Teldryn walked with his head tipped up, admiring the soaring levels of Dwemer architecture; the towers, winding stairs, and balconies of homes tucked back against the sheer cliff face. There was bound to be a spectacular view of the surrounding valley.
And the energy!
There were people from all over Skyrim and parts beyond. He saw Khajiit, their caravan having just arrived, setting up their tents, tails swishing as they purred offers to passersby.
A smoky mouthwatering aroma drifted from a food stall where a vendor was grilling up some mammoth meat and giving out samples.
In a colorful jewelry kiosk, a woman held up a mirror for a customer trying on a pair of earrings. The metal and chips of precious stones sparkled in the light.
At still another, a dog breeder had a litter of pups for sale. They bounced and tumbled over each other and their parents within the safety of the penned area set up for them.
Throngs of people milled around the market, the smells of sweat, smoke, ale, fabric dye, perfumes, and juniper resin warming under the bright sun flooding Teldryn's nostrils as he brushed shoulders with strangers. The clamor of sound; vendors shouting about their wares, the ebb and flow of dozens of conversations overrode the far off thunder of machinery drifting from the mines and forges. The cobbles underfoot thrummed with it.
"Can you imagine what Markarth must have looked like when the dwarves were living here?" He turned to grin at his lover. "I can't even begin to imagine."
"Like this, except with all mer." Ceirin shrugged.
The spellsword snorted and rolled his eyes.
"You're no fun."
"I'm lots of fun." Ceirin stuck his tongue out. "That's why you hang around. That and the coin."
Teldryn laughed. Now this was a city.
Their exchange dropped off as they approached the nearest section of vendors, maneuvering their way through the press of bodies.
Markarth prided itself on its Dwemer history, and profited by it as well. It had a lockdown on the open market. People dealing in pieces from outside sites had to register for a special permit. Dealing on the black market, however, was another matter; one they were here to pursue. Among other things.
Ceirin went from stall to stall with purpose, talking to people; asking prices, making offers, and getting names. Bit by bit, they lightened their load. The two mer wove a circuitous path around the place so as not to attract too much attention. They tried the grilled mammoth and even stopped to pet the puppies.
Ceirin was being more cautious, no longer having the guild to officially back him. While he was technically still Guild master, they had all agreed it best that he distance himself for the time being. Brynjolf was running things in the meanwhile.
It occurred to Teldryn that while what they were doing was illegal, it didn't bother him at all to be a part of it. There was an art and a pattern to the bargaining he found interesting.
The spellsword was so engrossed in following the process that he missed the first shouts of alarm. A wave of people stumbled back towards them, crowding to get away from something. He elbowed Ceirin to get his attention, trying to peer over the heads and shoulders of taller Nords and one burly orc.
A frisson of alarm rushed out through the mob.
Both he and the altmer dropped hands closer to their weapons, still craning to see what was happening.
Then the screaming started; piercing agonized shrieks that made people in the crowd cry out in shock and fright. The gathered crowd surged further back to clear a path.
A woman stumbled out and collapsed against him. Teldryn caught at her arms, trying to steady her, but her legs wouldn't hold. He lowered her to the ground. She left thick dark streaks of blood down his chest plate and arms on her way down. The tattered fabric of her clothes told the story. Stabbed. Multiple times. He watched her eyes go vacant as her face slackened. He knew before he felt for a pulse that it would be gone.
"Stop him! He's getting away!"
"Murderer!"
"Forsworn here in the city?! By the gods!"
All around them, the mob began to react.
Somewhere close by a child started sobbing.
Ceirin had his bow drawn, but couldn't get a clear shot. It appeared the man would get away until several arrows fired into the square from the elevated walkways over the market dropped him into the gutter like a rock. The guards had finally responded.
As the market cleared out fast, the two mer retreated to the Silverblood Inn so Teldryn could get cleaned up. Afterwards, they huddled over mugs of hard cider and waited for things to settle down.
"What's the plan?" Teldryn peered at the dregs in the bottom of his mug. "Do we still try this afternoon? Seems like bad timing now and we've got the room until morning…"
They still had things to sell and a Thalmor Commander to coerce. Markarth, whether cheerful or murderous, was still their only option.
"This afternoon. My concern is the guards. They're keeping a sharp eye out for anything suspicious now and I don't want to end up in the mines."
The spellsword nodded his wholehearted agreement to that.
An hour later, they walked through the cavernous foyers and up the immense sets of stone stairs into the keep itself.
Teldryn gazed around, trying to take it all in. The Dwemer ruins they had been in thus far had been haunting in their vacancy; echoes fading away with no answer, machines still whirring and puttering about with no one to tend them. Here, the infrastructure was still utilized, echoing with the grind and clank of machinery, the reek of smoke and steam, and teeming with people. It was nearly as busy as the market.
He looked around with an eye to defense. There were spaces of deep shadow and rubble that had yet to be cleared away. Columns and low walls offered areas of cover. There were city guards everywhere and…
He felt a chill run up his spine at the disciplined formation of lithe soldiers in elegant gleaming armor as they rounded a corner and marched out in perfect lines, accompanied by several equally tall officials in heavy dark robes. Thalmor.
A nervous rush of adrenaline spread through his stomach. He waited until they had passed out of earshot.
"Are you sure about this?"
"No. But I do not see that we have another choice."
Teldryn squinted up at him. Ceirin's accent was stronger.
As they walked down the corridor that lead to the Commander's office, heads turned and noses visibly lifted away in disdain. The effect was unsettling, to say the least.
He stayed so close to Ceirin that he kept bumping into him. The rogue kept his back straight, head up, face forward. His expression was a blank mask. He wouldn't look at Teldryn at all.
The lanky Commander was stooped over his desk like a vulture, arguing with the steward when they were announced.
"Tell your Jarl that my men are not his personal attack dogs. The Forsworn are his problem, not mine."
The steward, seizing upon the distraction of their arrival, hurried to make his exit.
Ondolemar straightened up to his imposing height, his beautiful features somehow pulling up from his eyebrows into a sneer that he seemed to think made an adequate greeting.
"Oh. It's you. I haven't got any jobs posted at the moment."
"Just as well. I'm here to speak to you, Commander. Privately." Ceirin's gaze flickered to the two guards standing by the door.
Teldryn heard that little extra something in Ceirin's voice. It must have worked because the Commander looked the two of them over and then dismissed his guards, gesturing for his guests to sit.
"This had better be worth my time. I'm a very busy mer."
"I think it will be. " Ceirin pulled a file from inside his coat and handed it across the desk.
The Thalmor Commander opened it and flipped through the pages. Then he went back and looked again, more slowly this time. His face did not betray much, other than tightness around the eyes.
"So, Elenwen is paying my guards." He set the file down and drummed his fingers on the desk. "I've kept her apprised. I wonder what she…"
"I have a theory, if you care to hear it." Ceirin studied his fingers and did his best to look utterly disinterested.
"Oh, do tell. How I long to hear your paranoid conspiracies. What could a outcast mercenary know about the higher workings of the Thalmor military?"
Teldryn choked back a laugh. It was rude but he couldn't help it. He hadn't expected such theatrical sarcasm from a Justiciar. The spellsword could well imagine Ondolemar's troops being terrified of him, lest he wield that to humiliate them in front of their peers.
A mercenary….He didn't know who Ceirin was? Suddenly, Teldryn understood just how many layers of leverage they had.
"I think she needs to know what you're doing at all times because she needs to work around you."
The Commander frowned thoughtfully over that. "The First Emissary has her own assigments, of course, but nothing that should require spying on me. She is an ambassador."
"Is that all? It may not be common knowledge to the rest of the world, but you and I both know that the White Gold Concordant did not end the Great War; it just put it on hold. At some point in the next decade or ten, it will resume. I imagine that there are those who would like to see that happen sooner rather than later. An ambassador stationed in Skyrim would be in a unique position in that regard."
Ondolemar looked annoyed now.
"That is a serious accusation. Even if you had proof, which I note you do not, the First Emissary has diplomatic immunity."
"Even if she were to put out warrants for, say, the Dragonborn's head…?"
"I assure you, no such thing has been ordered. Our work here is to enforce the ban on Talos worship. The First Emissary is concerned with smoothing trade negotiations and charming the ruling class. To make an attempt on the Nord's pet folk hero would imply that the Dominon believes in such nonsense. Peace is tenuous enough. Assuming anyone could even succeed at such a task? It could cost us Skyrim, if it ever came to light."
Ceirin sighed and reached back into his coat to pull out the second file.
Ondolemar shuffled through the orders in that one, noting the dates and Elenwen's signatures. His expression grew incredulous.
"How did you come to possess these?"
Ceirin leaned back and looked Ondolemar dead in the eyes. "I am not without connections of my own. Have any of your soldiers have gone missing around those dates?"
The Commanders expression flickered.
"None… that I haven't accounted for… You want what in exchange for this information?"
"Information." Ceirin answered. "I am searching for a missing person. Thalmor agents brought him from Alinor to Skyrim. This kid is underage, a student, and the son of a rather influential Thalmor family. The official report claims a training accident."
"Preposterous." Ondolemar cut in. "What on Tamriel could our agents possibly want with a student?"
"Unknown. At any rate, if you can learn who may have arrived in Solitude, likely a small group a few months back, where they may have gone while they were here, who is funding them, that sort of thing, I would appreciate it."
"You are assuming a lot about what I can do. And what I'm willing to do." Ondolemar threw the papers down on his desk.
"I'm assuming there are operatives active in your territory and you didn't know. Elenwen has a reason for buying off your bodyguards. Who do you think will take the blame for what they do while they're here? Whether you're meant to live through that…well…" Ceirin put that subtle emphasis into his voice again, not that the threat needed underlining.
"….I will have to…verify a few things. Before I agree to anything."
"We'll be in Solitude, when you find something." Ceirin smirked.
They excused themselves and left the Commander to stare at their retreating forms in distaste.