Mercer didn't move like someone who'd taken a blade between the ribs only a handful of days ago, much to Rath's disappointment. Even his armour had been patched up.
He seemed content to let it be her that woke anyone up, ducking and evading rather than clashing her weapons with his own.
So they fought in near silence. The shuffling of feet, the faint sigh as edged weapons sliced at the air, and their own breathing were the only sounds. To an outside observer their fight might appear choreographed; a dance rather than a combat. Only their momentum gave them away, the power behind their swings evident when they tried to pull up.
Rath had warmed up now, and she circled around Mercer, trying to force him back towards the water.
"Aren't you getting tired of this?" Mercer growled and rolled under her blade away from the pool.
"Are you offering to stand still?" Rath asked. Their conversation wouldn't wake anyone up; to sleep in the Cistern you had to learn to sleep more than quiet talking.
"No, but you're holding back and that's boring."
"You came here to be entertained?"
"I came here to finish what you started." He looked, in the low light of the dying fires, genuinely angry. The lines at the corners of his mouth were deep, and she could see his teeth glint as he drew his lips back to speak.
Why was he so angry?
Rath's eyes widened and a smile stole across her face. "You're jealous."
"What?" He darted in, blades flashing, but she backed off to let him flail, undeterred from making her deductions.
"You're mad because I went after the Key instead of you." Always had to be first priority, and got in a snit when he wasn't.
"I didn't come here to listen to your theories," he sneered. "I came here to spill some blood, and it doesn't have to be yours."
He turned away from her, towards the bunks, and strode over to Cynric's bunk.
Rath didn't shout a warning. That wouldn't do any good; even if he woke up he'd be too slow to save himself. Instead she ran, her gaze fixed on Mercer's back, knowing from his stance he couldn't turn his blades on her easily.
He didn't have to.
He waited until the last moment and then spun, driving the pommel of his sword into her midsection with a triumphant smile.
"I thought you were smarter than that," Mercer said, as Rath gasped for breath. She had no armour on and it felt like he'd bruised right through her abdomen to her spine.
She dived out of his way, or tried to, and his boot landed against her ribs. She rolled with it, absorbing the blow as best she could, but Mercer wasn't going to give her a chance to recover. As soon as she was on her back he drove the point of his sword down through her left shoulder, pinning her like a butterfly.
He stomped on her left hand, crushing Chillrend out of her fingers as she wheezed painfully, trying to breathe again. He kicked the glass blade away while staying out of reach of the Razor.
Every time she moved, either trying to get free or attack him with the Razor, Mercer pushed down on his blade, digging it deeper into the joint. A thin whine escaped her lips, blood running red down her shoulder, staining her chest bindings and dripping onto the floor.
"Again you are a disappointment," Mercer said. "So much promise, so easily undone by trifles."
Maybe the Key was a trifle.
"My friends are not trifles," she gritted out, glaring up into his face.
"Oh yes, honour among thieves. Still clinging to that little fantasy?" He looked around the Cistern with an expression Rath didn't like. "You know what would make me take my sword out of your shoulder? Having to defend myself from someone else. You might even get a clear shot with that dagger of yours."
He grinned at her, and twisted his sword.
"Ngh!" Rath gritted her teeth, blinking away tears of pain, but she refused to shout.
"C'mon, Rath. What are you trying to prove?" He dug down with his blade, and she felt the tip grate against bone. She could barely breathe.
What was she trying to prove? That she would not continue to be so predictable.
She took a deep breath, and mustered all her hate. She needed it as she flexed her back, digging her feet in underneath her, and pushed herself up against Mercer's blade. It sliced past the bone, tearing into the meat of her shoulder, and she screamed in pain, but the Razor- he was in reach.
Rath jammed Dagon's blade into Mercer's thigh with all of her fury and strength. And she kept yelling.
"It's Mercer! Mercer!"
Mercer stumbled back, wrenching his blade free. He glared at her, but he looked rather amused too, as blood oozed down his leg.
"Spoil my fun, why don't you? Have it your way."
He disappeared again, and Rath watched as spots of blood became a bloody footprint, that left a track up to the graveyard entrance. She followed at a safe distance, watching until the fake grave had closed above the trapdoor.
She cradled her ruined hand, and turned back to the Cistern.
Everyone was still sleeping.
Seized by a sudden fear she hurried over to Sapphire's bunk and shook her shoulder. If Mercer had got to them first-
"Uh? Rath. Is your fever back again?" Sapphire poked her head out from under the blankets, blinking sleepily.
"Didn't you hear me shouting?"
"That's why I asked. Were having another nightmare?"
"Are you saying I've been shouting about Mercer in my sleep?"
"Until your fever broke, every night. Are you okay? Is that blood?"
"Yes, but I'm fine. Go back to sleep."
Sapphire apparently needed no further invitation. Rath walked back to her bunk, and searched one-handed for some healing potions. She knew in an abstract sense that she should be embarrassed by her shouting, or at very least amused that everyone could now sleep through it, but she was more concerned about Mercer.
He'd come back for her.
They agreed on one point; they had unfinished business with each other. But she needed time to think, and to plan. Mercer wasn't merely going to assassinate her; he'd had the chance to do that. He wanted to beat her. Have her mewling on the floor at the end of his blade, to die at his whim.
And that could be his downfall, because she'd gut him without hesitation should the opportunity arise, no words, no gloating, no pain. He mightn't ever see her coming.
Wasn't he lucky, to have a nemesis like her?
Her wounds healed as best they could through magic. They'd twinge and ache for a while, but here in the Cistern she had access to cure poison potions, and she didn't need any time in bed to recover.
Instead she packed everything she thought might come in handy, slithered into her Nightingale armour, and took one last look around. She had no plans to come back here until she was absolutely certain Mercer was dead. Her mere presence was putting everyone else in danger, and Mercer could use the other thieves too easily against her.
She walked out through the Ragged Flagon, which never closed. Even if Vekel wasn't there, somehow he always managed to keep track of everyone's tabs.
Brynjolf was the only customer, counting out his night's takings on one of the tables, and he looked her up and down.
"Going somewhere?"
"I'm going to return the Key," she said, consciously deciding to keep most of the truth to herself. "It's not as useful as I'd hoped, and it's better off back where it belongs. Karliah showed me where to go on my map. It's going to be quite a long trip."
Almost the entire length of Skyrim, in fact, but that suited Rath. It gave her a reason for a long absence, and it gave her somewhere to aim for, rather than just riding out aimlessly.
"Hmm." Brynjolf eyed her thoughtfully. "Are you sure that's all, Lass?"
"I can't promise I won't get sidetracked." She grinned at him, hopefully in a cheerful and light-hearted manner. She didn't think Brynjolf was entirely fooled; he could read her like a book, sometimes.
But he didn't press the point.
"Then we'll see you when you get back. Take care, Rath."
"Yes, Boss." She winked at him and strolled out.
She didn't leave Riften immediately. The first light of dawn was starting to streak the eastern sky when she wove her way through the familiar back alleys of Riften towards Riftweald Manor, Mercer's old house.
She'd been in a hurry when she'd last visited, but now she thought it might be worth taking another look around. There was even an outside chance he'd be home; he was in the area after all.
The back of the house was just as she'd left it, and the door was unlocked. Inside she was greeted by the scent of the corpses she'd left last time she came through. If it had been Hammerfell it would have been unbearable, but Skyrim afforded the Nords the dubious luxury of leaving their dead out to dry in the cold without causing a plague. It didn't surprise her, however, that their tombs were so restless and it depressed her to think it would probably be her fate as well. The Imperials had offered to send her body home after execution, but everyone else would assume they were doing her an honour if she was interred here.
Best not to think about it, hold her breath, and move on. She didn't plan to die any time soon.
The upper part of the house looked totally unlived in, which given Mercer rarely left the Cistern made a fair amount of sense. Nevertheless, she circled the well-appointed rooms knocking quietly on walls looking for secret panels, and peering under rugs.
The only item that didn't look like it came with the house was the statue of Dibella on a shelf. Perhaps he'd stolen it from somewhere; he'd never struck her as religious – he'd snubbed Nocturnal after all, which wasn't the act of a pious man. Maybe he just liked staring at her tits.
The house was empty of anything useful, so Rath tried the basement.
The passages leading to Mercer's secret office had been lined with traps, and it didn't look like anyone had been through to reset them but she went cautiously, just in case.
This was Mercer's office, where he planned his betrayals. It wasn't large, or well-furnished. Just a simple wooden chair and desk. Rath stood there for a few moments, and then sat at the desk. The plans and maps had gone. There was book, and she picked it up.
The Lusty Argonian Maid.
Rath dropped the book like it was hot, and forced her mind's eye to look away from that surprisingly vivid mental image. What did he do down here? Well, besides the obvious. She propped her elbows on the desk and sighed. There wasn't even a view, just a blank stone wall.
Rath leaned forward and squinted. There was something odd about the wall. She lit a torch from her pack and held it closer. She hadn't imagined it. The wall was covered in neat hash marks in groups of five.
Hundreds of them.
Days? Months? Years?
This didn't feel like a private space any more, not a hideaway. It felt like a prison cell. She wondered if this was the key to Mercer's crimes; he was just that bored.
