Author's Note: Like others who write with the lore of Dremoras, in particular the wonderful Dremora City mod whose name I've forgotten, I've thrown out the idea that they can't die permanently in any way. This may be lore but it makes no sense population-dynamics-wise, and I've chosen to see them as more organic creatures. Thus, per the previous story, a Dremora is not immortal when present unsummoned in Nirn (though he or she still does not age).

Not that this chapter will mention that per se.

In keeping with my ironic naming of Barsabas, the name Ezri is Biblical and means "my help."

Chapter 3

No Claws was awakened by Barsabas' voice saying her name. She sat up blearily, half-tangled in the blanket, and saw him still in the doorway. He was outlined in the greenish light of the hall, crouched in a position of predatory readiness

"What is it?" she said.

"A mage," Barsabas said, and then he was enveloped in the blue envelope of a massive dispel charge. His body dissolved in a shower of gold sparks.

No Claws scrambled out of bed and reached for the knife on the nearest table. It wasn't much of a knife, a worn and rusty thing of plain steel that she'd found lying in a coffer. Barsabas had summoned himself at a far greater level than she had ever succeeded in doing. A mage who could cast that level of dispel...

"You must be very powerful," No Claws said. She held the knife down at her side, so that the sleeve of her plain brown robe fell down over it. She raised the other hand as she called up the only shield that she knew how to invoke. The blue shimmer sprang up around her. "Did the guild send you?"

"Yes," said a man's voice. He stepped through the doorway a moment later, silver longsword at the ready. He carried no staff. He was a Breton, probably somewhere between forty or fifty; No Claws sometimes couldn't tell with humans, even as long as she'd lived with them. He was small and thin, and his face was lined and haggard under his hood. He wore simple traveling clothes. They'd probably been black, once. Now they were a dull, dark grey.

He looked at No Claws, blinking in the warm light from the braziers.

"I didn't realize you would be so young," he said.

"You mean Traven did not tell you so," No Claws said. She didn't bother to hide her annoyance. Her tail switched. "I'm seventeen. My birthday was last week. But you're never too young to die, are you?"

"Nor too old," the mage said. He did not smile. From the way the lines lay at the corners of his mouth, he probably hadn't smiled in a long time. "I'm not Traven's assassin, girl. Nor is he my master. If you are not truly a necromancer, I will do you no harm. Are you a prisoner here?"

"I won't lie to you," she said. No Claws raised her left hand slowly, spreading her fingers so that he could see their smooth ends. "I'm a No Claws. It's the only name I've ever had. Do you know what that means, Breton?"

"The archivist told me," the battlemage said. "You were born clawless, under the sign of the Apprentice." He didn't sheathe his sword, but he made no move to attack. Yet.

"I'm a dead-raiser," No Claws said, lowering her hand. "It's what I was born to do. I've never done harm to a living thing, and I would rather not start with you."

"I've fought many Servants of the Worm," the mage said. His voice was deep and hollow. "Many of them with years' practice in doing evils you have probably never imagined. I've slain Guardians of Oblivion and sent their creatures shrieking back to the void in great number. You have no chance, girl. I would rather not have the blood of a child on my hands, but the closing of the circles must be preserved in the name of Arkay and of all that is holy. Swear to me that you'll never raise another dead man, and I'll leave you."

No Claws shook her head. "I can't," she said simply.

"Then I regret that I must do this," the battlemage said. He raised the sword in front of his face. The blade began to glow a faint red.

"Tell me your name," No Claws said.

"I tell no one that," the battlemage said.

"I've told you mine," No Claws said. "And if I could do you any harm from beyond the grave by use of it, it would be only what you deserve."

"That is so," the mage said quietly. "What's one more voice in the dark, when I have so many? My name is Ezri Verrault."

No Claws shook her sleeve back from the knife. Even under the shimmer of her shield, it was pathetically ugly.

"You're no coward, I see," the mage said. "But then, some of them aren't. It's a sad truth that courage is no measure of goodness."

"Very true," No Claws said, and dug the point of the knife into the palm of her left hand. It was dull, so she had to press very hard to draw blood. She was glad Argonians couldn't sweat.

The mage paused, staring. "What are you doing?"

Then there was a yellow shimmer in the air, and Barsabas stepped out of the void and clubbed him in the head with his doubled fists. The mage staggered, trying to bring the sword around, but he'd been hit too hard. The zombie stood watching as he fell to his knees, then onto his side. The sword clattered on the stone floor.

Barsabas raised his foot.

"Stop," No Claws said. The zombie looked at her with reproach as he took a step back. His eyes were milky, completely filmed over. Up close, he smelled strongly of the alcohol she'd used to preserve him originally.

"He was trying to hurt you," Barsabas said.

"Yes, but I need his skull intact," No Claws said. She came forward, knelt by the mage, and drove the knife into his eye socket, just to make sure. He didn't twitch. He was already dead. "Go see what happened to Agronak gro-Malog. He wouldn't have let this man past him if he was here."

"Let who past me?" said a familiar baritone. No Claws looked up to see the half-Orc standing in the doorway. He was small, for an Orc, and very pale – they'd called him the Gray Prince for a reason. Agronak took a quick step into the room as he caught sight of the corpse. Barsabas made a noise that could be easily mistaken for a growl.

"Barsabas," No Claws said. "We talked about this. Where were you?" she asked Agronak.

"Getting dinner," Agronak said. He looked cautiously between the animate dead and the inanimate one. "LoAmai insisted on coming with me, and it's not like I could stop her. Who was that?"

"Mages' Guild," No Claws said. "I've heard some of the battlemages devote their time to hunting down necromancers. It seems he was one."

"Are you all right?" Agronak said. "You're bleeding."

"Hm? Oh, yes, it's nothing." No Claws wiped the small wound on the dead mage's cloak. She tried not to dwell on the fact that Agronak could not have seen the injury with her hand hidden by her sleeve. "He dispelled Barsabas, and pain lets him focus tightly enough to get back here on his own. I'm not sure why. I've got some lavender extract somewhere still..."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Barsabas go to the table and unerringly select the right bottle. He really was eerily bright lately.

"I don't suppose you had time to ask him how he found us," Agronak said.

"Oddly, no," No Claws said. "That didn't come up. You can always ask him later."

Agronak stepped forward and sank smoothly to his haunches beside the dead mage. He was graceful for an Orc, too. No Claws sometimes wondered if that was why Barsabas seemed so wary of him. Now he stayed carefully on the other side of the corpse from No Claws, giving her plenty of space. The pattern of his scars cast odd shadows on his face and neck in the firelight.

"Looks like he had a hard life," Agronak said. He prodded one shoulder with a stubby gray finger, causing the body to flop onto its back. The light from the braziers fell directly on the man's open eyes. They were deep-set, and gray. At least, the one that didn't have a knife slit in the middle of it was.

Barsabas knelt beside No Claws and reached for her wounded hand. She allowed him to pour a couple of drops of the healing extract onto the small injury. His touch was very cold.

"Where's the demon?" No Claws said.

"LoAmai is searching the rest of the ruin," Agronak said. He laid emphasis on the name. "There was only one horse, but you never know. Er. When you said I could ask him later...?"

"He's no good for a zombie," No Claws said. She looked down at the dead man, frowning slightly as she considered. She reached out with her right hand and brushed the pale hair from his forehead. It was streaked with gray. "Mages never are. Besides, I don't have what I need to preserve him, and I can't collect enough of the right herbs in the winter. He'd probably be quite a powerful ghost."

"Can you do that?" Agronak said.

"Probably," No Claws said. "I never tried. If it can be done at all, it should be easier than it was to raise Barsabas."

The zombie wiped her hand gently and took the bottle back to the table. He never turned his back to Agronak gro-Malog.

"I don't suppose there's any point in asking whether you should," Agronak said.

No Claws looked up at him finally. "I am what I am," she said. "And so was he. Does he look to you like someone who is resting in peace?"

Agronak looked at the dead man's face. "No."

"If he's already gone on to Aetherius, I won't pull him back," No Claws said. "But what if he's tied to this plane somehow, stuck between the way Barsabas was? Is it really worse to bring him here than to leave him there? Is that a restful place, Barsabas?"

"No," Barsabas said. "It's dark. You can hear, but you can't see." He spoke without emotion, the way he always did on any topic relevant to himself. No Claws held out her hand, and he raised her to her feet.

"Just so," No Claws said. She patted Barsabas's arm reassuringly. "And he could help us. If he found us here, others will, too."

Agronak stood up slowly. "Can you control him?" he said.

Barsabas tipped his head to one side. "I wouldn't doubt that," he said. "If I were you. I would have torn your throat out the first time I saw you, if it had been up to me."

"So I gathered," Agronak said dryly. "On your head be it, then. I'm going to go and make sure he was alone."

"Good night," No Claws said.

"I've had better," said Agronak gro-Malog.