The Keys of Khagemar
Chapter 5 – On the Trail
Hush had never visited Shor's Stone before. It wasn't due to any particular aversion to the settlement; he'd simply never been inclined to go. The nature of his work meant he was always travelling, always answering the summons of Jarls and picking up contracts or bounties from whoever required his unique services.
As such, Shor's Stone had never been very high on his list of priorities, as large cities like Solitude, Markarth and Whiterun were far more likely to assign him something. But Shor's Stone was hardly even what Hush would call as a settlement. It was barely a village. Three houses, one with a smithy attached to it sat around the entrance to a mine. If someone was hiding here, especially with a secret as huge as being an Oathkeeper, he doubted he would have to look for long.
He didn't want to linger. The Garkains could be just a few hours behind him, he didn't want to chance setting up camp until he absolutely had to. And unfortunately for Hush, there was neither a local trader to resupply on arrows and other provisions, nor a tavern to have a drink after walking East from the Garkains fort near Ivarstead to this sorry excuse for a settlement.
It was quiet, if nothing else, Hush supposed. That was always a nice thing.
"Get away from me! To Oblivion with you all!"
Maybe not.
"I'm leaving and you can't stop me, so just let me go!"
A woman's erratic shrieking carried across to Hush on the wind, and he sighed. Truly, there was never a dull moment in his life these days. He looked over to the smithy just in time to see the front door slam shut, with whoever had been shouting, fuming within. A few Rift Guards stood around the house; their gazes fixed squarely on the door. As such, when Hush approached one of the men, the Rift Guard almost jumped out of his skin when the mercenary tapped him on the shoulder.
"Gods, don't scare a man like that, Khajiit." He implored once he'd regained his composure. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Hush allowed a small smirk to tug at his lips, but cast a glance at the smithy. "Just a traveller. This one was wondering who was making so much noise."
"You're not the only one." He replied, calling another Guard over with a wave of his hand. "Talk to the Captain if you really want to know, just stay out of trouble while you're here."
"This one can make no such promises, but he will try." Hush replied with a nod.
"Good." He sniffed, just as the other man approached the pair: the Captain, Hush guessed.
"What is it?" He asked in a bored tone, giving Hush a long suspicious look. "Who's the kitten?"
Hush chuckled, that was a new one, but he liked it. Hush - the Lightning Arrow, a Monster Hunter... the Kitten. He was actually fond of the sound of it.
"Some traveller wants to know what's going on." He shrugged. "I don't care; he's your problem now, sir."
The Captain sighed. "Fine. You're dismissed; go make sure she doesn't slip out the back."
"Aye." He replied, walking away at a brisk pace around the other side of the small hut.
"So what do you want?" The Captain asked Hush, arms folded.
"Like he said, Khajiit is merely curious. Since when do Guards make sure someone doesn't leave their own home, hm?" He asked, casting glances to the small home. It seemed cosy enough, but the forge in the smithy was extinguished, and Hush frowned. What kind of blacksmith would let his forge go cold?
"This is official business, you know. You're poking your nose where it doesn't belong. Shouldn't you be guarding a Khajiit caravan of some kind?" The Captain said, gesturing to his damaged leather armour. Hush knew he'd have to get it fixed soon. The fighting at the Garkain fort had really done a number on him.
"This one looks like a caravan guard to you?" Hush asked, incredulous. The most they would have to deal with would be a group of Bandits or some hungry wildlife like Bears or Sabre Cats.
"You look like trouble." He spat.
"Dead wrong. Khajiit makes trouble go away." Hush rebuked, a swell of annoyance welling up inside him. "This one is a mercenary, a good one too."
"This is a quiet little place; we don't need the likes of you stirring things up for us. But..." The Captain said, stroking his bushy beard with a hand as if in thought. "Look, there's been a rise in criminal activities recently in Riften, and I can't spare the men to keep this place secure. It's a waste of time, frankly."
Hush nodded. He absorbed the information as he listened, perhaps the Captain would accidentally slip some details to the Khajiit that he could use. The sooner he found the Oathkeeper, the better.
"But if someone were to solve this problem, I'd be able to redeploy my men where I need them. Of course, I couldn't officially hire a mercenary. But if someone were to investigate and get me enough information for a report, I'm sure I could 'accidentally' let a few supplies go missing as payment." The Captain stipulated, his gaze fixed on Hush the entire time.
The Khajiit grimaced, he really didn't have time for this, but he was running low on arrows and his weapons could certainly do with repairs too. Eventually, he nodded.
"This one will try to solve your problem. Can you tell Khajiit about what is wrong?"
"Not officially. But there's nothing stopping me from giving my men a five minute break. Anything could happen while we're away." The Captain smiled devilishly, and Hush nodded again in understanding.
Get inside and talk to the woman. Find a way to solve her problem, then uncover a clue about the Oathkeeper.
"This one will wait for the right moment." Hush agreed, and the Captain beamed.
"Thank you. Good luck." He added before turning away and calling to his men, ordering them to rest their feet for a few minutes.
Once they had turned away, Hush darted to the smithy. He rapped his knuckles on the door, and a voice called out.
"What in Oblivion do you want now?!" Someone yelled, footsteps stomping towards the door from inside. "If you'd just let me leave, I could-"
The door swung open and Hush was greeted by the sight of a fuming Wood Elf. Her skin was tan, but she was slightly red in the face from yelling so much, and her eyes were sunken and her face was gaunt – probably from not sleeping or eating. Hush wondered why. What really grabbed his attention though, were her eyes - deep green and flashing with anger, but they instantly softened at the sight of him.
"Gods. Is that you, Hush?" She whispered in surprise and astonishment. "It's been years."
It took the Khajiit a moment to recognise her, but he remembered who she was after a moment of searching his memory.
"Greetings, Elicia. This one hears you need help."
She snapped out of her daze, then nodded, practically dragging him inside her home. It smelled of lavender and pine cones, and he could faintly make out the remnants of last night's dinner.
"Yes, I do. It's Derrimus, you see." She began, her voice already wavering with emotion.
"What about him? Is he alright?"
"I don't know. He's been missing for days. I think he's been taken."
VIIIIIV
A deep orange tinge covered the landscape below. The dying light of the sun drenched the area around with a warm spectrum of colour. Orange-reddish clouds floated across the setting sun, sitting high above the brown and muddy land. In the distance, the decrepit ruins of an Ancient Nordic burial ground stood out like a sore thumb, the ugly grey stone clashing with the warm springtime sunset.
A glimpse of the unfettered beauty that Skyrim could often present from out of nowhere, as if to remind denizens that perhaps life wasn't so bad in the province. One might have even called it a beautiful sight, if one had an eye for aesthetic appeal.
But Luther wasn't interested in the setting of the sun, or the encroaching darkness of the coming night. He was on a mission of his own; it wouldn't do well to let his mind wander.
Luther had smelled it just over an hour ago, a familiar scent that had bloomed old memories into the forefront of his mind. He remembered things that he had not thought about in decades, if not longer. Now, he wanted only to confirm his suspicions, to make contact with the source of the smell. As he rounded the last of the trees, Luther allowed a thin smile to grow on his pale lips.
Another vampire.
"Hello, old friend." He greeted.
The other man sat on the overhang of a cliff, a leg dangling off the edge, apparently oblivious to the sheer drop. His entirely black armour made him obvious from the ground he sat upon. As Luther stood there, he could see an Ebony sword sitting close by, propped on a rocky outcrop, within easy reach if required.
The man wore no helmet, and Luther could therefore see it was him, a grotesque scar running from his jaw to his ear, the pink skin angry and bright against his paler natural tone.
Luther walked a few paces closer, no more than fifteen feet away from him when the scarred man slowly turned his head to regard Luther. For a long moment, nothing was said. His vampiric orange eyes only stared, studied him for signs of danger or a need to bear arms against the vampire. When he found none, he spoke.
"What do you want, Luther?" Corinnor asked in a flat tone. Luther narrowed his eyes slightly. Rather than replying, he removed his hood and stared coldly at the other vampire. Again, Corinnor scanned his features.
"How did you know it was me?" Luther asked. His body language became slightly more defensive, and his lip twitched.
"How couldn't I? I'd know your smell anywhere, Luther. You're not an easy one to forget." Luther remained impassive, and said nothing in reply, knowing what he said was true. After a moment, Corinnor sighed. "What do you want? Have I done something wrong?" He mocked, a thin smile lacking any kindness curling the edges of his lips.
"You know better than I that we've both done truly unforgivable things in our time, but I'm not here to dredge up sordid memories." Luther paused. "I need your help."
At this, Corinnor stood, striding over to Luther with a mix of anger and fear. "Why would I help you? You don't know me anymore, Luther. A lot's changed, and I certainly don't know you these days." He hissed. "I thought I did, once..."
He seemed to put a mocking emphasis on his name, as if the sound of it left a bad taste in his mouth. Luther did not react though. He simply sniffed and fought the urge to bite back at Corinnor's comments.
"You left us, Luther! You abandoned everything we stood for, because you grew a conscience? Because you swore off drinking blood?"
Luther allowed the younger vampire a moment to vent his frustrations, but his gaze never wavered. Luther wasn't one to back down from any confrontation.
"Don't raise your voice to me." Luther warned. "You know I have my reasons. Joining the Garkains was a critical error on my part, and it was a mistake I am trying to atone for - I urge you to do the same, my friend."
Corinnor's eyes flashed with anger, but he bit back his comments, instead taking a moment to regain his composure. "You left because, what, a cult of vampires wasn't ethical, is that it? Need I remind you that we need to drink blood to survive! We're monsters."
"But we shouldn't have to be."
Corinnor didn't reply to that. Instead, his anger dissipated and he sighed heavily. Luther kept his eyes on the younger vampire, but still said nothing yet, letting his words hang in the air for a few moments.
"Just tell me what you want, Luther. It will be a waste of both our time if you're only here to debate." Corinnor said as his face set into an annoyed, stoic expression.
"You know why." Luther replied, his tone even, almost lacking any emotion at all, except maybe pity.
"You're here to tell me that the Garkains are evil? Again?" Corinnor asked, incredulous and exasperated.
Luther nodded, and Corinnor sighed, waiting for his coming lecture.
"You know as well as I do that they're completely insane. They want to release a vampire whose power amounts to that of the Old Gods themselves. What do you really think will happen if they achieve that goal?"
"It's not a matter of 'if', Luther, only 'when'." Corinnor corrected. "The Prophet herself has promised an age of dominion for all of vampire kind. Finally, we will be the dominant race of Nirn, and all of Tamriel will bow before us, or we will bathe in the blood of its children." Corinnor recited, the statement was practically the mantra of the Garkain cult at this point.
"And what then, hmm?" Luther asked. "What will happen after Khagemar grows tired of domination over the mortals? Once he gets bored of massacring easy prey and weary from the blood he has spilled, tell me what he will do."
Corinnor looked incredulous. "Who am I to know his intentions for the world? I am but a humble-"
"He'll slaughter you all like animals." Luther muttered, anger trembling in his voice. "He is not a benevolent god, and I doubt he will be satisfied with hunting mortals for the rest of eternity, do you? Doubtless, he will be more than happy to kill and murder innocents for centuries, but not forever. Who do you think he will hunt after that? Anyone with enough to power to challenge him, he will wipe out with a flick of his wrist."
Corinnor looked slightly alarmed, but his face never betrayed the fear that Luther's words put into him.
"He'll kill you, and me. He won't need an army if there is no one left to conquer and kill. He will not distinguish between vampires and men – they will mean nothing to him. They will all be worth less than the dirt on his boot. Everyone will die." Luther surmised, revealing the truth to his old friend.
"You don't know that." Corinnor replied, but his words sounded small, and he was unsure of the truth even as he said it.
"Mark my words, absolute power corrupts absolutely." Luther spat, his anger barely contained at this point. "Just look at the mortals and their Empire in Cyrodiil. How many times have they fought wars initiated by the anger of a flawed and power-hungry Emperor? How many times has their Empire fallen into ruins because of the whims of a madman with an appetite for domination and expansion, only to crumble into nothing – again and again? It's a cycle, a never-ending wheel of misplaced power, unending ambition and inevitable destruction."
"But we're not just men any more. We're better; we won't make the same mistakes as they do." Corinnor desperately countered.
"Won't we? How truly different are we to them, Corinnor? They crave power, as do we. Their lives are spent on collecting wealth and knowledge, and finding love." Luther said, allowing the words to hang in the air for a moment. "If you don't want to help me fight back against them; fine. That's something I can accept, you never were a fighter after all. But you're better than this, better than them. You were a good man, Corinnor. I know you still are, you're just lost."
"You're wrong about me."
Luther's eyes creased, and his anger turned to sadness. His flare of fury died inside of him as he looked at the man he had once called friend.
"If you truly believe that; then you are already too far gone for me to help you."
Corinnor averted his eyes from Luther's piercing gaze. He could hardly bare to look at the older vampire. He could hardly speak to deny Luther's words again.
"You should go, Luther." He whispered, his eyes never meeting Luther's.
"Corin..." He placed a hand on the younger vampires shoulder, squeezing it in an affectionate way. But Corinnor leapt back, anger flashing in his watery eyes, but the fury melted away at the sorrow on Luther's face.
"Just go." Corinnor told him. "Forget about me. Please."
Luther said nothing, but shook his head and sighed as he turned and walked away, sadness tugging at his ancient heart. He was about to turn into his mist form when he said one last thing.
"Prophecy tells what may be, not what should be. Don't take her word as the truth; as it is only her perverted version of it. Do not follow her, and do not follow me - go your own way."
Before the younger vampire could answer, Luther dissipated into red-black smoke and flew away into the night.
VIIIIIV
A few miles outside of Shor's Stone, after leaving Elicia with promises of getting her husband back, Hush walked through the forest north-east of the settlement towards where Derrimus was taken. He wanted to retrace what had happened, to be there in the same place and at the same time that Elicia told Hush he'd been hunting.
There was a crisp chill in the air. The beginning of dusk had dropped the temperature by a quick twenty degrees, but Hush hardly felt it. He was on the hunt. The chill, along with the fresh spring colours in the aspen that veined through the dark timber, seemed to heighten his senses. Sounds seemed crisper, his vision extended. Even the dry, sharp smell of the sage seemed to have more of a bite. Maybe it was because just prior to the darkness the wind usually stopped, and it was the stillness that brought everything out.
Hush placed himself right square in the middle of it, using himself as bait. He knew Elicia wouldn't approve, but this was possibly his friend's life on the line.
The grass around the scene of the kidnapping was still flattened by the guards who had been there, so it was easy to find. Hush stopped and looked around, hoping to spot something that the other men had missed. He crouched down to the ground and sniffed deeply, drinking in the literal cornucopia of smalls – wildlife scat, blood, a dozen different kinds of animals and anything else that clung to the ground.
He turned and faced east, studying the shadowed treeline above him, wondering what it was that had caused Derrimus to go missing. He knew the Imperial wouldn't let his wife worry unnecessarily, so something had happened to him – it was just a question of what or who had done it.
He walked slowly and stopped very often, as if he were hunting elk, he moved up the sloping ground. Hush had learned over the years that moving too quickly dulled too many senses in the wilderness. If his breathing became too laboured, all he could hear was himself. By walking a hundred yards and then stopping, he could hear more, see more. As the light filtered, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The sky was a brilliant dark blue and close with swirls of stars. A quarter moon turned the grass sagebrush a dark hue.
For the best part of an hour, Hush moved slowly up the side of a mountain until the first few of the trees were behind him and the forest loomed in front. He came upon a cave; the ground at its mouth was a palette of red and brown from where fresh blood had been spilled. He peered into the darkness of the cave, but the shadows were so pitch black, it could have been home to a Daedric Prince.
Then Hush felt something watching him from within the cave.
It wasn't so much that he could see something in the pitch black darkness as sense it. There was a hint, a barely perceptible hint, of dread beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. He took a step towards the cave, the hair on the back of his neck was raised, and he sniffed the air. But he couldn't smell anything unusual about this place – only blood, lots of it. Hush slowly took an arrow from his quiver and placed on the neck of his bow, but his movements felt gradual, as if the air around him was made of tar. His eyes were wild and his ears were up and alert, but he couldn't sense anything.
Suddenly, the darkness exploded with purpose, and instinct took over as Hush rolled left, missing the gnashing jaws of a wolf by millimetres. He used his momentum and rolled into a combat stance, locked his eyes onto the animal and let his arrow fly.
It buried itself into the flank of the wolf with cruel purpose, and the wolf barked in pain and surprise, then lay on the ground, unable to move. Hush exhaled deeply, and strode over to the wolf, which was panting heavily, its eyes manic and scared. Hush took pity on the wolf and slid his dagger into its heart, putting the animal out of its misery.
The Khajiit stood from the carcass and proceeded to the mouth of the cave, it still remained pitch black, but Hush was not afraid. His 'Night Eye' quickly adjusted to the darkness, and he delved inside. There was blood, and a smell that made him almost gag. He soon found the source of both when he stumbled upon the body of a middle-aged Dark Elf.
He crouched low to the cold body and examined the corpse, clearly the victim of an animal attack, a large one too. His right leg was entirely missing, but the blood suggested it had been done before death. The torso was torn apart, and Hush could see his innards had been splayed all around him, this too had been done before death, he noticed. The face remained mostly intact, except for a few bite marks that Hush suspected were from the wolf he'd just put down. But that wolf had only been a scavenger; it wasn't nearly strong enough to tear off limbs or slash apart a belly as brutally as this.
Perhaps it was a bear of some kind? Hush knew from previous experience that they could inflict massive damage before killing their prey, they enjoyed making their victims suffer – but they always consumed their kill after making it, and this Elf clearly hadn't been eaten, at least, not to the extent a bear would consume him. They would tear and rend from the bone, always. This certainly didn't match any bodies that Hush had known to be mauled and eaten by bears.
It had to be something else, some kind of animal only interested in the kill, and not consumption.
The Khajiit looked around the body, hoping to find possessions of some kind. He didn't want to haul an entire corpse back to civilisation, but if he could find some belongings, he could present them to the Jarl and ask them to notify the family of the deceased and organise collection of the body.
His eyes found a knapsack, the straps torn and the cloth crusted with dried blood. He pried open the lid and looked within. Strange. It didn't contain any camping supplies or things that any traveller would need on their journey. But it did contain a small bundle of Hawk Feathers, and a book about the Effects of Lycanthropy.
It didn't make any sense.
Hush looked over to his left and noticed something towards the back of the cave, something shining from beneath a kicked up patch of dirt. He left the knapsack and walked over to investigate. He brushed the dirt away and discovered a sword, gleaming, despite the lack of light. To be here though, it must have been knocked out of the Elf's grasp by something and flung to where he couldn't reclaim it, leaving him open to attack.
Hush picked it up and examined the weapon further. Something was off about it. Something seemed wrong. The craftsmanship was simple and practical, a lot like one made of iron would appear, but the cross-guard was longer, almost the same length of the grip on either side.
Hush sniffed the metal, but it didn't smell like any usual weapon he'd come across. It stank of blood, but not of men or elves. No, there was certainly something different about it, and so very wrong. Then it clicked in his mind, and suddenly everything made sense.
It was made of silver.
A Silver Sword. A book about Lycanthropy. Hawk Feathers.
The Dark Elf was a member of the Silver Hand. Werewolf hunters. Hush had come across them before, but he'd never liked them. Whereas he hunted monsters as a profession, and did it in a disciplined and strictly regimented method, the Silver Hand were no better than Bandits. They made monsters suffer and inflicted brutal tortures on any that they came across, but they targeted werewolves first and foremost. Their capacity for cruelty knew no limits.
Suddenly, Hush realised that if there was a Werewolf prowling around Shor's Stone, there wasn't much chance that Derrimus was still alive. He wondered what he'd have to tell Elicia, how he'd break the news that her husband had been gutted and ripped apart by a monster masquerading as a man.
He sighed and turned around to leave, and his senses were suddenly assaulted by another new smell as the wind changed directions. But this one wasn't one he was unfamiliar with, he knew this smell. Something stank of sweat and anger, of alcohol and cruelty.
Bandits.
Or more likely, the Silver Hand, here to reclaim the corpse of their fallen comrade.
Hush exited the cave with his hands in the air, knowing they would have seen him enter a few minutes ago. His eyes scanned the bushes and tall grass nearby; in this darkness they could be hiding anywhere.
"Come out." He called. "This one means you no harm. Khajiit has questions, he needs answers."
The silence that followed was almost painful, but Hush never doubted himself for a moment. He knew that they were there; they had simply chosen to not reveal themselves. Almost a full minute had gone by before the undergrowth moved, and a figure moved towards him, a savage grin on his smug face.
"Well, look 'ere, lads." He snorted. "Seems we caught ourselves a brave kitty-cat."
Hush growled in anger. Gods, he hated men like these - ignorant, stupid and racist. Unfortunately, that description seemed to match most of Skyrim these days.
"What's wrong, cat? You lost?" Another voice spoke, this one was somewhere off to his right.
"No." Hush responded plainly, trying not to let his annoyance show itself in his tone. "This one is searching for a missing person. Maybe you have seen him?"
"Don't see much but trees around 'ere." The first man replied, his tone light and mocking. "Who are you looking for? A lady Sabre Cat to spend the night with?"
At least a dozen voices chuckled at Hush's expense. He cursed inwardly, if this got violent, he knew he wouldn't stand much of a chance against so many.
"No. Khajiit is looking for an Imperial man, he was out hunting. His wife asked me to look for him." Hush looked square at the two men, wary to keep his voice measured and calm. "His name is Derrimus; he is blind in one eye. Do you remember seeing anyone-"
The words died in his throat as the laughter stopped at the physical description of his old friend. The first man spoke, but this time his voice was hard and his expression was stony and irritated.
"No, we haven't. Ain't seen anyone who fits that description."
Hush's ears went flat against his head; something was off about these men. They were hiding something. And Hush had feeling they knew exactly what had happened to Derrimus.
"Khajiit thinks you're lying to him." Hush spat.
"And I think you should stop talking and be on your way - before this gets ugly." He retorted.
"This one isn't going anywhere. Not until he knows the truth."
There was a long moment of silence, a moment in which all other members of the Silver Hand chose to reveal themselves and crowd around the two other Silver Hand members in an attempt to intimidate Hush.
Thirteen in all. Hush didn't stand a chance.
He knew it, and so did they.
"Last chance..." The first man said as he drew his sword, and all other Silver Hand followed his lead, their own weapons soon in hand. "Walk. Away."
There a palpable moment of unease, a moment so full of tension and a threat for violence that Hush could have cut it with a knife. In the end, the Khajiit shook his head, and hurled a pair of throwing knives at the closest members of the Silver Hand. The blades embedded into their necks with wet 'thunks', and they fell to the ground, clutching at their throats and gasping for air.
The rest of them were momentarily shocked, and Hush used the moment to draw his sword and dagger in each hand to slice another man to the ground. He screamed in pain as Hush lunged for the next opponent, an Orc, easily an entire foot taller than he was. He slashed his dagger across his belly, and his intestines spilled to the ground as the green-skinned brute keeled over, bellowing in agony and shock.
By now, the others had gotten their bearings and launched themselves at Hush as the Orc finally expired and fell to the ground. The Khajiit rolled right and shoulder-barged another man, causing him to fall onto his back. Hush used his own momentum to carry above the fallen man and shove his sword into his chest, piercing his heart.
Five down.
He knew he wouldn't win, but he wasn't going to make it easy for them either.
"He's a fighter, lads. And a quick one, too." Their leader, the first man to reveal himself bellowed. "Circle 'round him!"
Hush's sword sang as the metal clashed with another blade, but he used the dagger in his free hand to stab his opponent in the armpit, the blade sank up to the hilt and the man cried out in pain as he recoiled, giving Hush and opening to finish him off with a slash across his throat. Hush grimaced as his hot blood spurted onto his face and chest.
He knew the others would be having second thoughts now. Half of the battle when facing off against a group of adversary's was showing your opponents that you weren't afraid of them, and that you were more than capable of killing them with ease. And Hush was very good at showing that, even though his arms were screaming with fatigue and his breath came quick and shallow, making him light-headed. He couldn't keep up this facade for long.
"He's fast!" One of them cried.
"Like lightning!" Another agreed. "How are we supposed to fight lightning?"
Hush offered them a manic grin, baring his teeth at them. In his mind, he realised he must've looked quite a sight, covered in blood and grinning like a madman. Anyone would be at least a little scared of that.
"Stop going for him one at a time!" Someone commanded. "He can't fight you all at once!"
This was what Hush had been dreading, a joined attack that he couldn't fend off. Maybe today was the day he died, but he hoped not. He still had so much to do.
Saving the world from Khagemar was just one of those things.
Then, from somewhere behind him, he heard a roar of anger. But he couldn't turn in time and he was knocked off-balance and he fell to the ground as a blow connected with his face, breaking his nose. As fresh blood spurted out of his nostrils, he hit the ground and knew his fate was sealed.
That's the one thing you never do in a fight, he thought, never go down. I've already lost.
"Get him!" Someone cried.
And just like that, Hush felt half a dozen feet kicking him as hard as they could. Instinctively, he curled up into a ball, trying to protect himself, but it was pointless. The kicks thundered against his back and arms, and he knew something would be broken when it all ended – if it ended.
He wouldn't scream though. He refused to give them the satisfaction. If anything, he refusal to let them know how much it hurt made them hit even harder. He felt sick, and he could see the edges of his vision going black. Maybe this was how it all ended. Maybe this really was how he died.
'Kicked to death by bandits' - what an obituary that would make for.
"Stop. Don't kill him." A voice commanded, and Hush knew it would be the first man. "Why should we do all the work?"
Instantly, the kicking stopped, and Hush's body throbbed with pain. He could feel his heart beat in his veins, and every pulse was a fresh wave of nausea and aching. He coughed, and spat blood. His breath was laboured and his vision blurred whenever he tried to focus. All he could taste was his own blood. Bitter, like iron.
"What should do with him, boss?" One of them asked. "He killed Alande."
"I know." He replied, but to Hush it sounded as if he were speaking through a pane of glass. "But I also know that the Ferati Ring has been low on fighting talent. Let's bring him there. Who knows how long he'll last – he's pretty good, after all."
"Good idea, boss." One of them laughed.
"I reckon he could even beat one of the champions, how about that?" Someone else pitched in.
"He might, or he might not." The leader crouched down next to Hush, so the Khajiit could see the cruel curl of his lips. "Either way, he's going to make all of us very rich indeed."
Then someone struck his temple with the butt of their weapon, and his world crashed into darkness.