In Destiny's Shadow: an Oblivion Fanfiction
CHAPTER ONE
The cell doors of the Imperial City Prison were resistant to both fire and frost spells. Off balance following the sudden realisation that she had a neighbour, Sera had felt more surprised by this than perhaps she ought to have been. The destruction magic had simply fizzled at the merest contact with the bars, well short of its intended target.
Awake now, and more obnoxious for it, Valen Dreth probably had no idea how dearly he had cost her. In short, he had snored, loud and long in the very moment that Sera had been easing the lock's last tumbler free. She'd flinched and snapped her painstakingly smuggled-in lockpick, leaving the shaft too short to complete the operation. Even if she could concentrate over the conscious Dreth's persistent commentary, the miscellaneous bones on the floor were all too thick to be of any use as substitutes.
One, she'd fashioned into a semblance of a weapon, in her ample leisure time. All prison cells tended towards misery, but this one had it all; a draught, dampness, and unidentifiable filth on every surface of the tiny room.
Dreth's cell was immaculate by comparison, though he himself lowered the tone. He was shorter than Sera, he stank from across the hall, and though he shared her red eyes, a trait of all dark elves, his conveyed an air of mingled spite and stupidity.
Alternately crooning and cackling, he still seemed just as impressed by his own wit as he had the first time he had suggested the pretty dunmer maid might like to share his company. Sera was theoretically protected by prison policy, and she was hardly intimidated by the buffoon opposite; but the fact remained that the guard had already demonstrated an unnerving streak of vindictiveness. Though it rankled greatly to be at anyone's mercy, she hoped he was too far away to be inspired by Dreth's notion.
"You're going to die in here. You're going to die," her kinsman repeated with relish, undaunted by her lack of response. At the rate that the guard was finding pretexts to withhold her water ration, he would prove Dreth quite correct.
"Hear that?" Dreth enquired. Yes, yes of course I hear you, the idiot voice preventing my sleep, Sera thought viciously, tempted almost beyond reason to try throwing a silence enchantment through the bars. But no, the necessary scrolls were now evidence, never mind that for once she was entirely innocent. She had left Bruma a day after the supposed incident at the palace, as a bill of sale had clearly proven until the guard had burnt it. There had been something unsettlingly manic and personal about the satisfaction he'd taken in doing so.
Sera groaned aloud, for her general situation, and because a slight head movement had released a fresh stench of rot from her meagre pallet. Across the hall, Dreth was still talking, but behind that Sera could hear footsteps. Guards plural, one called Baurus among them, perhaps the honour guard for her release with a full pardon; that would certainly upset the good Captain Lex.
Sera stood up carefully, listening hard. There were several voices now, besides Dreth's, and some were calmer than others. They grew abruptly louder as the cell block door creaked open, and Sera caught the word Sire. That was cause for concern enough, even before assassins were brought up.
No one had yet said what she was being charged with, and Sera's stomach sank a few more notches while Sire lamented his murdered sons. The Emperor she knew by reputation didn't seem the type to conduct interrogations personally, but if that was what she was accused of -
Her pitcher shattered, falling from the table she'd unknowingly backed into, the sudden noise stopping her heart for a moment.
"What's this prisoner doing here?" the female guard in the lead demanded, neatly turning what little Sera thought she had grasped of the situation on its head. The three guards - and that could only be the Emperor - crowded around her door, all dead set on coming in. If her cell contained a secret escape route from the palace, it was a very well hidden one; she'd had time to look.
Baffled, Sera moved toward the window, following the second guard's direction. After they entered and opened the very solid-seeming wall, Sera would have pronounced herself beyond further surprise out of exasperation; until the Emperor himself addressed her.
"I've seen you," he said, to the consternation of the two bodies in armour standing protectively between them. For a hideous instant Sera thought he really was referring to whatever had happened at the palace; knowing that she hadn't been there wouldn't help against this particular testimony, more likely the Emperor's say-so was enough to carry any sentence. For all that it cleared up how he recognized her, Sera was sure she had never seen Uriel Septim VII in her life...except on the backs of very many coins, but that depiction was much younger , without the robes and oversized pendant.
"Let me see your face," the Emperor continued, his expression searching and alarmingly sincere. The guards, and even Dreth had gone silent, painfully so.
"You are the one from my dreams," Uriel declared, solemnly ignoring Sera's weak laugh. "Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength." He paused, one hand going to the great gem at his throat - the Amulet of Kings, Sera realised. "Take care. There will be blood and death, before the end, but today the Serpent shall sting those who seek yours."
She blinked, startled and at a loss for how his Majesty had divined her birthsign. Hers was a modest constellation, of only four stars, but it was a private one, known only to herself, and now three bodyguards and an Emperor.
He talked a little more, of Gods and more blood, and a predetermined doom; spouting what would be nonsense in any other mouth with a faint but undeniable sense of a more-than-mundane authority.
His guards - his Blades - looked as mystified as she felt, as Sera was finally driven to interrupt.
"You cannot even see the stars from in here," she muttered, pointing at the grimy excuse for a window. "Speak sense, what do you want from me?"
"Gods give me strength," Uriel repeated, not necessarily to her as he gave no sign of having heard. Instead he followed her gesture, gazing at the blurred sliver of moonlight; the picture of a man going steadfastly to his grave, or one who had quite lost his mind. Sera hissed impatiently, mirroring the action of his Captain Renault, clearly more concerned with the inarguably real assassins somewhere in pursuit. The woman was difficult to distinguish from her fellows, wearing identical armour and being only marginally smaller.
"You will find your own path," the Emperor said, by way of parting as he allowed himself to be ushered away.
Sera followed quietly, as closely to the very unimpressed guards as she dared. The assassins would not have to look hard to track them if they made it as far as the prison. Dreth, glaring daggers as she left, would likely be glad to point them in the right direction.
The dust lining the secret passage was ankle deep, yet the Blades were finding plenty to clang their armour against. More than a simple corridor, it seemed like a small wing of the palace had been sealed off, with mouldering long-term residents to match. Sera sped up a little, trying to keep Baurus in sight.
Before she could get clear of the connecting passageway, "Protect the Emperor!" rang out from the chamber ahead, along with the sleek rasp of unsheathed steel.
Fumbling a little with the magic she hadn't practiced in days, Sera's eyes were still full of the blue light of Night-Eye when she entered.
The dark recesses were thrown into sharp relief when the vivid magicka dispersed, revealing three assailants mid-descent from the level above. The Blades were quick and were rapidly engaged to a man. A fourth assassin landed with his back to Sera, offering a perfect opportunity to strike a weak point with her sharpened prong of bone; except that he wore an armour style she was completely unfamiliar with. It looked vaguely Daedric, with the faintly liquid gleam of conjured metal.
Sera took a stab at it anyway, aiming for the cloth section between the base of the helmet and the chest-plate, shadowing the man as he tried to turn around. Her weapon scraped harmlessly against an underlying mail collar, but the assassin dropped to his knees without protest. Letting him fall she saw he had been neatly run through from the front, by a shortsword Uriel extracted from his gut with apparent ease; the dark armour dissolved away in a wash of magicka, gone back from whence it had been summoned.
"Nicely done," Sera muttered under her breath, determined not to gape. True, she was much closer to his age than she'd like to admit, but the elven races aged that much more slowly than men. In any case, neither Dunmeri nor Human Emperors traditionally slew their foes personally, not in unmediated combat.
The encounter had spilled into the stairwell ahead, and partway down, Captain Renault had fallen. Sera let the other Blades draw ahead a tactful distance, before she appropriated the katana. Donning the robes of the assassins seemed less than sensible, and Baurus and Glenroy had wordlessly advised that taking Renault's armour would be a step too far, whether it fit or not. The weapon would have to be enough, it had more heft to it than Sera's bone spar.
Though their possessions were few, one of the assassins had the right-sized feet, and Sera gratefully put a layer of leather between her skin and any more muck. With the aid of Renault's sword she also detached a sleeve from one of the robes, knotting the end to form a crude pouch. It was not a flattering addition to her wardrobe - now benefiting from the same former-assassin's belt as well - but it was the best she had time to make without losing sight of the people who knew the way out.
With Sera bringing up the distant rear, they reached another open chamber, with stairs descending to an ancient door. Baurus unlocked it and led the way; without turning the Emperor spoke, as his final guard raised his arms to bar Sera from following.
"Here you must find your own path. But we will cross ways again before the end, I am sure of it."
The older Blade, Glenroy, still carried his point; shutting the door with so much deliberation that he shook a few bricks loose from the adjoining wall. Sera stuck her tongue out at the sound of the lock turning, huffing with more bravado than she felt. Uriel was easier to dismiss as an aging mystic in absentia, but the atmosphere of fateful sobriety lingered.
But to business - she was partway through a catacomb of unknown extent, and Baurus had taken the only known key with him. The assassins had got in somehow, however, and Sera soon found a likely looking pillar from which she could ascend to their entry point.
After tossing the katana ahead, Sera leaped, taking the impact harder than she expected, but ultimately climbing up onto the ledge. To her disgust, they had been conscientious enough to lock the upper door behind them. Probing the edges with the katana served little purpose, except to make an infernal grating sound; likewise when she returned to ground level to try her luck with the first exit.
Perhaps one of the bricks Glenroy had dislodged would have shattered into useful fragments; conveniently lockpick-shaped for example, if only the stars would be so kind.
Upon closer examination the stones all proved to be intact, but there was something of a breeze emerging from the hole left behind. The rest of the wall crumbled with surprisingly little persuasion, revealing a deeper expanse of cave than she could see the end of unaided.
The Nighteye spell came easier the second time, filling in the shadowed corners. Directly to her right lay a sunken chest; possibly it had been locked once, but the metal pulled easily free of the wood. The remains of some garment, a corroded hand axe and a few coins lay within, the latter of which Sera dropped into her pouch. Over the last creaking protest of the closing chest, there was a distinct shuffling from around the far corner.
Renewing her spell first, Sera had the katana half drawn when the first rat sprang in her direction. Including its fleshy tail, the thing was as long as she was tall, lunging upwards with a bloodthirsty squeak. Clumsily, cursing how longer blades could not be drawn as quickly as the daggers she was more used to, Sera bludgeoned the rat with the hilt. It staggered, made a passing swipe at its companion, and resumed the offensive.
Sera retreated sideways, edging into the more open space where she could bring her weapon to bear, discarding the empty scabbard where it fell. The two rats were twitching on their haunches, feinting as often as they made genuine leaps; to be kicked or belted back. Small wonder Renault had gone down, the katana was so wretchedly heavy. Finally one rat overshot its mark, landing splayed at Sera's feet. She stabbed downwards, impaling the rodent before it could rise. The blade remained stuck in the hard-packed earth, despite her efforts to withdraw it.
"Move!" she snarled, pulling back on the hilt. It shifted fractionally, still essentially useless while weighed down with the furry adornment. The remaining rat threw itself at her, and she had to lean back almost to the point of falling, to avoid the yellowed teeth. It took a moment to line itself up again, and abandoning the sword, Sera seized the chance to collect herself
Perhaps because of the few practice attempts against the prison bars, the destruction magic came readily to mind. Releasing the magicka, Sera caught the rat full in the face, with all the fire she had earlier wished on Dreth.
It was an inexplicable reflex for a dark elf; Sera was very nearly fireproof herself, and yet even against her own kind, inciting conflagration was the most natural expression of profound annoyance. The rat was not so incombustible, and expired very quickly. In a last act of revenge it left a smouldering corpse reeking worse than anything so far.
The stench was familiar, reminding her that however bizarre the circumstances that had gotten her here, she was not so inexperienced a dungeon-crawler to be defeated by rats. Hunkering down despite the smell, Sera retrieved both katana and scabbard, using the alcove to hide the worst of the glow as she replenished her Eyes of Midnight. That had been the name of the first spell of night sight she'd learned anyway, years ago; her subsequent variations had less embellished titles, the latest of which she could not presently recall. She had a hood enchanted to do the same thing, only practicing the spell herself when moving around her home at night.
That hood was well out of reach, however,as was all her usual equipment she'd left behind for a simple day trip to Bruma. On a whim she had roamed further afield, discontented with Selena Orania's alchemical wares; the visit to the Imperial City, and its prison had unfolded thereafter.
Thirsty and thoroughly disgruntled, Sera was not yet hungry enough to sample the flash-roasted meat, but she carved a small supply off before moving on.
The dirt floor of the cavern was worn away in places, exposing flagstones that had been laid out but never finished. Similarly, the thick pillars supporting the roof had been eroded by time, listing enough to encourage greater speed past them. Sera's knees ached a little, from maintaining her stooped posture, but she soon fell into her old rhythm, making much quieter progress than before. Courtesy of her growing...maturity, she was perhaps slower than she once had been, but by a trifling fraction.
There was a third rat, skulking at the far side of the chamber. Katana in hand, Sera crept towards it, alert for any sound besides her quickening heartbeat. Somehow she gave herself away, and the rodent spun around with a rasping squeak; only to spontaneously perish. It rolled onto its side and twitched, but after a moment of suspicious observation, Sera was forced to concede its genuine demise. A cursory scan of the area confirmed that nothing else was moving.
Whether the fates were involved or not, Sera's low expectations were most generously answered as she explored the last corner, by the pile of anonymous bones. He - or she - had left a bow and quiver, with a handful of passably straight shafts, and a single, shining lockpick. Indulging in a small superstition, Sera left his few coins where they lay, feeling a certain kinship for the fellow archer who had presumably failed to locate an exit.
She turned to leave, snagging her foot against something buried in the dust.
"I am much obliged to you, sir," she said, after replacing the regrettably empty waterskin. It was a touching effort, after he'd done so much for her.
The door, when she finally found it, was partly concealed behind a rat-gnawed goblin. The corpse was fresh, relatively speaking, and goblins seldom worked alone. This one held the key to the door, to Sera's mild disappointment. Reaffirming her lock-disabling prowess would have to wait while she had no picks to spare. Sera tested the wasted bowstring and tightened the lower attachment with an old nail, before easing the door ajar.
Despite a wince-worthy squeal, her entry brought no immediate attention. Faint tracks littered the dust on the other side, both goblin and rat, but old. A few barrels had been overturned and left, without their contents, again not recently. Though there were none in evidence, the smell suggested that the creatures were well-established here, possibly preying on each other for as long as the way had been sealed.
The passageway remained narrow, echoing the sound of rats long before Sera actually caught sight of them. They were strangely skittish, where they usually gained confidence in number; fleeing even as she tried to count them. She followed quietly, letting them reach and traverse the next room, only turning her attention to its contents in their absence.
Examining an intent barrel, Sera thought she had perhaps been too harsh in her judgement of what the stars intended. Mostly concealed by rubble, the barrel had been left undisturbed, with lockpicks and mead within. Her preference in alcohol lay elsewhere, but she could certainly use the bottles. Happy was the clink of glass, fastened by practiced hands to her belt; equal but opposite to the emotion in the sudden keening of rats.
The frantic squealing died away almost instantly, succeeded by a wet tearing.
Carefully Sera approached the mouth of the passage, squinting down into the greenish gloom. The muted crunch of bone was nauseating, echoing so that it might have been coming from anywhere within the tunnel. An unnatural shadow stretched out beneath the hunched figure at the foot of the incline; the joined silhouette of a rat and the humanoid eating it.
Her Night-Eye spell was wearing thin, but there was just enough light filtering through from somewhere overhead, to suffice. The creature was unlikely to stay occupied for long; the undead never ate out of hunger, but rather as another outlet for their indiscriminate aggression. Its face was mercifully unknown at this distance. As Sera considered her options, jamming a few arrows upright in the dirt for easy access, the thing tensed.
With a gargling howl it tore the rat carcass lengthwise, then simply dropped the savaged pieces.
"'Hate undead," Sera breathed with contained vehemence. While they never abandoned a living target, zombies had no interest in the truly dead. Strategically the quirk was of limited use; the state had to be irrevocably proven before they'd leave anything alone. I hate, detest, despise undead! she vented inwardly, loosing her first shaft.
It took the zombie in the shoulder, knocking it back a pace, so that it became entangled in the disassembled rodents. As Sera had hoped, it turned, following the impetus of the arrow. She nocked another, loosing it before the zombie had settled on a direction to charge in. Neither Daedric, nor silver, the barbs were not greatly damaging, but the embedded shafts would hinder its retaliation when it found her.
The means by which zombies located their prey were unclear; even when their eyes, or sometimes heads had separated from the larger part, they were inevitably drawn towards life. With a triumphant groan it finally started towards hers, its eager shambling deceptively swift. Lowering the bow, Sera released a bolt of ruddy magic, already preparing a potenter spell. Zombies were vulnerable to fire, and with that weakness exacerbated further, her next attack would punish it.
The magicka was blazing under the flesh of her fingers, but a baser instinct still turned her stomach cold as she waited for the thing bare-handed. In a heartbeat it was close enough for her to see one of her shafts wobbling with every step, barely fast in the jellied abdomen. This time she lost sight of her foe once the flames were unleashed, dodging to the side, but not wholly avoiding being struck; she felt cold, wrong skin scrape against her arm.
Three times she engulfed the howling undead, until her magicka ran dry and the creature fell. She stumbled away from it, her senses slowly returning to magnify the effect; the afterglow of embers, and the faint bubbling of steam escaping the cooked tissue. A strangled laugh escaped her, partly self-directed. It quickly turned into coughing, coating the inside of her mouth with the reeking ash.
Sera took a breath and held it, picking up her spare arrows - though some were burned beyond help - and withdrew to a more prudent distance. Subject to a few days of wrongful imprisonment, and bereft of her customary equipment; and she was finding herself thoroughly spooked by rats, a common zombie, and the baleful prophesying of an octogenarian. Disgraceful.
Rejected title idea #1: Que Sera, Sera
EDITED BY MY SISTER, MUCH GRATITUDE.