The wind from the north blew hard that evening.
Except for the encounter with the two snow trolls, it had been a fairly usual evening for Quill. She had made camp near a recently emptied dragon burial, and Shadowmere stood off in the shadows, a soft nickering now and then the only thing giving the horse's presence away. The icy wind howled through the trees, but all else was silent. Quill enjoyed these solitary evenings, away from the busy hall of the Companions, with Farkas and Alea and the other with their chatter, away from the penetrating gaze of Vilkas, that always set her slightly ill at ease; Away from the Brotherhood, away from the Night Mother…
Even though she was the Listener, she still felt a chill through her very soul whenever the Night Mother spoke to her. It was unnerving really, the words appearing directly in her mind, without having the decency of passing through her ears first. She gave an involuntary shudder at the thought.
She was in fact on her way to complete a contract. It was some high ranking officer of the Imperial, he had apparently planned to betray the Empire or something. In all honesty she didn't really care about the details, or why the concerned party didn't just deal with it themselves, she was just all too keen to drive her sword into the back of another lackey from the Empire. On hind sight, it might have served her better to find out more, but at the time she was just glad to be on her own, with nothing by the chilly sky above her.
It was well past midnight when Quill lay back, having watched the fire die down to embers. She pulled the bear skin cloak around her, staring up at the few stars visible between the clouds, but sleep evaded her still. With no success of sleep, she rose, cleared the camp and tied her bags onto Shadowmere's saddle, determined to continue on her way. It might even be to her benefit, she could arrive at Riften by midafternoon and be out of town again the following morning, her grim dead done.
Traveling in the dark has its benefits, especially when your horse has better night vision than even a werewolf, and she made good time, arriving at the gates of Riften even before the sun stood in the middle of the sky. She left Shadowmere at the stables – all the other horses quietly huddling in the furthest corner of the stable, giving both her and her horse nervous looks.
"To the inn first, for a nice mug of ale and a bowl of stew, and then I'll pay a visit to the thieves. See if there is any quick coin to be made while I'm in town," she thought.
Things went right according to plan, and Quill liked it when things went according to plan.
She was just creeping into the estate where her target was, the clocks having struck midnight an hour past, when she heard a strange noise - a tinkling, like broken glass, but softer.
"What in Oblivion", she thought, "the thieves know I am here on Brotherhood business, surely they would not attempt a robbery tonight? But then again, the thieves never do something as silly as break a window to get in…"
It was definitely someone or something else. This was confirmed by a strange golden light shining from beneath the door to her right. The door she was about to enter for her own business. With slow movements she edged closer, silently turning the handle and pulling the door open just a bit. She didn't know what to expect, but she was confused by the scene before her.
Standing over the recently deceased target – supposed to be her target – was a figure all in white, a hood obscuring its features, and a red sash about its waste. It sounded like he was speaking, or praying for the person he just slew. There was a completely foreign air to the stranger, but she was far too annoyed by this intrusion to heed the warnings of her own observations. Was this some new rival guild? Did they never learn not to mess with the Brotherhood?
Altaïr had dispatched his target, with his usual effortless style, but as he started taking in the room around him, he wondered where the Piece of Eden might have taken him. It was certainly not anywhere in Syria - it was far too cold too.
He became aware of something behind him, but casually continued with his usual ritual after an assassination – dipping a pure white feather in his target's spilled blood.
Quill snuck up close behind the man. He seemed wholly occupied in dabbing a feather in the blood of his victim, and taking this as her chance, she put her blade against his throat.
"Who sent you?" she growled into his ear. To her surprise he didn't jerk in shock, or tense in anticipation of cold steel again his skin. She put the blade slightly closer to his neck, her fingers digging into his shoulder.
Without warning, or hesitation, the man swung around in one fluid movement that a Khajiit would be impressed with, and had his own dagger neatly placed below Quill's ribs. The two stared into the voids of each other's eyes, both partly shrouded in shadow by a hood – one black, one white.
"Who sent you," she repeated, the words slightly muffled behind the face guard of her cowl.
Altaïr remained silent, confused by the face in front of him. It was female, but not quite like any he had ever met. Cool blue eyes stared back at him, unblinking, unrelenting, and just above the cowl covering the bottom half of her face he saw the beginnings of three slim scars on her cheek, and purple paint of some sort – one stripe above her brow and two more disappearing beneath the cloth.
Since her blade was no longer pressed against the intruder's throat, Quill used that hand in a quick movement to tug back his hood. She was half confused to see no more than a human man in front of her. This action, however seemed to take him by surprise, and in a half-automatic reaction he swiped his short blade across Quill's side.
She low growl escaped her throat as pain bloomed in her side. She was never one for heavy armor, and while the heavy leather of the guild-armor offered sufficient protection normally, it was of little use against such a sharp blade, at such close quarters.
She pulled free from his grip while he remained motionless, regarding her coolly. Quill made for the door, her keen hearing already picking up the noise of the guards approaching from below – they were, after all, in the lodging of a prominent man of the Empire, and he's personal guard would be the very best, not that that says too much, but in any case. Quill did not feel like fighting them all in her current state.
"Dammit," she hissed, looking over her shoulder at the strange man, still frozen in the corridor.
"Oh well, if you have a death wish, that's your own business." Altaïr heard her say before she kicked out a window pane, leaping out and landing quietly on the ground in front of the house. She soon disappeared into the surrounding shadows.
The city guard had been alerted by then, and between shouts and orders and running feet, Quill sat quietly and safely hidden in the dark, trying to tie up her side. She was annoyed with herself for neglecting to buy potions – "Cocky. I'm getting far too cocky. I thought this would be an easy, quick in – quick out job. Never take anything for granted, you fool," she berated herself.
The next moment a commotion from the house caught her attention. Two of the elite guards fairly flew through the window which she had used for her escape, small knives protruding from their throats as they lay gurgling. She lifted her nose to the sky and smelled blood, and a lot of it. Curiosity killed the werewolf, apparently, as she decided to creep nearer to the house again.
From her vantage point she saw the stranger surrounded by at least a dozen guards and soldiers, he didn't miss a single strike, blocking and dodging, felling numerous men before he too made a leap through the window. He, however, landed solidly on one of the guards that were busy streaming into the front door, an odd weapon on his wrist killing the guard in the process, before the man finally fled. After the initial confusion, the guards set off in hot pursuit.
Quill waited for most of the racket to die down, before she carefully snuck from her hiding spot. Well, it might not have gone entirely as she had planned – alright, not at all according to plan – but at least she was out in one piece. Sort of. She was determined to make her way to the sewers, Brynjolf would be able to get her some healing potions, she might even get a nice mug of ale and think things over. If this was a new rival assassin guild, she would have to hunt them down and stop them before they became a real threat to the Brotherhood.
Sticking to shady spots, she was almost at the hidden door in the graveyard, when she bumped into the stranger. Her immediate reaction was a muffled groan of surprise. She was really hoping to at least be rid of him for the evening. With a strange smirk, he stepped past her, and assuming the stance and gait of a priest of some sort, he casually and slowly walked on. Quill stared after him in disbelief, she had regained her hidden position in the shadows, and soon she heard the approaching steps. The stranger seemed entirely unconcerned. The guards, however, were exceedingly pleased to have found their target. Quill dropped her head into her hands, not sure whether she should laugh, or pity the fool.
"Why didn't it work?" she thought she heard him mutter in genuine surprise as he had to re-start his hasty escape. She was impressed as he leapt deftly onto a wall and clambered up onto the roof of a nearby house. The guards were, unfortunately for him, all equipped with bows.
Quill winced as she heard and arrow hit flesh, and the muffled cry and thud that followed, confirmed her suspicion. The guards were scouting carefully around the building, still fearful of this obviously skilled fighter. With a sigh of annoyed resolution, Quill ran to where she saw him fall. He was crouching, and seemed entirely dazed. She grabbed his arm, and after meeting her eyes, he followed her without hesitation as she dragged him up. He had little choice – it was either follow her, or be hunted down. She clearly knew what she was doing; she had managed to disappear into the shadows, where he had failed sorely.
They only once ran into a small group of soldiers, she flung around so quickly, shoving him into a new direction he nearly ended up going the wrong way. He heard the swish of a blade, and turning back he saw her expression change momentarily into a grimace of pain, but she continued driving him ahead of her until they reached a railing overlooking a waterway. Without much time to back track, or figure out where she was dragging him to, Altaïr had little option but to follow her as she leapt over the railing, still holding firmly onto his collar. To his great relief there was a small platform on the opposite side, hidden in darkness, and this had apparently been her destination.
She first had them hugging the wall, creeping in the shadow along the buildings; he tried to mimic her moves, placing his foot where hers had been.
She could hear the guards searching. They were quiet now, but no less intent on finding them. A quick look over her shoulder at the stranger's white clothing standing out like a beacon in the full moon, Quill pulled her cloak off and threw at him. He was half taken aback, but put it on wordlessly. She led him quietly hugging the shadows of a building. The guards had the sense to check on the dock by the water, and it took quite a bit of Quill's effort to force the man to stay flat against the wall, while the guards walked so close past them. She only relaxed once the danger had passed.
They soon found themselves in the Ratways, and Quill rolled her shoulders to ease some of the pent up stress she had suddenly developed. They hadn't spoken a word – he had offered no thanks, and she no explanation.
"This way," she said, taking him on the long and twisting route to the Ragged Flagon.