Author's Foreword:

Deserter is Part 1 of my 3-Part "Bloodtide Rising" series. Please note that all 19 Chapters of Deserter and as of 04 Jul 2018 - 10 of 27 Chapters of Part 2-Knight have been posted to Ao3 along with the follow on Skyrim themed series "Sos do Dov". I will be posting two chapters a week on FFnet until I have caught up with but I usually post 1 Chapter a week. Currently Bloodtide Rising clocks in at 250,000 words alone and I'm currently between 1 third to half way through the story.

Also please be advised that my works are mature. They contain blood, gore, violence, occasional swearing, non-consensual elements, at least one sex scene (which I'm in the process of rewriting and reducing how explicit it is), and all of the typical vampiric themes commonly seen in everything from Bram Stoker to Anne Rice to Hellsing and everything in between.

Otherwise I will love feedback more than anything, this story has been my a labour of love for me for quite a few years (ignoring the 6 year hiatus that lasted until the end of 2017)

I hope you enjoy. :-)


"Name?"

"Kaius Treblanus Desin."

The sound of scratching was ever present in the tiny confines of the room. It wasn't loud, but it was persistent enough to set even the most stoic of soul's teeth on edge. For my part I stood perfectly still, ignoring the fluttering fear in my belly that had been a companion for so long it was almost part of me.

At the sound and tone of my voice, the source of the scratching glanced up and studied me with experienced eyes. The quill stopped in mid motion, the ink staining the tip threatening to drip down onto the parchment underneath its point.

The sensation of eyes upon me only last for a few seconds, and I forced myself to remain calm, staring over the head of the seated Centurion as he went about recording my details. The wall behind him allowed me to have an almost infinite source of distractions, as covered with dozens of tiny slate tiles hanging to a mass of hooks on the wall. Each were listed with a name, grouped together in towering columns that covered an area over five metres in width and two metres in height. It was a collection of the damned and condemned.

Old, grizzled and hair slowly turning grey, the Centurion looked between me and the two towering forms of my captors standing a pace back from my sides. Dressed only in a ruined sackcloth I was indeed out of place between the pair of Legionaries of the Imperial Watch. In their scarlet cloaks and metal plate armours polished to an eye-watering precision, it was almost impossible to make us look even more unalike. The only thing that seemed to link us was the way that all three of us stood rigid, arms locked by our sides and eyes staring resolutely forward.

Using short, sharp quill strokes he noted down my approximate height and weight onto the parchment, using my guards to assist his estimate. "Crime?"

The Legionary to my right twitched, holding out another sheet of parchment that the Centurion reached out and took. "Desertion."

Again the quill stopped it teeth-grinding progress across the sheet on the wooden desk and the eyes returned. There was nothing in the expression. No hate, no anger or not even disappointment as the eyes roamed over me once more. The gaze eventually came to rest on the Legion Brand scarring my right bicep.

"Rank and Legion?"

"Archer-Praefect. 8th Casta, 14th Legion."

There was a sigh, but there was some measure of amusement from the man recording my details. Dressed in a simple scarlet toga and bearing signs of years of accumulated injuries it had been his declining years that had put him behind a desk rather than occupying a position in a shield wall. The chair creaked as he pushed it back and turned in place, staring for several minutes at the map on the wall that notated every major Legion posting throughout the bounds of Tamriel.

"North-western Vvardenfell. Looks like… Fort Ironhand?" He muttered under his breath and shook his head with amazement. "Just how in oblivion's name did they manage to catch you?"

Suppressing the urge to shrug I kept my gaze to the wall above and behind his head. I knew exactly what he meant though. As an Archer I was unlike the majority of infantry that made up the Legion's ranks. I was, or at least had been a forester; one of the highly trained, highly skilled members of a military already famed for its discipline, skill and ability. Where the Legionaries fought in a wall of metal and meat and stabbed and killed with methodical precision; the foresters were the eyes and ears, the dismounted scouts and skirmishers. When the Legion marched through rugged and difficult terrain, the foresters would stalk in front of the cohorts and cover their advance with precise bow fire. During the rare times that the Legion faced an enemy either dumb enough or suicidal enough to face it on open ground, the foresters would form archer-cohorts behind the front line. There, protected in the depths of the formation they would fill the air with clouds of buzzing death. A hail of steel-tipped arrows would shatter and weaken battle lines before the metal-shod boots of the legionaries trampled them into the dirt.

The foresters were also responsible for assisting the Legions in remaining supplied. Hunting, tracking and trapping would allow the Legions to live off the land to a surprising degree. Such skills had provided immeasurable assistance through centuries of warfare. I knew that the aging veteran noting down my details was surprised at finding himself faced with a forester. Especially one with my rank. For all intents and purposes I should have been able to simply disappear into the wild and never be found.

A gauntleted hand, the outer portion of the hand and fingers covered with a series of interlocking metal plates reached out and grasped me firmly by the jaw. The metallic edges rubbed at my skin, but the leather gloves under the metal felt strangely cool. "He got bitten by a bloodsucker." Rumbled the guard to my right.

The Centurion took a moment to study the healing bite marks in my throat, visible due to the rags that I wore. "He's not going to turn is he?"

Clanking softly the guard released his grip on my face and shrugged. Then, thinking better of it he shook his head. "They picked him up at the gates to Balmora. The report we got was that he had stuffed the wounds with Chokeweed and Lichen. It's almost been a fortnight since they caught him as well."

"Good. Wouldn't want you to miss out on your gods-ordained punishment now would we?"

"What's the going rate for deserters at the moment?" Asked the guard to my left.

"Usually hanging, although Tribune Tarvldyn has had to become more creative due to the recent increase of desertions. It's either hanging, a beating, or a swim in the Rumare."

The feeling of fear grew stronger and I couldn't help but feel a terrible unease at what awaited me. Two of the punishments were definite death sentences. Hanging was hanging, but a swim in the Rumare was one of the more ancient punishments within the Legion. Although it varied, it was usually as simple as tying the accused in a sack with their hands and feet bound before throwing them in a river or lake with some rocks for company.

The beating however was potentially worse. It wasn't completely guaranteed to result in death, but being left to live out the rest of your days as a cripple was the best possible outcome. A squad of legionaries; usually fresh recruits would be chosen to beat the offender for five minutes with nothing more than their hands and feet. Anyone who appeared to be pulling their punches or holding back would receive a flogging as a result. If at the end of the time the accused was still breathing they would be released. In my first years in the Legion I had seen the punishment enacted. It was extremely rare for anyone to live through such an ordeal.

Leaning over the parchment, the Centurion returned to jotting down more of my details. My rank, unit and posting was added to the sheet that represented little more than an epitaph. I had barely any family or friends outside of the Legion, and so with a death sentence looming in my immediate future I had no doubt to what awaited me. If I was lucky I would have a grave. Maybe.

The choice of deserting had surprisingly been an easy one. It was not a pleasant place for a legionary to find himself. The northern winds would sweep south from the Sea of Ghosts, biting through even the most solid of furs and coats and making everyone's lives miserable. The only places that were colder was Solstheim to the north, and some of the postings in northern Skyrim.

This life hadn't been improved since we had received our new Legate. One of the 20 commanders of the military might of the Empire, I had been unlucky enough to find myself in the exact fort where he had chosen to reside. Far from the prying eyes of Imperial bureaucrats he had forged a petty little kingdom all for himself. Five hundred legionaries and the dozens of support staff in the fort were his subjects. Fines, floggings and punishment details for the smallest of infractions, or even on a whim ensured that I wasn't the only one who considered making a run for it. Unlike most of the others, I was one of the few with the skills to make the attempt.

As dangerous as a course of action desertion was, several years within the northern reaches of Tamriel had left those surviving legionaries such as myself just as dangerous. Patrols into the Ashlands were common, as were the running skirmishes against Ashlander Tribes resisting the armoured gauntlet of Imperial Rule. Other patrols and sorties against bandits were also common, as they were required to secure the supply lines not only for ourselves, but the various Ebony Mines scattered about the region. I had fought supernatural horrors, killed men and mer and seen sights that would've quailed the hearts of the obliviously content citizenry of the Empire. I also had the scars to show for it, mostly physical but there were plenty of nights that I was left sweating out the dark hours until dawn. In the rolling hills and plains of the West Gash and in the depths of the Ashlands I had also left several friends and comrades buried in the soil and ash.

"There's a request here from Legate Quintillius to hand him over to the jurisdiction of the 14th."

The Centurion snorted and didn't bother looking up to the guard who held out a rolled up scroll. "Unless Quintillius is another name for Uriel or Tiber Septim then I say good luck to him." The quill continued on its path, stopping every few scratched lines to be dipped into the ink pot. "Only the Emperor in all of his wisdom can overturn Legion Law."

Strangely enough I felt better at hearing the words out loud. A Legate was one of the most powerful men within the entire Empire, seconded only to the Emperor Himself and equal to the various Counts, Kings and Lords within the Provinces. But like all of the men and women in Tamriel they were bound by law, and this one particular law stated that all deserters, once caught would be returned to the Imperial City and face their punishment there. It was an ancient law, one that had been in place since the days of Reman Cyrodiil. Despite the logistical and administrative nightmare of such a law, the greatest military the world was a stickler for details. If the Law stated that a deserter would be fed and transported hundreds of kilometres from where he was posted and captured – then by the Nine it would be done. As a result, and after a fortnight of seeing little more than the interior of a prison cart I had found myself standing in the heart of the Empire.

I knew exactly why the Legate wanted me returned. The fear of being discovered how he was padding his wages from fining the men and mer under his command and slipping in his duties was ever present. It was this fear that had sent out his mounted Extraordinarii after every man who deserted his post. To my knowledge I had been the only one to make it further than an unmarked grave amidst the fungal forests of Vvardenfell.

Being attacked and subsequently bitten by a creature of the night had definitely not been part of my plans. If it wasn't for the fact that I had been injured and stumbled into that patrol of Ordinators I would have comfortably disappeared. Although being captured had had allowed me a week or two respite from my journey to Aetherius as the Ordinators had taken me prisoner within full sight of the squad of mounted legionaries tasked with killing me.

The muffled curse from the Centurion caught all of our attentions as he forced himself to rise to his feet and look over the series of slates hanging from their hooks. Normally charcoal black, they had been used and reused for so many countless years that the chalk stains had rendered them a pasty grey.

"The Legion cells are full." He said, running a hand missing a pair of fingers through his thinning hair. The toga he wore did little to hide the fact that he was a veteran with all the injuries and wounds to show for it. Grey and somewhat faded, the Imperial Dragon branded on his arm revealed him as once belonging to the 8th Legion within Blackmarsh. The mottled scars across every part of his skin showed that he had once suffered from one of the terrible diseases that ravaged that region, a might have been the straw to break the guar's back in terms of being posted to the Watch.

"Where do you want us to put him then?" Asked the guard to my right.

The Centurion rolled his gaze down the slates showing the names of every prisoner and their allocated cells, mouthing each name as he went. The Imperial Prison may have been the largest in the Empire in a city containing over a million citizens, but every district had their own Prefaecture with holding cells. This allowed the Prison district to cater to the worst of the worst, and provided the Legion with its own section for military prisoners.

"Bugger it. Just throw him somewhere in the south wing." A hand gestured vaguely in the approximate direction of the door. "I'll have to talk to Warden Largash but I doubt he'd even notice an ex-legionary in his cells."

"Glad we're not having to fill in the paperwork." The left hand guard laughed as he pushed me towards the door leading further into the prison.

"Laugh it up boys. Laugh it up."

With not-too-gentle shoves to the spine they pushed me onwards, one standing close behind me with a discipline cane ready in case I tried to run or escape or fight back while the other lead the way. Several passages from the Centurion's office lead in various directions under the Prison District but it was all too easy to tell that we were underground. No windows, holes or skylights allowed the sun to reach into this world of stone and wood, and only lanterns scattered every few metres let any of us see at all.

It was damp, cold and reeked of sorrow and sadness and the sight of age worn stone was only broken by the plated forms of the various members of the Imperial Watch who acted as wardens and guards for both the military and civilian portions of the underground prison. By the time we had reached the prison wings the security had increased even further. Every door was locked, and manned by one or two fully armed and armoured members of the Watch. Each time we would be stopped, looked over briefly before guards would open the doors, closing and locking them as we passed.

"This looks good enough for me." Muttered one of my jailors, as they both seemed to choose a door at random and nod to the single guard standing beside it. The passage we were in was the upper level of the South wing, and connected the dozen of more minor wings like the vacated root structure of an immense stone tree.

The door thudded closed behind us and I could hear the tell-tale click of the lock being set by the sentry. The sight before me was pitiful and left me feeling thoroughly depressed. The collection of prison cells within this passage of the South Wing were tiny, disused and almost completely empty. The smell of mould and moisture was overwhelming and was not where I would have even considered spending the last days of my life.

"Oh look," crawled a voice from the nearest cell on the right. The clang of metal and echoed hauntingly through the vacated cells as a Dark Elf pressed his face against the bars. "An Imperial in the Imperial Prison. I guess they don't play favourites, huh?"

Although the bars of his cell door were too closely spaced to fit anything larger than an arm, he did his best to push his head through. For the most part he seemed content in twitching and staring with an expression bordering on insanity plastering his face as it was pulled even more taut by the iron bars.

"Looks like you have a new friend." The laugh was shallow and I knew that both of my guards were more bored that anything else. "At least you'll have plenty of time to get acquainted."

Flicking through the ring of keys that they had been given by the guard up the short flight of stairs, neither of them seemed to bother with taking me any further than the first available cell. Unfortunately for me it was the one directly opposite the glaring, twitching Dunmer and he watched without blinking as they found the right key, opened the door and pushed me in.

"Make yourself at home." With a click the manacles were unlocked and I found myself rubbing absently at my wrists. "You could be here a while."

The Legionary gave the squalid cell a brief glance, grunting something under his breath before turning and slamming the door behind him. Their duty had been completed, and I found myself wondering whether they would even tell the Centurion where they had left me. That was even if they even knew what cell was now my home. While the threat of hanging or being beaten to death still hung over my future, I wasn't sure if I liked the idea of dying of disease or old age any better.

With the door at the top of the stairs locked behind them, I found myself staring into the maniacal expression of my neighbour. "What?"

A mouth full of broken, rotten stumps of teeth revealed itself in a face paled from years within the darkness. "Your own kinsmen think you're a piece of human trash." Hands with cracked fingernails gripped the bars tightly as he looked at me with madness in his eyes. "How sad. I bet the guards give you special treatment before the end."

It was my turn to sigh as I looked about my new 'home'. "At least it'll be better than being stuck with you." I replied, taking note of the tiny barred hole to the surface barely larger than my head, the table and chair, slop bucket and the piece of furniture that was only a bed in name. "You and all your friends…"

He laughed, cackling but without any humour or amusement. "Oh, a funny one I see. I might be locked in here but it's not forever." A finger encrusted with grime and filth stabbed in my direction as though it was a spear point. "But you? You're going to die in here Imperial. Imperial criminal scum like you give the Empire a bad name you see..."

Snuffling and snorting to himself, he turned away from the bars and was lost to the shadows. Only a handful of ill-kept lanterns were within the passage between the dozen cells, and they provided little illumination. What I found disconcerting other than my present company, was how the cell was not much different from my living arrangements in Fort Ironhand.

The service also appeared comparable. For three days I sat in that cell, watching the tiny strip of light from the barred hole above my head creep across the floor and loosing myself in the depths of my own thoughts. After the first afternoon the boredom was getting to me more than the constant tirade of spite and maliciousness from the bastard in the cell opposite. The taunting and insults would only stop when he was eating the gruel that we were provided, or some of the times that he was asleep. Even between snores he somehow managed to mutter and chatter away incessantly. While I soon learned his name, I had no clue what had left him locked away in the dark depths of the Imperial Prison or for how long. Judging by his appearance it was obvious that the years of captivity had left him bereft of his sanity and wasting away physically. Not that I had any concern or pity for him. I was more concerned of my own fate and the feeling that perhaps execution may be a better end.

The fang marks in my throat were healing well and I didn't need to call upon the little magicka I knew to hasten along the process. They concerned me but not in the way that most people would have been concerned after being fed on by a vampire. My alchemical knowledge and skill of living off the land of Northern Vvardenfell had allowed me to find the correct herbs and ingredients to make a poultice. In years in the volcanic north I had seen my salves and ointments successfully treat everything but the Corpus Disease and I knew that there was something terribly wrong with me. Punctured and twisted, the growing scar tissue of the creature's fangs was not the only wounds I had sustained from my desperate scrabble in the darkness of that cave.

In the days since receiving the wounds, my blood had clotted, dried, flaked away and left nothing but parallel lines of scabs from above the elbow to the wrist. For over a week I had hid in the grasslands of West Gash and had foolishly chosen a cave to hide from my pursuers. It was that night, just a little south of Caldera while I had tried to sleep and regain my strength I had been set upon.

A rush of flesh and claws had fallen upon me in the darkness, and I had felt not only the searing pain of it latching onto my throat, but the jagged agony as it raked its talons down the length of my arm. Instinct had been the only reason why I hadn't been left a drained corpse on the rocky cave floor, and in seconds I had managed to gain the upper hand despite the way it had been latched to my throat. With blood pulsing from my neck and the creature grunting and slurping at the liquid, I had managed to get my hand on my dagger. Before either of us had realised, I had repeatedly jammed the blade into its ribs, ripping and tearing away at it until I had found its heart. I don't think that it had truly realised it had been killed, so intent it was to drain me of blood. The realisation had managed to reach its bloodthirsty mind, making it pull away with its face contorted in agony. As a result of its curse, it immolated and burned into a sorry pile of bones and dusty ash.

Weakened from blood loss I had practically stumbled into the Ordinators. They had taken one look at my state and the Legion Brand on my shoulder and had arrested me. They had been content with the way I had treated my wounds, confident that the way I had packed the bite with the slurry of crushed up herbs had killed the infection. I too had been confident, but as every hour and every day slowly passed the doubt continued its inexorable advance into my mind. The bite had been treated, but in the semi-darkness of the Imperial prison I couldn't help but run my fingers over fresh scars down the length of my left arm, and remember how the creature's blood had stained it and the injury as it had died.

By the morning of the third day I was growing concerned that I had somehow failed to remove the infection wholly, or had merely bought time for myself instead. I was also becoming concerned that if I stayed any longer in my cell, that either the boredom or Valen Dreth's company was going to send me insane.

"By the Nine and all that is holy can you stop your gods-damned humming?" I spat, sitting back in my chair and counting the number of cracks in the ceiling's stonework.

"Humming, humming, humming." He replied, and I heard the creak of his wooden cot as he stood on the rotting straw mattress. "Hum hum. Ho hum."

The bars clanged and I jumped a little as he slammed his face between a gap. "Huuuuuuummmmmmmmmm…"

"No wonder no one else has been locked down here with you." My chair creaked threateningly as I leaned back further and crossed my arms in front of me. "Even by the standards of Imperial Justice it must have been classified as a cruel and unusual punishment."

The humming continued but I could see the image of the Dunmer's crack-toothed smile in my mind's eye. He didn't have a face for grinning but he did so as often as he physically could.

This deep under the Imperial Prison district there was little sound, especially how the only source of it was through the hole near the ceiling that was mostly for ventilation. I had listened, despite the difficulties posed by my irritating neighbour on and off for most of the previous days at the shouts and cries of the Legion Training grounds on the surface. The Prison District was in effect the Legion District and was the home, headquarters and where every legionary, forester and Battlemage would be trained. No matter what far flung portion of Tamriel they had originally hailed from; all recruits would be brought here for their first year of service.

But this particular morning just a handful of hours past dawn, the noise was coming from within the prison itself. Doors were unlocked and roughly wrenched open, and the echoes of shouted orders wafted their way through the thick oaken door to the upper levels.

Whatever was happening had not left Dreth in a good mood. Like the Legion; the Prison seemed to run like a well lubricated dwemer automaton and for the previous days at least the meals had been delivered with precise timings. This morning they were over an hour late with breakfast.

The infernal humming stopped for a moment as the door up the stairs was unlocked. A second later, the armoured form of one of the Watch jogged down the stairs, clanking and jingling in his full armour. The flushed expression on the Legionary's face regarded us both briefly, making only the most cursory of glances to the empty cells before disappearing back the way he came.

"They must be preparing executions." The Dark Elf muttered evilly as the grind of a lock had faded into a whispered echo. "They are never this lively of a morning unless there's killin' to be had."

"By the gods I hope so." I snapped at him, my own temper fraying. My humours were unbalanced not only at the waiting, but the fact that my dreams during the night had been blood soaked and horrifying. Even for someone who had faced down Corpus creatures and worse in his time in the Legion, my nightmares had been left me sweating and shaking. "Being executed would be a relief after being stuck with such a s'wit. How you haven't managed to choke to death on all the guar shit that dribbles from your mouth is beyond me."

He spat on the floor in the corridor, the thick phlegm splattering on the stones but before he could open his mouth to reply the metallic echo of the lock returned. Both of us froze for a moment before a grin spilt his face like a festering wound.

"Hey, you hear that?" The chuckle, thick and pneumonic rattled in his chest. "The guards are coming… For you!"

Pressing his face between the bars as he seemed to do out of habit, he tried to peer around and up to the door. I remained in my seat, hoping that it would be what passed for breakfast, but if it was my executioners coming for me it would at least me that the mind-numbing wait was over.

Metal clanked and rubbed together, and with the rolling echoes, the sounds of several individuals urgently talking reached our ears. Curious, saw Dreth suddenly look very confused and even worried as he backpedalled from the door as fast as he could.

The armoured silhouette of a soldier appeared at the door to my cell, and I was taken aback at the sight of a suit of armour of a make and design I had never seen before. Interlocking plates covered the man's shoulder's, chest and thighs in a shifting skin of metal. While it shared similarities to the thick heavy plate of the Cyrodillic and Northern Legions, it was obvious it was designed more for mobility and agility than solid defence. Metallic ringing and chiming echoed over the sounds of his armour as he fumbled through a considerable amount of keys. So intent on the door's lock he didn't even look into my cell.

"We don't know that Sire." A distinctly female voice echoed through the corridor and I watched with utter confusion as more soldiers appeared. "The messenger only said they were attacked."

"No, they're dead. I know it."

I shifted in my seat and stood agape at the sight before me. Three heavily armed and armoured soldiers dressed in their unusual armours were enough to gain my attention, but it was snatched away at the fourth individual in the group. Unarmoured and dressed in nothing more than thick robes, not only was he far from a soldier but was easily twice the age of the others who were escorting him. I might not have been able to recognise the others but the older man had a face that had been stamped on pieces of gold and silver coinage throughout the Empire.

"My job right now is to get you to safety." Other than the voice, there was nothing to suggest that the individual standing by the side of the aging emperor of female. The armour snuffed out the last of her femininity, and there was not a single trace of difference between her suit and the other two flanking them. There was distinct sense of urgency about all of their actions despite the way the Emperor moved with all the speed and ability of a man of such years, and as the first soldier continued fumbling with his set of keys his commander stepped up to see what the delay was.

An expression of annoyance darted between her subordinate and his attempts to find the right key for the lock and the interior of my cell, but as she caught sight of me sitting in the chair it turned into something resembling shock and anger. "What's this prisoner doing here?" She snapped, glaring at me with enough force that I couldn't help but rise to my feet. There was little that could be seen of her face in her barbute helm, but there was enough to see the inherent threat. "This cell is supposed to be off-limits!"

Still fumbling with his set of keys, the first soldier looked up suddenly, not only at me but also at his commander. Without his commander's exclamation of surprise, he wouldn't have noticed my presence until after he had opened the door.

"Usual mix-up with the Watch. I…"

There was a muffled curse from his commander and she stepped up to the bars, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword with every intent to use it at a moment's notice. "Never mind, just get this gate open." She glanced at me with as much warmth as a Vvardenfell winter. "Stand back prisoner, we won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way."

I backed hurriedly against the far wall of my cell, confused and very concerned. These were no palace guards. No violet cloaks or breastplates polished into gleaming mirrors of perfection. Every piece of their equipment was not designed for ceremonies but for the brutality of war, and the recognition of their weapons was enough to leave me pressing my back into the cold stones of the far wall. While I had never seen one in person, everyone within the Empire knew what a Katana looked like and who wielded such weapons.

They were Blades; the sworn protectors of the Emperor and by far some of the most dangerous individuals within all of Tamriel. Their reputations as expert swordsmen were legendary and even fully armed and armoured I wouldn't want to cross swords with any one of them. The fact that I was now face to face with three such individuals was more than enough to leave me in a cold sweat despite my confusion.

The door opened with a screech of poorly oiled metal, and one after another they filed in. Completely ignoring me, the female commander moved over to the wall to my right, pushing in the stones in what appeared to be a very precise pattern. The second Blade, hanging the ring of keys from a hook on his belt moved towards me with all the grace of a predator ad barked an order not to move but my eyes and attention was locked on the third individual who ducked his head through the cell door.

Uriel Septim VII; the Emperor of all Tamriel stepped inside the suddenly cramped cell with his last bodyguard following dutifully behind. His robes were magnificent, furs wrapped around his shoulders and silks so expensive that their cost alone could've supplied an entire legion for months had been pulled tight around his body. He wasn't dressed for travel and as he shuffled his way inside of the cell I caught a glimpse of an enormous gemmed amulet clasped close to his chest. The central ruby-like stone placed in the centre was as large as my fist and worth more than entire kingdoms.

There was little to do but to stand there in silence, eyes wide in surprise and shock at the sight of the most powerful of men standing in the very last place I expected to see him. What surprised me even more was when he glanced in my direction for a heartbeat, stopping in mid stride and looking even more shocked to see me than I was to him.

"You…" I started at the sound of his voice, feeling a surge of terror as he and all three of his bodyguards looked at me. "I've seen you…"

I pressed myself further into the wall as the closest Blade glanced between me and his charge, his grip tightening around the hilt of his Katana menacingly. With a gesture the Emperor stopped him, not taking his eyes from my own as he shuffled closer.

"You are the one from my dreams…" He murmured, his voice suddenly growing softer despite how his face hardened. "Then the stars were right, and this is the day." "Gods give me strength."

Running my tongue over my lips I glanced between him and his guards, seeing their expressions of confusion mirroring my own. "What's going on?" I asked, the only words that I managed to choke out of my throat.

The Emperor sighed, looking suddenly a lot older than even his considerable years. "Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route." His smile was grim, even though he was chuckling as he gestured to me. "By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."

Scraping and grinding, the wall began to open and as a single entity the trio of Blades stepped into a protective circle around the Emperor.

"We better not close this one. There's no way to open it from the other side."

The nearest Blade lightly rested his hand on the Emperor's shoulder, receiving only the merest of glances from the aged ruler. "Please sir, we must keep moving."

"What should I do?" I stammered, feeling totally confused and looking at the determined set of their faces.

A smile, so tiny that it was almost unnoticeable ran across the Emperor's face. "You will find your own path." He motioned to the opened passage as he turned and allowed himself to be led down the tunnel. "Take care, there will be blood and death before the end."

The third and last Blade moved past me, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel. For a brief moment he spared me a grin in my direction as he followed his comrades. "Looks like this is your lucky day." Flints clacked together, and in a shower of sparks the torch in his hand came to life. "Just stay out of our way."

Fading into the darkness like shadows, the group disappeared within nothing more than their booted footsteps marking their presence. For several moments I stood there, trying and failing to comprehend exactly what had just happened. With my eyes jumping between Valen Dreth's astonished face and the open tunnel I knew I was not turning from such an opportunity. Before I realised what exactly I was doing, I had vanished into the darkness, only briefly pausing to stick my middle finger in Dreth's direction.

I carefully made my way through the tunnel, following in the Emperor and his guards' footsteps as it changed from roughly hewn rock to ancient masonry that appeared older than time itself. With every metre I seemed to travel deeper into the catacombs under the prison, my sandaled feet stirring the dust of ages long since passed. There were no other options but to trail after them in the darkness as the tunnels and catacombs seemed to be blocked in every direction but the one they were travelling. With nothing more than the sight of bobbing torches several dozen metres ahead, my eyes soon grew accustomed to the darkness.

The building concern and lack of understanding of exactly what I had found myself in was worrying. Less than an hour before my biggest concern was how I was going to be executed, and yet instead I found myself stepping in the boot prints of the most powerful individual within the Empire. His sons attacked, possibly dead? And now there was a threat on his life? These were not thoughts that filled me with ease. Obviously the passage in my cell had been set aside as some form of contingency for just such an occasion, but that didn't explain his apparent recognition of who I was. For some reason that was more terrifying than anything else.

I had followed them for long enough that my legs were beginning to ache after going for almost a fortnight without any exercise. They had continued on, moving with distinct purpose through the catacombs through every twist, turn, passage and doorway. Not once did they hesitate or divert from their path and for the most part I followed, lingering a few dozen metres behind, out of the sight of their torches but close enough that it helped me traverse the darkness. Every few metres or so the shadows twisted and bunched as the torches played their light across the alcoves and around ancient support pillars, but some deep seated sense of wrongness was worming into the back of my mind. I had not lived and survived so many years in Vvardenfell without trusting my instincts, and before I consciously realised what I was doing I had begun stalking through the shadows after the small group.

As they moved through a hall of pillars, my heart began racing long before my conscious mind caught up with what my subconscious had noticed minutes before. Shapes moved in mockeries of men and mer, sliding around and between the pillars and hunting those within the tiny patch of light. What I had originally mistaken as tricks of the light and the way it shifted as the Blades walked soon began twisting and condensing around those imbued with a false sense of security from the light's embrace. Years of hunting allowed me to pick out the movement that didn't match the flickering torch light even as the shadows became silhouettes, the dozen or so flitting around the tiny group with what were unmistakably weapons gripped tightly.

My cry of alarm was caught in my throat as one of the shadows suddenly exploded into action from behind a marble pillar. Appearing as though it had ripped itself from the shadows, the figure was well within arm's reach of the Blade commander. It seemed to tower over her for an instant swinging its darkened limbs with such speed that no one could react in time.

A scream of pure agony echoed through the confines of the catacombs, accompanied with the wet-crack of bones splintering with considerable force. Shrieking, and clutching at her shattered arm her dropped to the floor with a clatter and a rising explosion of sparks that illuminated her attacker. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was relieved to see a man wearing robes and plate armour rather than some daedra dragged from the depths of my subconscious. A wickedly flanged mace was held in an armoured fist, the Blade on her knees before him and within seconds other shadows flickered into horrible existence.

Without hesitation or conscious thought, the other two Blades moved purely on instinct, ripping Katanas from sheathes and hurling themselves at the attackers. Utter pandemonium erupted in the enclosed space, the dropped torches sending gigantic shadows across the walls as they and their physical owners hacked, stabbed, kicked and struck at each other in a frenzy of movement. Roared battle cries overwhelmed grunts of exertion and the gurgling sounds of the dying. With wild abandon the attackers swarmed the pair of fighting men, the Blade Commander laying on the ground where she had fallen and the pale featured Emperor backing away from the melee with undue haste.

What the Blades hadn't seen was that they were surrounded with half a dozen armoured attackers reaching from the shadows. The crippling strike against the Commander had been the signal for the ambush, and the assassins moved with utter surety as they sought to end the lives of the remaining blades. As the majority of the attackers surrounded and hacked at the pair, one solitary individual rushed the Emperor from the side where there was no guard to save him.

The Blades had ruined their vison by the torches they carried, hiding the assassins from sight but what the assassins hadn't realised was they too had been left unable to see well in the darkness. I could tell by the way they moved and stumbled towards their victims that they had been foolishly staring at the torches. From my position further back I had followed with one eye closed, ensuring that I never looked directly at the only source of light. I relied entirely on my peripheral vison to make my way in the shadows, but now I was the only one in the catacombs that could fight both in the darkness and the limited light. Moving quickly, I opened both eyes, using the mismatched visons to see in the light and the darkness simultaneously. Without allowing myself to consider my actions I broke out into a run, crossing the distance between me and the assassins in seconds.

Striding with malicious purpose, the assassin was so intent on reaching the Emperor with his gleaming obsidian dagger that the first he realised he was under attack was when I crashed bodily into him. Dressed in nothing more than rags, I was at a considerable disadvantage against an opponent as heavily armoured as the assassin. The blood coloured robes clung close to his flesh, and the esoteric plate armour he wore stabbed into the back of my mind with the greasy magical taint it extruded. My magical abilities were limited but there was no mistaking the fact that my foe was wearing plate armour conjured from the depths of Oblivion, especially as we found ourselves grappling with each other on the cold stone floor.

The surprise was my only advantage and was one that I used to its full benefit. Even before he had realised that he was under attack I had busted my knuckles into the scowling face mask that he wore, forcing inarticulate howls of pain to be cut off with every blow. Flailing about, the best he could do was roll the two of us over until I found myself on my back, and if it wasn't for the way I had grasped his knife hand with one of my own I could have very easily found myself bleeding out on the ancient tiles.

"Gods. Damned. Bloody. Bastard!" I grunted, jamming a knee into his armoured chest while trying desperately to keep the serrated dagger from my face and throat. While marginally stronger and actually trained in comparison to my opponent, he was far heavier in his conjured armour. Before I could do anything more than jam an elbow into his throat he was suddenly pressing down hard, forcing his entire body weight down onto his dagger and gripping it in both hands.

"Die, unbeliever!" he hissed through his mask, the scowling plate muffling the words with a metallic dullness. I could see the hints of madness in the depths of the mask's eye slits, feeling him trembling with exertion as I put all my strength into holding him at bay.

Chiming, and barely noticeable in the raging melee, I almost felt rather than heard the metallic echo of something dropping to the floor near us. Without breaking my gaze with the plated assassin panting on top of me, I quickly reached down with my left hand while the right held him back with an arm strong from years of using a bow. Desperate for something, anything to use against my blood maddened enemy, my fingers brushed over what was obviously a hilt before wrapping around it and jamming it into an eye.

A powerful spasm ran through the assassin, his dagger dropping from nerveless fingers as I pinned the mask to his face with the dagger. Ten centimetres of pointed steel was lost in the depths of his skull, the point scraping at bone at the back of his head and the sudden loss of resistance almost made me throw the freshly dead corpse aside. There was no surviving such an injury but now that my blood was up I had twisted onto my knees even before the dead man had finished rolling onto his back.

The battle as such was over, and in the dim flickering light of the dropped torches I could see half a dozen bodies strewn about. Blood had sprayed in darkening arcs in all directions, staining the white marble floors and pillars and soaking into decades of dust. The sudden lack of fighting and noise seemed even more deafening than the carnage that had taken place in the confines of the catacombs, and I found myself looking about at how all of the assassins were left sprawled about. There was no mistaking the fact that they were all extremely dead.

The sudden cracking of energy stabbed into my mind and I recoiled from my opponent as his armour began to dissipate and slough away. Like spun sugar left in the rain the armour dissolved and ran into the cracks in the ground, evaporating into smoke before my very eyes. In seconds all that was left was the red-robed corpse with the hilt of a dagger jutting from a bloody eye socket.

"What the fu-"

My exclamation of surprise was cut away as I felt the distinct sensation of a peerless edge coming to rest against my throat.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." There was no mistaking the threat in the voice from behind me. "Are you alright Sire?"

Gore ran down the gleaming edge of the katana and I felt some of it drip down the front of my neck and chest. Both of the Blades who remained standing were coated with blood, but none of which appeared to be their own.

The Emperor moved into my field of view, moving hesitatingly but surely as he looked at his bodyguards. "I'm fine Glenroy. But… Captain Renault?"

To my left the second Blade was kneeling down over the prone body of their commander. The look in his eyes said more than words ever could as he unbuckled the sheathed katana from her side. Her head and helmet had been caved in from a blow of considerable force, shattering her skull and ensuring that death had been quick and complete. "She's… Dead. I'm sorry Sire, but we have to keep moving."

Despite his position and noble birth, the death and carnage within the catacombs didn't seem to bother the old man. As he gave a brief nod in return I realised that he was no stranger to death and violence.

"What about the prisoner?" the katana didn't tremble but I felt the tiniest increase in pressure of the edge into my flesh. "I don't trust him. He could be working with the assassins."

"If he was I doubt he would've rushed to our aid as he did." There was a dark chuckle from the Emperor as he looked at me and gestured to the corpse beside me. "I also wouldn't have provided him with my dagger."

Ensuring that I didn't move anything more than my gaze, I glanced at the corpse and the dagger jutting from its eye. The hilt alone was covered with silver etching and gemstones. It was easily worth several years' worth of legion salary and I felt strangely uncomfortable using something so expensive to take a life.

"We should kill him. Just to be certain."

"No, he is not one of them. He can help us."

The katana hovered at my throat for a moment, remaining against my flesh just long enough to convey displeasure but not long enough to be considered insubordinate. Then, as quickly as it had appeared it had disappeared and I noticeably relaxed.

"He mightn't be one of them, but I still wouldn't put any faith in a deserter." Snapping the Katana out to his side with an outstretched arm I watched as the gore that coated his blade was flicked across the floor.

"Deserter he may be." The tone was cold from the Emperor as he moved between us, watching as I slowly rose to my feet. "He must help us."

Turning he gestured to the Blade tucking his commander's sword into his belt. "Baurus, give this man a sword."

Although ordered to, Baurus clearly hesitated at the idea of arming me. Even as mentally juggled with the order he patted his hands amongst the small collection of weapons fastened to his waist before pulling a gladius and its sheath from his belt.

"Are you sure about this sire?" his tone was wary as he held out the sword for me to reluctantly take from his hands.

"I am sure." The Emperor's expression was grim, but a half-smile ghosted up his face before motioning for the three of us to follow Glenroy's steps.

The darkness consumed us and I ran my hands up the scabbarded length of the Gladius that I had been given. Having a Legion blade made me feel a lot more confident despite how I had found myself standing next to the most powerful individual in all of Tamriel.

"They do not understand why I trust you." He said simply, shuffling his way through the passageways with dust clinging to the hems of his priceless robes.

"To be honest Sire," I replied, doing everything I could not to look in his direction. "I don't understand either."

He sighed, and I could clearly see that every year of his long life had left deep marks upon his body, mind and soul. If half of the stories that I had heard were true, he had experienced far more than any one man should.

Each step was placed carefully into the floor, the priceless shoes he worn now permanently stained with gore. "How can I explain?" The question was directed at himself as we made our way down a short flight of stairs, but he was looking at me intently. "You know of the Nine? How they guide the fates with an invisible hand?"

I snorted involuntarily, earning a backwards glance from Glenroy that was filled with obvious loathing and a threat of punishment if I continued to show disrespect.

"I'm not on good terms with the Gods." With a shrug I ignored the Blade's disapproving glance and cast my eyes through the shadows in front of us, closing one eye to preserve what little night vision I had left. "I doubt I would've found myself in such a position if it was otherwise."

"How many have found themselves considering the same thing I wonder?" Despite the way that neither of his surviving bodyguards trusted me that allowed me to walk by his side, trusting in their skills to be able to cut me down before I could doing anything to their charge. There was a faint grin on his face as I glanced between him and Baurus following closely behind. "I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well…"

His voice trailed off as he lifted his head to the ceiling, staring as though he could see the night sky despite the metres of masonry and soil above us. "The signs I read show the end of my path. My death; a necessary end, will come when it will come."

"Aren't you afraid to die?"

For the first time since the cell our eyes met and I couldn't help but shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the chill of the catacombs. "No trophies of my triumphs precede me. But I have lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death... To face my apportioned fate, then fall."

This time the smile on his face was grimmer, his eyes seemingly shrinking into his head and his shoulders slumping with the full weight of his age. "I go now to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part."

I found myself lost for words, moving through the wider expanse alongside the Emperor and between his loyal guards. There was nothing moving within the area other than ourselves, our footfalls lifting tiny swirls of dust with every step. I couldn't help but think that a combination of old age and grief had addled the Emperor's wits, but he was so sure, so full of conviction that it was hard not to hold onto every word he said. Believing that I had been spared was one thing, but I wasn't in the state of mind to believe I was free until I felt the sun on my face and the wind on my skin.

Continuing in silence we made our way further into the undercity, passing through halls and passages that had long since been without the presence of mortals. From room to passage to rooms we passed through the ancient crumbling depths of the Imperial City and while I was hopelessly lost the two Blades at least knew exactly where they were heading. Unfortunately it seemed so did their enemies as we found ourselves facing an ancient metal portcullis that had been barred and chained with fresh looking steel padlocks linking it all together.

At the sight of it, Glenroy showed his displeasure in a way we had all considered. As the echo of his boot smashing into the bars and chains died away he swore forcefully under his breath.

"What about that side passage back there?" Baurus gestured to the darkened hallway a dozen meters further down the passage.

In the depths there was an echo, a reverberation that plucked at the edges of our senses and almost as a single individual we all turned and shared glances. While faint, the sound of metal on metal and hurried footsteps began growing noticeably by the second.

"Worth a try!" Glenroy snarled, dropping his torch to the floor and tearing his Katana free. The first sign of nervousness from the Emperor's bodyguard was the way how he tested the edge of his sword with a gloved thumb.

With Baurus leading the way, and Glenroy and I following closely behind the Emperor we moved through the doorway. The echoes were growing with every second and my new gladius was in hand without even realising that I had drawn the blade. We barely even made it more than a dozen metres down the passage before we came to a shuddering halt, seeing Baurus' despondent expression as he shrugged at the tiny space we occupied. It was tiny, barely enough space inside the L shaped room to swing a sword. It was a dead end, both figuratively and literally.

Cries of impending murder and further bloodletting echoed like the braying of hunting dogs as more assassins followed in our footsteps. The silence that had almost been deafening in our travel was now nothing more than a wish.

"What's your call sir?" asked Baurus, gripping his katana tightly and leaning into the passage at the approaching enemies.

Glenroy paused, looking around the tiny room for a moment before looking directly at me. "Wait here with the Emperor," he spat, pointing to the floor with his sword and rolling the muscles of his neck under the splint mail gorget. "Guard him with your life."

The sudden responsibility hit me like a charging orc and I nodded, struggling to keep the tremor out of my sword arm. For his part, The Emperor moved across to the far end of the room, leaning against the wall and feeling the exertion finally catch up to him as his Bodyguards rushed down the passage.

Screams wracked the catacombs, broken by the sounds of metal on metal and the softer thunks of blades cutting deeply into flesh. Despite the level of fear that was threatening to consume me, I felt strangely at peace as I remembered of the numerous times I had faced similar situations over the years. Standing in the depths of the Imperial City, dressed in rags and standing between the Emperor and a horde of baying assassins was a far cry from hunting Ashlander insurgents or slaughtering Corpus beasts. The strange familiarity of standing firm and preparing to do my duty was a comfort at least, and compared to the fate that awaited me only hours before I felt glad that if I was to die I would die on my feet with a weapon in hand. Especailly compared to the alternative of hanging with piss streaming down my legs.

"My guards are strong and true," came the voice behind me, and I glanced back to the Emperor who looked exhausted in the flickering torchlight. "but even the might of the Blades cannot stand against the power that rises to destroy us."

"None will get past me while I'm breathing Sire." I replied, feeling the tension building in my shoulders and muscles for the expected killing.

The Emperor shook his head sadly. "The Prince of Destruction awakes, born anew in blood and fire. These cutthroats are but his mortal pawns."

In short steps he moved closer, lifting the giant gemstone amulet from around his neck and holding it out for me. "Take my Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. I have a secret son, and Jauffre alone knows where to find him. Find the last of my blood, and close shut the marble jaws of Oblivion."

Questions filled my mind, tumbling over themselves in the effort to make their way to my mouth and be voiced. I stood there in shock, staring at the Amulet as though it was a venomous reptile and not quite being able to bring myself to grab it from his hands. The loud, ear piecing shriek of someone dying horribly from the passage broke my mental stalemate, and to both the Emperor's and my own surprise one of the armoured forms of the Assassins rounded the corner drenched in gore.

He had managed to fight his way past the Blades, but looked like he had gone through Oblivion to do so. One arm dangled nerveless by his side, drenched in gore that was entirely his own. A great chunk of armour, robe and flesh had been hewn from his shoulder and revealed the gleaming white of bone amidst the red-black of his conjured armour. His other hand gripped a wickedly curved blade, forged in the rough shape of a katana but not of any design made by mortal hands. It was longer than my solid, dependable gladius with its design seated in the history of the Empire but I felt confident in my chances. Especially when faced with a wounded foe.

The screaming from the passage was deafening as I threw myself at the wounded assassin, watching as he drew his arm up high over the shoulder and swung with all his might. His blade was nearly a full metre in length and it made a keening sound as it sliced through the air towards me. I didn't even bother ducking or blocking the blade, watching with grim satisfaction as his lack of skill imbedded the sword tip into the ceiling and jarred his entire arm.

The sudden fear in the assassin's eyes was clear even under the mask and hood of his conjured armour. With me rushing him, he tried to drag the sword from where the ancient marble had grasped it but failing to pull it free in time. Stabbing forward with years of practice and training, I rolled my wrist and arm into the motion, the tip of the gladius snaking out and spearing the assassin right in the throat. The razored tip of the blade made a mockery of the assassin's conjured plate, spearing through the metal and flesh underneath with little resistance. While not an instantly fatal strike, there was little for him to do but release his grip on the sword, grasp at his throat and vainly attempt to stem the flow gushing from between his fingers.

Behind him the passageway was full of the dead and dying. One of the Blades was fending off several of the assassins with a skill I had never seen, but his comrade was on his back. Sprawled out on the ancient masonry, he was the source of the terrible screaming as he went about dying messily. Several of the assassins surrounded him while the others fought on, swords and daggers rising and falling into the Blade's broken armour and body. even as they cut the life from him and the grip on his sword wavered, he managed to jam his thumbs into a shrieking assassin's eyes who had lost his mask in the wild melee. Both his and the assassin were locked together as the others hacked and stabbed in gouts of blood and gore, and I ripped my own sword away as my foe slapped wetly onto his face.

Before I charge to the surviving Blade's aid, motion in the corner of my eye stopped me in place. Somehow, in the darkness of the room another of the armoured assassins had appeared, leaping from an alcove behind the Emperor. Black-red and gleaming like the carapace of a beetle, an arm wrapped around the Emperor, pulling him back into the assassin's embrace.

Old man stiffened and arched his back away from the assassin and the cold intrusion of the blade in his vitals. Even as I tried desperately to cross the space between us I could see the two of them twitching as the killer stabbed the Emperor repeatedly in the back.

"Stranger." The cowled and masked Assassin laughed as his blade tasted the blood of the Septim dynasty. "You chose a bad da-"

Whatever words he had for me died with him as I lunged, putting the full weight of my body into a blow and almost leaping across the remaining distance between us. Twisting my hips and thrusting my sword forward, I used every ounce of my strength in an arm grown strong and muscular from years of using a longbow. The strike was perfect, moving faster than the assassin could react and punching through the obsidian mask like paper. Coated in the blood of the first assassin, the edge of the gladius came within a finger's breadth of the Emperor's right ear, rocking the killer's head back as though punched. As they both fell backwards the entire length of the sword had sliced through teeth, gums, tongue and throat to erupt from the back of his skull. The force of my charge had been so complete and forceful that his front teeth were shattered on the hilt.

The assassin fell backward, his dagger falling to the floor wet with the Emperor's blood. He was dead before he even hit the floor and the hilt of the sword jutted from the man's mouth like an obscene metal tongue when the armour sloughed away. Unfortunately, the Emperor's mortality was not far behind. Falling with the dead weight of the Assassin at his back the three of us were left sprawled bloodily across the floor. I had seen enough mortal injuries to know that the knife had punctured a lung and had sliced arteries around his heart. Even if it hadn't been a mortal wound, his advanced age meant that the shock alone was enough to kill him.

An apology tried to rise itself to be heard but I couldn't make my mouth preform the actions, staring into the Emperor's face as it went white and the eyes started to turn glassy. He knew death's approach with greater certainty than what I did. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth as the blood in his lungs made itself felt, but it did little to stop him from raising a hand and slapping it to my chest with the last of the strength that he could muster.

The life leeched away from his body as he died in my arms. Soon, he too began to cool like the dozen or more corpses scattered between us and my pitiful cell. It all felt like a complete waste and for several seconds I knelt there, feeling the lightness of the wrinkled hand pressed to my chest and the solid lump of jewellery held tightly within.

The fighting died off in the passage behind me, and I couldn't bring myself to turn around to face what I expected to be my death. Even the anguished sob and the sudden clatter of dropped metal wasn't enough for me to turn away from the dead Emperor.

Bareheaded and drenched in gore, Baurus dropped to his knees beside me. If it wasn't for the tiny trickles of blood from the corners of his mouth and the glassy eyes that stared into infinity, it would've been easy to mistake the aged man for merely sleeping.

"We've failed..." Every word was torn from the depths of his chest and it was all he could do not to collapse with the weight of his despair. "I've…. Failed…."

Neither of us spoke, my hand moving over the Emperor's blank features as I carefully closed the eyes of the dead man. Despite the grip of death and the slackness of the muscles, I had to lower the Emperor's hand from where it had been pressed into my sternum.

The young Blade beside me watched as I went about providing the dead ruler with as much dignity as I could afford. The crushing sensation of failure was hard to stomach for either of us, and Baurus sucked in several gasping lungful's of air. "The Blades were sworn to protect the Emperor, and now he and all his heirs are dead."

For a moment he simply stared at the corpse, the Emperor laying on his back in all of his finery that was now ruined by the expanding pool of blood. The young Blade was quiet, but the sudden tenseness that filled him was obvious to even a blind man as he reached forward and pressed his hand into the Emperor's chest.

"The Amulet? Where's the Amulet of Kings?"

"I have it." I said simply, holding it by its gold chain and staring at the massive central jewel as I tried to comprehend all that had happened. "He gave it to me..."

The silence dragged on as he searched my face for any trace of falsehood. "Strange." The whisper seemed to echo in the confines of the room as he turned back to the corpse. "He saw something in you. Trusted you."

Unsteadily he rose to his feet but he gripped my offered hand as I hauled him up. Groaning as he started feeling his muscles cramp he continued looking me dead in the eye. "They say it's the Dragon Blood that flows through the veins of every Septim; they see more than lesser men."

"Why would he give such a thing to me?" I looked over the amulet, feeling its impressive weight. Between the gold and the series of gems it was almost a kilogram and infinitely priceless.

With a dark chuckle he wiped his katana clean on the robes of the first assassin I had killed before sheathing it at his side. "The Amulet of Kings is a sacred symbol of the Empire. Most people think of the Red Dragon Crown, but that's just jewellery." A finger stabbed at the amulet dangling from my grasp. "The Amulet has power. Only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say. He must have given it to you for a reason."

I shrugged. "He said I must take it to Jauffre."

"Jauffre?" Puzzlement and suspicion warred for a moment in his eyes. "He said that? Why?"

"There's another heir, and apparently Jauffre knows where to find him."

"Nothing I've ever heard about," Baurus chewed his lip and wiped his face with the back of his hand. It did nothing more than wipe more blood across his features already heavily streaked in gore. "but Jauffre would be the one to know. He's the Grandmaster of my Order, although you would not think so to meet him."

Moving over to the corpses I quickly patted them down for anything that might have been of use. Despite wearing rags I was not about to strip a corpse, especially how all of the assassins had been wearing the same blood coloured robes like some kind of uniform. It didn't stop me from pulling rings and other tiny trinkets from their bodies though.

"Why is that?" I asked, slipping a pair of rings over my fingers due to my lack of pockets.

The Blade laughed, but there was little humour in it. "He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory, just outside the City of Chorrol."

"That's what? Two or three days from here?"

Baurus nodded at my question "More like four. Especially on foot."

A glance around the room showed little, except for the fact that one of the alcoves that had been nothing but solid stone when we had first entered was now a gaping hole. "I'll need to get out of here first."

"Glad to see that you are at least taking this seriously." He sighed loudly and ran his blood streaked hands through his hair. The clotting liquid stuck to the closely cropped hair that was now plastered to his skull with more than just sweat. "I know that this is a lot to take in all at once, but trust me when I say I know how it feels. No one will be more surprised than me that I'm sending an escaped prisoner off with the Amulet of Kings!" he paused for a moment, staring around himself with the beginnings of tears in his eyes. He had been one of the few chosen to guard the Emperor, and despite the fact he was the last of the trio that had entered my cell I realised that he was younger than what I was. "but… the Emperor trusted you for a reason, and I trust the Emperor."

"That doesn't make me feel any better." I admitted, not taking my gaze of the Amulet as I motioned to him and the carnage around us. "But what about you? What will you do?"

"I… I'll stay here to guard the Emperor's body, and make sure no one follows you."

A tiny pouch with a tied string was pulled from his belt and he gave it to me while pointing to the hole. "That has to go somewhere, and I wouldn't be surprised if it manages to go around that blocked gate. Past that gate is a secret entrance into the sewers." a scowl tightened his features. "Or it was supposed to be secret…"

I swore under my breath at the prospect of entering the sewers and felt the weight of the pouch he had given me. It was obviously containing a dozen or more coins. "Sewers… of course."

"Not all of our duties are glorious." He grimaced as I put my boot on the successful Assassin's shoulder and heaved back on the hilt of the gladius, freeing it from the dead man's mouth in a wash of blood. "A merry jaunt through a cesspit isn't going to be the worst you would have faced."

Looking at the way he had pointed to the Legion brand on my shoulder I nodded. "Seven years in the 14th."

"Good. Good…" The young Blade was obviously feeling better that the Amulet was in the hands of a soldier rather than some damn bard or acrobat. "In that case a few rats and goblins won't give you any trouble."

"Goblins? Suppose it's better than corpus creatures at least." I offered my hand to him, seeing how both of us were splattered with blood to the elbow. "I'm Kaius by the way."

His hand gripped mine and it felt like I was shaking hands with a dwemer centurion. He might have been young but he was strong. "Baurus." Nodding to the hole he gave my hand a quick squeeze and let go. "You better get out of here. There's no telling who will come first; the Blades or more assassins."

"I understand, and I don't feel like being put back in a cell." Pausing only briefly in the threshold of the passage I looked back at him and gave a grim smile.

"May Talos guide you." he said as I ducked through the hole.

In the darkness and with the Amulet of Kings gripped tightly in the palm of my hand I couldn't help but shiver. "I'm going to need as much help as I can get." I said to the encroaching shadows, trying to shake away the building urge to lick the blood from my arms.