He didn't stand a chance against the power of a Shout. She blew him off his feet like a leaf in the wind, and she got the satisfaction of watching him tumble out into empty space, plummeting down to the gorge below, his blades still in his hands.
He shouted something, and she strained to hear, but his words were lost. She didn't even hear a splash, just the wind whistling past her ears as it was funnelled up from the plains by the gorge.
Rath looked up at the towers, first one, then the other. That had felt so very, very good. She beamed.
"So who else wants some?" she bellowed.
She was obliged to duck as an arrow whistled past her head.
"Seriously?" She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, her smiled undimmed. "Okay." She launched herself in the direction of the closest tower, arrows pinging off the rocks around her. The bandits had reverted to their usual behaviour, and ran out to meet her. They didn't put their backs to the gorge, however.
It didn't matter. Her blades sang, as she whirled and danced, blood splattering her arms and her face. She felt unstoppable. She was unstoppable.
Do not fuck with the Dragonborn.
She left corpses at the base of the tower, and bounded up the stairs as fleet as a sabre-cat. Her strength felt limitless. When the odd blow found its mark, she felt no pain, high on victory and revenge.
She left quite a mess for the next crop of bandits to clean up. She sifted the corpses' belongings for any gold and other small valuables before skidding down the slope to the river at the bottom of the gorge.
She washed off the blood, and strolled beside the water, squinting against the sunlight glittering off the surface.
She couldn't find a corpse.
She frowned and marched up and down the riverbank, peering into the shadowed parts. Had he been washed downstream? Or landed on the opposite side? Had a scavenger already dragged him off?
Eventually, she gave up.
No one could have survived that drop. She couldn't have survived that drop. It was at least a hundred feet to the water. She'd seen him fall. There was just no way. For all his skill, Mercer was just a man, and he died like any other.
Nevertheless, her good mood was ebbing away.
She'd been planning on spending another night under the stars, but she decided to press on to Whiterun instead. Whiterun was the trading hub of Skyrim, and she wanted to lose herself in the hundreds of people that passed through its gates every day.
It was dark by the time she arrived, and the skies were clouding over. The markets and shops were closing for the day, but the inns threw great patches of light onto the streets, and farmers and traders lingered to spend some of their hard-earned coin on mead and song.
Rath was technically Thane here, but she kept her hood up and her head down, and steered clear of her usual haunt; the Bannered Mare. She didn't want to be recognised tonight.
The Drunken Huntsman was just as warm, and no more expensive. More popular with non-Nords too, and Rath rubbed shoulders with elves and even the odd Redguard as she elbowed her way to the bar.
Everyone was talking about the war. That was all anyone ever talked about in Skyrim lately.
Rath ordered something to eat and some wine. A tipsy Nord woman with red hair tried valiantly to chat her up. Rath only listened to her flattery with half an ear, her eyes rarely straying from the doorway for more than a few seconds at a time.
He was dead, she told herself. Dead and broken at the bottom of a gorge. She had trouble believing it.
"Face it," she muttered to herself, when she'd finally escaped the Nord and headed upstairs to her room. "You're going to miss the old bastard, that's all. He was so much fun to kill, it was always going to be a let-down."
She locked the door and then propped her pack against it. She knew from long experience how easy inn doors were to pick. She yawned and rolled her shoulders; she was healing well.
Despite the chill, she threw open the window and leaned out. It had started to rain, and the smell of damp wood and stone rose from the city. She had a view of the alleyway below, which wasn't very exciting, and the rooftops of the Market District, which to her thief's eye was. Faint reflected light from the city and the clouds above outlined the buildings in the slick gleam of rain, making them look faintly luminous.
The sloping roofs would be treacherous. The downpipes and gutters would be gurgling and overflowing, masking the sound of footsteps and creak of windows being eased open. People would feel safe in the rain, protected. Surely the thieves would be in bed, they'd tell themselves.
She smiled and held her hand out to the rain for a few moments.
The arrow caught her cheekbone as she flung herself out of the way. It wasn't a concious dodge; some part of her mind had registered the oncoming missile and if it hadn't the arrow would have gone right through her forehead. As it was, it struck bone, and tore through the skin leaving a long, jagged gash just below her eye. Rath flung herself flat on the floor under the windowsill.
"I knew it," she muttered through her teeth. It had been too easy. She reached up towards the lamp, and another arrow thudded past her hand into the wall behind her. The door was directly across from the window. She'd be an easy target on her way out. She could close the window, but the shutters were pulled back and she'd have to stand up and reach out.
She moved sideways, against the wall, and picked up an apple from the bowl on the side table. She flung it at the lamp and it fell over onto the floor, spilling wax as it did so. The room went dark.
Rath didn't wait for her eyes or Mercer's to adjust. She charged the door, the lock snapping as it burst open. An arrow struck the door as it swung open, missing her side. Sticky with blood she rolled sideways, grabbed her pack and heaved herself upright.
Another arrow hit the door to the room opposite.
It opened.
"I'm trying to get some sl-"
As last words went, they weren't very good. Rath stared for a few moments at Nazeem's freshly minted corpse. He died as he had lived; with a sneer on his face.
Then she turned and ran.
People got out of her way as she hurried downstairs, adjusting her pack as she did so, once she arrived in the bar area, however, there was barely room to move. Grimly she elbowed people aside, her gaze fixed on the front door.
"By the Nine, what happened- is that blood?"
Rath found herself looking into the worried eyes of her admirer. Her appearance seemed to have sobered the other woman up considerably.
"The Dark Brotherhood's after me," Rath lied urgently. "I need to get out."
The Nord set her jaw and nodded. "Follow me."
Rath could say one thing for Nords, they were excellent in a crisis. The woman took her hand and led her through the crowd towards the bar. She smiled sweetly at the barman and he didn't object when she led her past the bar into the back room.
"Sorry, sorry." They ducked out of the way of barmaids carrying plates of food as they made their way through to the kitchens. "Wait here," she said.
Rath took the chance to wash the blood off her face and down a healing potion.
"I'm sorry, but this is going to smell," the woman returned, with a rotund Imperial in tow. "They take out the vegetable scraps in the early hours of the morning. They go back to the farms to enrich the soil. You can hide in the cart. I'll keep an eye out and make sure no one interferes until you're gone."
Rath thought for a few moments and nodded.
"It could be worse."
The three of them left the kitchens via a store room to an unloading area. Two shaggy bullocks were hitched to a cart piled high with potato peelings and carrot ends. Rath shrugged and tossed her pack up on the mess.
"What's your name?" she asked the woman.
"Ah, Ysolda." She looked startled to be asked.
"Well, Ysolda, I owe you," Rath said.
"No, really, it's fine-"
Rath cut her off by pressing her lips briefly and firmly against Ysolda's. Girls weren't normally her thing, but she didn't like leaving debts unpaid if she could help it, and she kind of liked plucky civilians.
"Stay out of dark corners for a while," Rath advised.
"Oh-okay." Ysolda smiled at her. "Good luck."
Rath climbed up onto the cart and nestled down among the vegetable scraps.
"We won't be leaving for a little while," the Imperial said, once he'd managed to stop staring at Ysolda.
"That's fine," Rath said. It actually wasn't too bad. It smelled sort of vegetable-ly, but the food wasn't rotting, and it was surprisingly comfortable. After spending some time being utterly ignored and having no further attempts made on her life, Rath drifted off into a light sleep.
She awoke in the sunlight, as the cart rumbled out of Whiterun's gates. Cautiously she raised her head and blinked at the dust and noise of the main road. An elven gentleman on a horse looked at her curiously for a few moments before moving on. He must have assumed she was drunkard.
Rath kept her head down until they were away from the main road, and slowly making their way through the farmland of the Whiterun plains. Cabbages and potatoes as far as the eye could see.
Rath thanked the driver and bid him farewell before dropping off the back of the cart and striking out once more on foot.
She avoided towns and farms, and spent the night on the move, listening to the wolves howl in the forest. She didn't dare stop. Wherever she went, it seemed that Mercer was waiting for her.
She could think of only one place that might be safe, a fortress that even he could not breach, and so she headed south without stopping. She was exhausted by the time her feet carried her to the dark door just off from the small, round pool in Falkreath's forest.
What is the music of life?
"Silence, my brother," Rath muttered, and the door opened.
Only when it was firmly shut behind her did she relax. She dragged her pack and her weary feet into the Sanctuary, the familiar sounds of the Family filtering up from below.
"There you are." Rath could hear the smile in Astrid's voice as she looked up from her desk. "Haven't seen you for a while- my dear, what's wrong?" She stood and walked over to Rath, taking in the new scar on her cheek, and the sheer exhaustion in her face and posture.
"I failed to kill someone. No," she held up her hand, "Not a contract. But now I'm paying the price."
"You poor thing. Come down and have something to eat. I'm sure we can work this out together."
Rath smiled, relieved to be reminded that the Brotherhood's support was unconditional. She dropped her pack off near the bed she usually slept in, and went to the dining room. Astrid and Nazir were waiting for her, as was a hot meal.
Rath slumped in a chair.
"Eat first," Astrid said. "Take your time."
Rath picked up a fork. "Well," she began. "I'm a member of the Thieves Guild."