-Chapter Four-

Dawn was just breaking as I strode across the surface of Lake Rumare. The sun was warming my back and lighting a wobbly path across the water to the shore.

I was shivering a little as my hair and clothes dried in the cold morning air. I'd had to take a dip to clean myself off when I was done with Thrud. Thankfully, my shirt and skirt were already red. I wasn't sure I'd gotten all of the blood out of the linen.

I'd rolled what was left of the Nord into the lake and kicked around the sand that he had been lying on. Once I was satisfied that all looked fine, I had silently retrieved my knapsack and headed off west, across the water. Thank the Nine for water walking spells. They cut hours off of my escape.

I knew I couldn't stay after what I had done. Even if they didn't find him - which was likely, given the slaughterfish that lived around here - things would eventually be traced to me. Maybe not this time, but eventually.

Because I wanted to – to do it again. I wanted to kill.

Perhaps you're shocked. Don't be. There comes a time in every healer's life when she looks at the beauty of repairing flesh, and wonders, just for an instant, if causing pain delivers the same rush. I'd faced that time, and I'd discovered, to both my horror and joy, that it doesn't.

It's better. The sensations are deeper, darker, far more enjoyable. As magnificent as it is to feel wounds repairing under your hands, it comes nowhere near the beauty of seeing that first blossoming of blood when a blade breaks the skin.

I shivered again, less from the cold this time. This was the first time that I'd actually killed someone, despite the temptation. Before, I had stuck to playing with the passed-out drunks. Nobody noticed, and it was good practice for healing as well. A few cuts, here and there, noting the different ways that they bled, occasionally going a little deeper.

And so I played, and learned.

I found that I hated blunt force. Bruises and cracked bones held nothing for me. I considered it unnecessarily savage. Poisons were intriguing. They held the elegance of a blade and added an air of mystique. And there were a hundred different ways to disable or kill with them.

I'd never tried marksmanship on a sentient being, figuring that it was far too obvious, but I managed to sweet-talk a couple of guards into letting me help them get rid of some mudcrabs, and into lending me a bow and arrows.

It took me a bit to get the hang of it, much to the patronizing amusement of the guards, but the joy of hitting a distant target was almost equal to my love of blades. When I actually did hit, that is. I came to the conclusion that the only way I'd manage to use a bow on someone would be if they were blindfolded, chained to the wall, and deaf. Possibly already dead. And that still would be only if I was standing about six inches away.

After a couple of near misses, I had toyed with the idea of "accidentally" hitting one of the guards with a bad shot. At that point, I realized that I was losing control.

I wasn't causing pain out of rage or a sudden, mad impulse. Not at all. The sight of blood gave me a thrill, but I didn't really care how I got it. It made no difference in the end if the cut was savage or gentle. I simply wanted to see blood spilled, and to see the pain surface in someone's eyes.

I sometimes wished that I'd feel something more when I practiced on the drunks. Even now, I didn't feel like I was a murderer. Perhaps I should. That's what it was, wasn't it? Murder. I was a murderer, or a murderess, if you wanted to get technical.

What do murderers feel like, anyway? Do they feel guilty? Upset? Or is it more like the content satisfaction you get after some really good sex? Not that I'd had much of that. Apparently, our customers' skills were inversely proportional to their coin purses.

At any rate, I was pretty sure that I wasn't supposed to enjoy myself - not the way I did, at least. My detached interest and satisfaction terrified me. It reminded me too much of the mask I hid behind when I was called on to serve a customer. And I knew the helpless anger and fear that lay behind that. I always wondered if maybe, just maybe, deeper emotions boiled beneath the surface of my detachment.

And I feared what they could do.

Thrud was really only an excuse. A way to test myself. A means to the end. I wanted to be sure that I could handle actually killing someone. I had to know if I would pull back from that point. Or worse, if I would be unable to stop myself afterwards. Every bit of my healer's instinct screamed against it, at what I was doing, but it was overruled by my...other...instinct. And in the end, they balanced. And I breathed a sigh of relief.

When it came down to it, the actual killing seemed only a part of the act, not its climax. I thought about that for a while, as I made my way to the far shore, clambering up the rocks. It should have been, but somehow it failed to fulfill. I regretted that it was too risky to light a torch. I could see well enough in the dark, but I hadn't learnt Night-eye yet, and so many details were lost. Perhaps I needed to concentrate more on the kill, compared to concentrating on the process. And it was a very long process. I won't tell exactly what I did to the Nord, but let's just say that I got to see some organs that I didn't know existed.

I paused, halfway up the beach, and thought back over the conversation I'd just had with myself. All at once, I was appalled and shaken. And more than a little sick to my stomach. What was I thinking? I was a healer, for Mara's sake! How could I even consider the things I had done acceptable?
Yet...it was obvious that I loved the pain, loved watching the blood – more than I loved anything else in this world. I practiced on drunks because I didn't want to slip and hurt one of the girls. Because...I would have. I could try to say that I killed Thrud to keep the girls safe, but that didn't change the fact that I'd wanted to. And that I'd enjoyed it. The instant that I'd felt the life leave him…words couldn't describe how I felt.

To a part of me, the power of causing pain was a drug, far more potent and addicting than skooma. It was beautiful, but at the same time...

"Oh, Gods!" The shadowed memories of what I had done to the Nord rushed back at me. I was instantly and violently sick.

After what seemed like an eternity, I staggered back down to the water. Rinsing out my mouth, I stared at my reflection. My eyes were red, and swollen from crying, with great dark circles underneath. I looked paler than normal, and working indoors as I did, I was plenty pale to begin with.

Not to put too fine an edge on it, I looked like hell.

I chuckled wetly. "You know," I told my reflection, "I haven't done that since the first time I was bought by a customer. I guess I was due for it after five years." I shuddered briefly at the memory, "At least...at least this time it was something under my control, horrible as it was."

I rocked back on my heels and lifted my head to watch the sunrise over the Imperial City. Nothing had changed. The world hadn't come to an end because I'd given in to temptation. The sun still rose, and everybody, save one, went about their business.

It was...sad that I was likely the only one who would mourn Thrud's death. I sniffed and wiped my face on my cloak. And it was almost funny that I was more broken up about him than I was about the deaths of my own parents.

I needed to decide what I was going to do. I couldn't pretend that I hadn't killed, and that I hadn't enjoyed it. I had to face the frightening fact that I'd willingly taken another's life. And until just now, I took it with no qualms at all. I had to figure out how to balance my healer's instinct with my hunter's instinct.

But before all that, I had to find a warm place to stay before I froze to the beach.

I rubbed my hands together, and jumped to my feet, hopping up and down for a bit to try and warm up. It wasn't snowing anymore, but it was still really cold, and my old cloak wasn't enough to keep me warm. All inner conflict was just going to have to wait until I could feel my fingers again. I needed to make my way to an inn or a village or a town, anywhere with a roaring fire would be good.

I adjusted my knapsack on my shoulder and climbed up to the road. From where I was, Skingrad was the closest town. Unfortunately, from what I heard from travelers, there were no inns on the way. I hadn't slept last night, obviously, and I was going to pass out from exhaustion and nerves pretty soon. But I really had no choice. I was not going to go back to the Imperial City.

For now, maybe if I just kept walking, I'd forget how drained I was going to be in an hour or so. I took a deep breath and headed down the road to the west.

I was determined to savor my newfound freedom. So what if Madame Hlaano sent guards after me? As if she could explain to them why she wanted me. She couldn't claim theft, since she'd have to let them inside the brothel. Guards only really turned a blind eye when they were off duty, you see. Too much attention could get her shut down, especially now that she had no healer.

And she certainly couldn't tell them the truth. "Oh, yes, Mr. Guard, sir. My enslaved healer ran off. Yes, I know that slavery is against the law, but could you bring her back, anyway?" I giggled, imagining her face once she realized that I'd followed up on my threat.

I passed one of the old forts, carefully skirting around in the bushes. Bandits liked to use the ruined structures as a base, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to take more than one of them at a time. At least my sense of self-preservation was still around, even if my sanity appeared to have fled.

Once I got to the crossroads, I debated my path again, and decided to go to Skingrad after all.

I'd heard it was an expensive place to live, but maybe I could get a job at the vineyards. Or as a healer...though that was dangerous. If all else failed, there was always the Thieves Guild, or singing in a tavern.

My marketable skills were few, as my old job didn't exactly call for many. "Obliging, quiet, and doesn't bite," was the best thing said about those particular talents. If they'd been a little more observant, they could have added, "Really, really good actress," to that. I suppose the whistling and the attempts to grab me as I walked by would be a higher compliment, but pardon me if I don't put a lot of stock in it.

The journey to Skingrad was pretty much uneventful. The sun rose higher and higher in the sky and I eyed it warily. I hoped that I'd get to town before nightfall. Nasty things came out at night, and I didn't fancy the idea of camping out in one of the caves. Dark, cold, and slimy. If I wanted that, I'd have gotten a room at The Bloated Float.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the walls of Skingrad rising before me at last. It was only about three or four in the afternoon, but I was bone-weary. Every muscle in my body ached, and I didn't even want to know what my feet looked like. As a dancer, I was in good shape, but honestly? There just isn't that much walking to be done in a brothel. I wasn't used to it. I had to find an inn before I collapsed on the street.

I dragged myself up to the gate. One of the guards looked at me in concern and asked, "Are you all right, Miss?"
"I'm fine," I lied, "it's just been a long trip and a heavy load."
"Oh." He scratched his head. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Well, you can start by pointing me towards an inn," I cracked a smile to take the edge off of my curt words.

He returned the smile. "Well, you've got the West Weald Inn, and the Two Sisters' Inn. Any preference?"

"Either, as long as it's close by. I'm beat. I don't sleep well at those inns along the road."

He gave me an understanding nod, "Would you like me to help you there, Miss? You do look exhausted. I can carry your bag for you if you'd like?"
"That would be...wonderful."

To this day, I cannot remember which inn he took me to. I was just too tired. All I recall is handing over some coin and the guard wishing me a pleasant rest.

I all but fell onto the blessedly soft bed, too exhausted to even undress.