of the room, a huge lit fireplace of white marble dominated the space, surmounted by an equally huge portrait of Arnault, dressed as a lord in rich robes, looking back at the viewer from above with a proud and arrogant expression on his face. But I ignored that for now and drew my saber. In front of the fireplace, a man sat in an ornate armchair, enjoying the warmth of the fire. He had heard me come in, but didn't turn to see me. He called out with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Bjorn, I'm out of wine. Get me another bottle."
I didn't answer, but rushed towards him, sword raised. He heard the sudden movement and turned to see what had caused it. When he saw me, he acted quickly and rolled out of the chair, toppling it with a thud and dodging my blade as it went down towards where his head had been a moment ago. His sword was resting in its scabbard against the chair, and he'd managed to grab it. He turned to face me, the cold steel of his blade now visible in his right hand, raised in a defensive position. We circled each other, both of us measuring our opponent. He was an Imperial in his thirties, with broad shoulders and thick arms. Despite the surprise of my attack, his hands were steady on the hilt of his blade and his gaze was fixed on mine. This was a seasoned warrior, capable of casting aside fear in the face of a deadly opponent. There would be no room for error. He attacked first, his sword moving sideways in a slashing motion. I deflected it by bringing my own sword down on it, and while his guard was open, I tried to lunge forward and stab him in the throat with the dagger I had drawn from my lower back with my left hand. He had anticipated it and lunged backwards, out of reach of my knife. Then he attacked, sending a flurry of blows my way. I blocked them all, but had to move backwards until I felt a wall behind me with the tip of my tail. I dodged a vertical blow by stepping sideways and attacked. He was an admirable warrior and defended himself remarkably well against my blows. I attacked from all directions, and he blocked or dodged them all, showing form and reflexes that were beyond reproach. But as he did so, he lost ground to me and moved closer and closer to the fireplace. I aimed a powerful roundhouse at his head. He blocked with his sword, but the force of the impact was enough to send him staggering backwards. His feet collided with the overturned chair and he fell onto his back. I didn't waste the opportunity and lunged forward before he could recover. He tried to prop himself up with his sword raised, but in his position he couldn't parry fast enough. I thrust my saber forward under his sword, aiming for his upper chest, and struck. The sword went through his breastbone and out his back. The man let out a loud scream of pain and grabbed the blade that had impaled him with his left hand, while he raised his sword in his right, preparing to strike. I was quicker. I pulled the bloody sword from his body and aimed for the neck with a circular strike. The head separated from the rest of the body and rolled to the ground. The rest of him fell backwards, blood flowing from the severed neck and soaking the carpet.
I turned and left the room. The man's dying scream had probably been heard throughout the house, and now the enemy would come to me. I left the living room and headed for the stairs. Just as I was starting to climb them, two armour-clad guards came running down to meet me. The one in front had a spear, which he lowered and thrust forward at me when I was in range. I parried the tip with my sword, grabbed the pole with my left hand and pulled. The guard held the spear with both hands and made the mistake of not letting go. He was pulled forward with his weapon and missed a step, sending him tumbling down the stairs towards me. I stepped aside and grabbed my dagger in my left hand. As the falling guard flew past me, I stabbed him where his armour didn't protect him, just below his left armpit, and left the blade there. I didn't have time to aim very well, but the dagger must have pierced his heart, for the man groaned in pain and didn't get up when he reached the bottom of the stairs.
I still had to deal with the second guard. He was using a heavy two-handed steel sword which he swung wildly at me. It was obvious that he wasn't as well trained as the man I had faced in the living room, but the fact that he was in a favourable position above me on the stairs gave him an advantage that compensated for his lack of discipline. I couldn't get close enough to strike him because his sword had more range than my saber. But it also meant that he couldn't aim his blows very well at me, and I easily avoided them all. This seemed to frustrate him, because he started to come down the stairs towards me again, swinging his sword. This was his fatal mistake. I timed my move between two swings of the massive blade. As he went down a step, I moved forward, staying low, and with my left hand I grabbed his back leg and pulled. He fell onto his back with a loud metallic crash. I didn't waste any time. I leapt over him, straddled him and stabbed him sideways in his exposed throat with the throwing knife I had grabbed from my harness. As soon as the blade was in, I pulled back and sliced his neck, severing his windpipe and vital blood vessels. He dropped his sword and, with a bloody, bubbling sound, brought his hands to his neck, hopelessly trying to hold back the blood that was pouring out of his body. I rose from him and began to climb the stairs again, stopping after one step. At the top of the stairs, a bewildered Arnault looked at me, frozen, with a frightened expression on his face. He was dressed in a fur bathrobe and had a flashy dagger in his right hand. I smiled.
"Were you going to leave without greeting me, Arnault? Where are your manners?"
He didn't answer, choosing instead to run up the stairs. I gave chase. Reaching the top floor, he dashed through a door. I followed him through several deserted antechambers, all gleaming with luxury, with portraits of what I assumed were his ancestors hanging on the walls every few steps. I had to be careful as he had probably set traps for this sort of situation. But fortunately I had him to guide me. I followed him, matching his every step, until he arrived at a large wooden door, which he opened and closed with surprising speed. Before I could reach it, I heard the metallic sound of many locks closing on the other side. I sheathed my sword and gave the door a small knock as I arrived.
"Don't act like a child, Arnault. Open it."
A muffled voice answered from the other side. He was trying hard to sound calm, but the fear was obvious in his words.
"You think I'm a fool? I know what you'll do to me if you come in. You better run. Varron will be back any minute, and when he realises that you tricked him, he'll be furious!"
I couldn't believe my ears. Arnault, the master assassin I had served unquestioningly for years and assumed to be a formidable opponent despite his advanced age, had just turned into a scarred rabbit hiding in his burrow. And he had just inadvertently given me some very useful information! The fact that he was still behind that door, waiting for Varren's return and not already gone, meant that this room had no other exit, at least none that he could use. And the very fact that he was (rightly) afraid of what I would do if I got my hands on him was an admission of his treachery. I inspected the door. It was solid oak and obviously quite thick. It would be impossible to break it down without a battering ram, and I couldn't throw a fireball powerful enough to blow it open. Fortunately, I had something very similar with me. From a pouch in my harness, I grabbed a phial containing oil from a mature bog willow, a plant from the south of the Black Marsh. I opened it and poured the liquid onto the side of the door, close to where the hinges would be.
"I'm coming in, Arnault, whether you like it or not. I suggest you move away from the door."
With that, I grabbed a second vial, which was in a completely separate bag from the first, and took several steps back until I was as far away from the door as I could get while still being able to throw with accuracy. I took aim and tossed the second vial towards the door where I had poured the contents of the first. The vial I had just thrown contained perfumed snapper oil, another plant native to the Black Marsh. I had acquired both from Kexu at a high price. It was one of the tricks of the Shadowscales that my mentor had taught me. These two oils were completely harmless on their own. But if you mixed even one drop of them, the results would be spectacular, which was exactly what I needed now. The flask collided with the oak door and shattered. As soon as the two liquids touched, there was a massive explosion that shook the walls of the house. The shockwave sent all the furniture flying. Even I staggered backwards, although I had been prepared for it. But it had the desired effect: the hinges of the door couldn't withstand the massive pressure caused by the explosion and were shattered, leaving the massive door on the ground. And on the other side, Arnault lay on the ground, looking completely stunned.
I moved slowly forward, the bloody sword in my hand clearly visible. As I entered the room, Arnault seemed to regain his senses and crawled backwards, terrified. He was naked under his bathrobe, which had opened during his fall, exposing his body. He did not look like a professional assassin. Where one would have expected a lean man with many scars from years of dangerous and violent work, I saw only a small, old and slightly overweight soft aristocrat. If I hadn't known him, I would have assumed that the only way he got a scar was by accidentally cutting himself with his knife while spreading butter on a slice of toast! The room we were in added to this impression. Far from being a panic room stocked with weapons and useful supplies, it was a luxurious bedroom fit for an emperor. All the furniture looked as if it had cost a year's worth of contracts, from the canopy bed with silk sheets to the desk made of precious wood. Even the chamber pot was made of gold! Arnault raised a feeble hand and pointed his dagger at me. I swatted it away with a quick blow of my saber. The dagger flew across the room and lodged in one of the posts of the bed. I grabbed him by the neck and dragged him towards the desk, slamming him against it. I then grabbed a nearby stool and sat down in front of him. I used his bathrobe to clean the blood off my sword and sheathed it. I looked at him for a minute without saying anything, just to add to the tension. Finally I spoke.
"So. How much am I worth now?
-Wh... What?
-People have been putting a price tag on me ever since I was taken from the Marsh. When I was first sold, it was for two hundred drakes, the standard price for a healthy young slave. As I grew up and became stronger, my value increased. When I was an adult, Varren had me appraised at a thousand drakes. You paid me a thousand septims for a standard contract, that was what my work was worth to you. Now tell me. What was my life worth to you?
-I... I..."
I grabbed his left hand and placed it on the desk, holding it there. With my right hand I took a throwing knife from my belt and placed the blade over his index finger, ready to cut it off.
"I'll ask you nicely one last time. How much were you offered for my head?
-Twenty thousand septims!" he replied, crying.
-That wasn't so hard, you see? Now tell me, what were you going to do with the money?
-What... What do you mean?
-My meaning is clear. What were you going to do with the money?
-Pay some debts!
I brought the blade down, slowly but steadily. He screamed in agony as I took my time severing the finger. When I had finished, I moved the knife to the next digit and continued.
"Look around you. You are richer than the gods. What debts?
-I have huge debts," he replied between sobs. I inherited my wealth, but I've struggled to maintain it!
-Interesting. So you betrayed me to maintain your lavish lifestyle.
I was struck by an interesting question.
"Tell me, how much would you charge a client for a standard contract?
-Si... Six thousand septims."
I used the knife to cut off all the remaining fingers on his hand except for the thumb. He screamed at the top of his lungs, begging me to stop and that he was telling the truth. The smell of urine filled the air, mixing with the smell of blood. He was so scared he had pissed himself. When I was finished, I placed the blade on his solitary thumb.
"I... I was tellin' the truth...
-I know. And what you said made me quite angry. It means that for every kill I made, you took almost all of the reward for yourself. Not for the Brotherhood, or to advance Sithis's cause in any way, but simply to support your extravagant lifestyle while I struggled to make ends meet.
-There is no Brotherhood!
-Really? How come?
-They are all dead! You and I are the last living members in Cyrodiil, the other sanctuaries are gone! The Penitus Oculatus discovered them and destroyed them and their inhabitants years ago. And good riddance!
The Penitus Oculatus was the organisation officially charged with the Emperor's security. In reality, they were his agents, doing the Empire's dirty work, and had been a mortal enemy of the Brotherhood since their founding. They operated outside the law and were not squeamish about their methods. Torture, assassination, blackmail, all these and more were in their playbook. They were to be avoided at all costs, and the presence of one of their agents near a target was grounds for cancellation of a contract.
-So how did you get away from them? I asked.
-I didn't escape, I was spared! I was deemed more useful alive than dead and avoided the gallows or prison. I was allowed to keep my status and wealth, in return for which I had to get their approval for all contracts and carry out their dirty work!
It certainly explained why my jobs were never aimed at anything higher than successful new merchants or mildly popular politicians in opposition to the Empire's policies. The Emperor's Council had turned the Brotherhood into a tool to get rid of their opposition, and Arnault had been only too happy to comply if it meant he could retain his privileges and his fortune. And I had been so naive as to have no inkling of it! Everything I had done in the last five years had not been for the Brotherhood, it had been to protect some rich and corrupt politicians and their interests. If Arnault had any loyalty to the Brotherhood or to Sithis, he would have died a thousand deaths before even considering this deal. But the old man I was dealing with seemed to lack any backbone, which made me suddenly realise something.
"You were never a Speaker, were you? You were put in this position, not by a listener or other speakers, but by the Penitus Oculatus. Why you?
-Because I was a new recruit! I had only done two jobs for the Brotherhood, and both were beggars high on Skooma. The Penitus Oculatus killed everyone who knew I was part of the Brotherhood and put me in touch with surviving assassins from other towns who had never met me. In this way, I became the de facto leader of a small network of assassins who were persuaded to act for the Brotherhood. That's how we met, you were spotted crossing the border from Morrowind.
-How? I asked, surprised. I had gone to great lengths to remain undetected.
-They had heard of what you'd done in Morrowind. When you crossed the border, you matched their description, but they were unsure. They confirmed your identity by sending me to recruit you.
That was terrible news. It meant I didn't just have to worry about Varron, I also had the Penitus Oculatus on my tail. They had knowledge of me, my appearance, my abilities. They had agents all over Tamriel, and there was nothing that happened in the Imperial City that they didn't know about. They would not tolerate a rogue Shadowscale with a potential grudge against the Elder Council roaming free in the city. I could evade them for a few days, but eventually they would catch up with me and put a dagger in my back or put me in chains. I needed to put some distance between myself and them, and that meant getting out of Cyrodil, somewhere where it would be harder for them to track me. But first I had to deal with Arnault.
"So, to summarise, you betrayed me twice. First you gave me to the Penitus Oculatus to save your skin, then you gave me to Varron to save your coffers.
I chopped off his thumb, leaving his left hand with no fingers. He screamed, and when I let go, he clutched his bloody member to his chest and rolled on the floor in pain. Between sobs he spoke in a panicked voice.
"I can make it right! Spare me and I'll put Varron in a vulnerable position for you. Surely you hate him more than you hate me!"
He wore a golden necklace around his neck, set with large gems. I grabbed it and pulled him up to my face.
"That is an interesting offer," I said calmly. One that I might well be tempted to accept. But unfortunately, you are missing a crucial piece of information. I'm not going to go after Varron, I'm sworn not to do so, and I intend to keep what I've promised. Besides, why should I trust you? No, tonight is the night you die, Speaker."
I grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the canopy bed. He crashed into the post where his dagger had lodged. As he screamed and begged me to spare him, I grabbed the blade and pulled it out. It was a luxurious dagger, with a thin, straight blade of steel. The hilt was made of what looked like silver, and rubies were set into the guard and pommel on both sides. It was certainly beautiful, probably extremely expensive, but it was terrible as a weapon. The balance was all wrong because of the large gems, and the grip was uncomfortable. But it was good enough for what I had in mind. I grabbed it and stabbed Arnault repeatedly. I only aimed at the non-vital parts, but that didn't make much difference to him. He screamed like a pig being slaughtered, begging for his life, raising his hands in a hopeless attempt to defend himself. I kept stabbing him, again and again and again, until my arm hurt and I was out of breath. I took a few moments to calm myself and looked at my work. Arnault was a bloody mess, his body twitching on the floor. His eyes were wide open in fear and pain and he looked up at me. I had no idea how long I had been working on him, but it was definitely at least a few minutes, judging by the number of stab wounds covering his naked body. None of them were fatal on their own, but together they would soon bleed him to death. Once I had calmed down, I knelt beside him and placed the tip of the blade on his chest, just above his heart. I was about to deal him the final blow when I heard a commotion in the street. The sound of dozens of men in armour marching. Varron was back.
They had realised that something was wrong when they saw that the two guards normally stationed at the entrance were missing. There was a loud bang as they tried to break down the door. It was very bad news. I couldn't have been in the house for more than an hour, I had hoped to be able to leave before Varron returned with his men. During my exploration of the house, I had found no other exit than the front door, and as capable as I was, I would not be able to fight my way out of his grasp again. My only option was to hide or create a distraction. I stood up and thought. The room was the full width of the building, with windows on both sides. I went to the window at the back of the building and opened it. It led down to the garden below. The fall was too high and there was nothing I could reach to break it. I would certainly break my legs if I fell from that height. Unless... An idea dawned on me. I was able to reach the well if I aimed the jump right. Once inside the house, they'd do a thorough search, and if they didn't find me inside, they'd look for me outside, and probably have a look at the well too. I needed to create chaos and confusion for this hiding place to have any chance of working. The plan formed in my mind. I went to Arnault. His body was cold from the loss of blood, but he was still alive. I tore off his expensive-looking necklace and threw it aside before carrying him to the window overlooking the street. I think he had a clue as to what I was up to, because he begged me in a weak voice to stop, and made a feeble attempt to push himself away from my shoulder. But that didn't stop me, and with a strong push I threw him through the window. The glass shattered and he fell screaming to his death. His naked body hit the pavement head first, and his skull split open in a wet crack, spilling its contents all over the pavement. All the men, including Varron, looked at the body in shock and quickly looked up to where it had come from, where they saw me, arms crossed on the windowsill, looking down at them.
"How was the walk, Varron?"
He let out a huge roar, full of rage. I ducked just in time to avoid a wave of flame aimed at me. The heat was intense, and anything in the way caught fire instantly. I was sure that Varron would set the house on fire in the hope that I would be burned alive. Like all Dunmer, he had an unhealthy obsession with fire, and fire was just the kind of confusion and chaos I needed. I looked for expensive items to grab, as I would need some money for the journey out of Cyrodil, and I needed to pay off my debt to Kexu. I had the necklace and the bloody dagger, to which I added a heavy gold purse that lay on the desk, as well as various other pieces of jewellery. In the end, I had a considerable amount of valuables on the floor. I had to find something to carry them in, and quickly. The ceiling was beginning to catch fire, and I could hear the unmistakable sounds of various fire spells exploding from the floors below. In the street, Varron was screaming and laughing hysterically.
"Burn, you n'wha!"
I looked for a container, but couldn't find one. It was then that I saw the ideal one. I grabbed my loot and dropped it all into the golden chamber pot (which was, thankfully, empty.) I then took a bed sheet that hadn't caught fire yet and wrapped the chamber pot in it, tying it in a tight knot so that it wouldn't open. I hurried to the window overlooking the garden. Smoke was beginning to fill the room and the heat was becoming unbearable. I took aim and threw the parcel at the well, it hit the side but fell in. I heard a crash behind me. The roof was on fire and about to collapse. I stood on the edge. The drop was long. If I missed, I would crash to the ground, breaking at least my legs and leaving me powerless to defend myself. My hesitation was cut short by the sound of the roof cracking behind me. I jumped. A burst of flames followed. The fall felt much longer than it actually was, as if time had slowed down. I had aimed correctly, if a little too far. The well swallowed me up with great speed and I crashed violently into its side, knocking the wind out of me. I felt something snap in my wrist, quickly followed by a sharp pain. I fell a few more metres and splashed into the cold water. I swam back to the surface. I could only see the night sky overhead through the small opening of the well, stars blending with the sparks carried by the wind from the burning house, indistinguishable from one another. I took in the beautiful sight for a moment and dove down.
The well was deep, at least a few metres, and I swam to the bottom. There I found a couple of gold coins, which I put into my pocket, and my wrapped plunder, which had sunk to the bottom. I made myself comfortable and waited. Minutes passed, then hours. The light filtering through the water gradually lost it's red hue as the fire began to diminish in intensity, then took on the bright crimson colour of the dawn sky as sunrise approached. At some point in the early morning, I felt some vibrations in the stone walls of the well, which I interpreted as the manor house collapsing. At what I guessed to be midday, a small silhouette appeared at the entrance to the well. It looked down for a second and disappeared. Being surrounded by bigots sometimes had its advantages, as they didn't tend to educate themselves about those on the receiving end of their prejudices. Many of these elves and men were unaware of my kind's ability to breathe underwater indefinitely, otherwise they would have at least tried to explore the depths of the well. And so I continued to wait, undisturbed. My left wrist was clearly broken, but it didn't hurt too much while I was underwater. But climbing back to the surface was going to be a challenge.
I decided to make my move when night came again. I swam back to the surface, the golden chamber pot tied around my back with the sheets it was wrapped in. I was quite a sight, a Shadowscale swimming in a well with a golden chamberpot attached behind him, next to a saber. There had been comic stories started with more plausible settings than this one. I emerged as slowly and quietly as I could, and listened for the next minute. I could hear shouts in the distance, but nothing that sounded close to the well. Slowly I began to climb. The old stones were no longer perfectly fitted to each other, which gave me a lot of easy holds. I climbed slowly and carefully, as I only had one arm and wanted to reduce my chances of falling, which would make a loud splash and alert anyone near the well. Eventually, though, I reached the edge of the well. I slowly raised my head over the edge and looked around. The garden seemed empty, and where the manor once stood, there was only a large pile of smoking rubble. Men were busy searching through the ruins, probably looking for bodies, but they didn't look like soldiers. They were dressed as workers, and there was even a priest among them. I saw no sign of Varron and his men. I climbed out of the well and sat down on the opposite side of it from the house, so as not to be seen. There I carefully wrapped the chamber pot back up to cover it. To say it was conspicuous was an understatement, and I didn't need the attention. When I was done, I stood up and tried to sneak past the men. I had to walk through the rubble, and what was left of the walls offered little cover. As I tried to sneak past the priest, a burnt wooden beam gave way under my foot, sending me stumbling forward. I reflexively raised my left hand to protect myself, only to realise my mistake when it hit the ground. Pain exploded in my wrist, and I couldn't hold back an agonised groan that was heard by the robbed priest. He turned to see me on the floor.
"Are you all right, my child?" he asked as he approached me, offering his hand to help me to my feet. I declined and stood back up myself. He wore an amulet of Arkay, the god of funeral rites, over his robes. In my current state, and loaded as I was, killing him without the other workers noticing would have been difficult at best. And the murder of a priest would not have been the most subtle of escapes. I had to talk my way out of it.
"Father, I'm looking for a friend of mine who used to work here. What has happened?
-We don't know. We have found four bodies so far, horribly burned. The fire started last night, apparently by a crazed Dunmer mage. When the guards tried to stop him, he killed several of them and has been on the run ever since. Was your friend an Argonian?
-Yes. He... Worked here as a servant. I'll look for him elsewhere. Perhaps he left before all this happened.
-May Arkay's light follow you, my child. I'll pray for your friend's safety.
-Thank you.
I had a feeling he didn't have much faith in my story. But he had seen the sabers slung across my back and was smart enough not to ask any questions. I walked out of the rubble and into the street. I had no idea what time it was, but it was late enough that there were few people left on the streets. I didn't linger and quickly made my way to the nearest entrance to the sewers. Climbing down the ladder with one hand was a challenge, but after a few minutes I was safely at the bottom, and after retrieving the bag I had stashed, I made my way towards the waterfront. It was quite a long walk, which gave me time to think.
Varron was on the run, which was very good news. Even with all his wealth and connections, he couldn't just go around killing guards in the Emperor's City and setting it on fire without consequences. He'd probably bribe his way back on to the right side of the law, but that would take some time, during which he'd have to go into hiding. And I had a hunch that his men would be none too happy to have been dragged into a confrontation with the authorities as well. If he had any sense, he would have fled to Morrowind. For all he knew, I was dead, though he wouldn't believe it until my body was found. And when it became clear that I hadn't burned with the mannor, he would come after me again. I also had the Penitus Oculatus to worry about. When news of Arnault's death reached them, if it hadn't already, they would be on the lookout for me immediately. I was too much of a threat to be left free or alive.
I had to leave Cyrodil altogether. But where to? I was unsure. Elsweyr and Valenwood were part of the Aldmeri Dominion, along with the Summerset Isles, and were openly hostile to outsiders. I had no intention of living under the rule of a despotic government known for its indiscriminate purges and imprisonment of suspected foreign agents, which in practice meant all foreigners. Black Marsh seemed an obvious choice, but it was out of the question. Varron wouldn't hesitate to burn entire villages to the ground to find me, and I'd rather turn myself in than have the tribes of Saxhleel suffer in my name. Morrowind was out of the question for obvious reasons. High Rock certainly sounded like a good place for an assassin, with all its political intrigues and competing noble houses. But the area was saturated with assassins, spies, agents and bounty hunters. I'd be identified pretty quickly and either killed or sold to Varron. That left me with Hammerfell or Skyrim. Of the two, Skyrim sounded like the best option. I'd heard about an escalating civil war between a secessionist faction and the Empire. Such conflicts are perfect for someone like me to disappear into, as they tend to be very confusing, making the fog of war all the easier to hide behind. It's a big country, so there's plenty of room to hide in the wilderness if someone was after me. I could work as a bounty hunter, a lucrative activity in a country in crisis. As long as I remained discreet, I would be able to live freely there without too much fear of being discovered.
After a while, I reached a drain that led directly to an area near the waterfront. I opened the rusty iron gate and stepped out of the sewers. The night air was fresh and salty, and I took a moment to appreciate it. The sewers were great for moving undetected, but the smells were obviously terrible. I made my way to the Xameer. It was early in the night and the streets were still crowded with people, most of them drunk. I avoided them by taking several detours through small alleys until I reached the backyard of the Xameer. I entered the back door, which led into the pantry, where the entrance to Kexu's hidden office was. I crossed the room to the door leading to the busy taproom and opened it slightly, leaving it ajar without showing myself. I didn't have to wait long for Kexu to notice and get the message. He entered the pantry and closed the door behind him. I sat on a barrel and waited for him to appear. When he saw me, he smiled.
"I thought I would never see you again!
-I said I would honour my debt to you, and I meant it. But I need your talents again."
He opened the secret door and motioned for me to follow, which I eagerly did. My wrist was killing me and I was looking forward to having it healed. I descended the stairs after him and, in exactly the same way as two days before, he sat with his arm crossed at the side of his desk and asked me.
"What seems to be the problem this time?
-It'll have to be mended, I said, pointing to my limp left hand.
-Of course! But first things first, your debt."
I removed the parcel from my back and unwrapped it on the floor in front of him, revealing the golden chamber pot and it's contents.
"I believe this should be enough to cover my debt, plus a few extra services."
At the sight of my haul, his mouth dropped wide open and his tail went limp on the desk behind him. I continued.
"I will leave the city and head north. I need you to heal my wrist. After that, I'll need some travel supplies, along with maps and suitable clothing for the cold weather. If you can get me all that by tomorrow evening, with five hundred septims, it is all yours, I said, motioning to the loot. This is not negotiable, what I have brought you will be worth twenty times what you spend to get me what I have asked for.
He didn't answer for a moment, still processing the fact that I'd just casually dropped more money in his basement than he'd probably made in a decade. Eventually he got over his surprise.
"We have a deal."
Just an hour later, I was lying on a sofa next to a small, warm fireplace, enjoying a glass of delicious red wine in one of the spare bedrooms of his establishment. My left wrist was immobilised in a splint, and Kexu had assured me that the potions he had made me drink would heal it by the morning. It still hurt a little, but not as much as before. I finished the glass, got undressed and lay down on the bed after placing my dagger in it's usual place next to my head. I thought sleep would find me easily, given my state of exhaustion after the last few days, but it didn't. Instead, I found myself staring at the ceiling, introspecting. What was I going to do with my life now that I was free of my commitment to the Brotherhood? Given my recent experiences, I felt that assassination was a line of work I didn't want to continue in. I had had my doubts for years, but I had ignored them and concentrated on developing my skills. Arnault's betrayal and the subsequent death of the Brotherhood brought those doubts back and intensified them. I had joined the Shadowscales, and through them the Brotherhood, not out of devotion to Sithis, whom I respected like all Saxhleels, but because I sought the power to defend myself against those who would keep me in chains. As it turned out, I was still being used by higher powers, and they didn't even need a whip to make me do their bidding. In the end, that's what all my contracts had been about. I had been used to do the dirty work for people who thought that if they did it that way their hands would stay clean. No more of that. I wouldn't seek out the Brotherhood in Skyrim when I got there.
Kexu had told me of a friend of his who lived in Windhelm with some of our kin on the docks. I would content myself with a discreet existence there for a year or so, until my trail had gone cold, and when I was confident that I could do so without being discovered, I would take up bounty hunting. After all, killing bandits was right up my alley. And in a country where civil war was raging, there would be plenty of demand for such services. However, I was not looking forward to the climate. The ice and snow weren't kind to a cold-blooded creature like me. But I would make do with what I had, as I had always done. I rolled over into the comfortable bed and sleep finally came.