A/N: I've changed the Dunmer's accent a little from Luckless, if only because over frequent use of the phonetic 'yer' is annoying.

Chapter 7

The day after he spoke with Carandial, the Black Arrow rode out for Gedwendyll.

The month of Morning Star had only just begun, and winter was far from over. The road out of Bravil was surrounded by trees denuded of foliage, one or two leaves hanging dispiritedly here and there. The Black Arrow paid more attention to the large rocks, since they were more likely to provide cover to anyone trying to ambush him. The environs of Bravil were known to have more than their share of lurking bandits.

The Dunmer slumped in the saddle, keeping his cloak pulled around him for warmth as he rode. He had ridden more in the last week than in his entire life previously. He was remembering what he'd forgotten, and the soreness was passing off, but he was still of half a mind to get off and walk by the time they broke through the trees and out onto the open plain.

Wavy brown grass stretched all the way out to the horizon. The Black Arrow shuddered slightly, but he urged the horse grimly forward. He was a town mer at heart. He didn't much care for wide open spaces. It was this that had first predisposed him in a direction away from herding guars, though that had been a long time ago.

The world hadn't any business being so flat, the Dunmer groused silently. Even the big floor of the Arena had walls. He felt the sky might fall on his head. It didn't seem to bother the horse. Stupid horse.

Gedwendyll was less than a day's ride out of Bravil, by Carandial's account. It took the Dunmer two days, because he stopped for the night at the first covered thing he came to rather than ride on into the dark with nothing over his head. He tied the horse loosely to one of the posts of the Wayshrine of Julianos and slept curled up on his unrolled pallet against the cold bulk of the stone. It wasn't so much harder than the Arena's floor. An Arena Champion might have money, but mostly you didn't have time to spend it. And if you wanted to stay Champion – and, congruent to that aim, stay alive – you had to train so much that there wasn't much point in leaving the Bloodworks.

The Dunmer had understood that long before he went to Crowhaven, of course. The Arena wasn't for people with lives of their own to live. It didn't work that way.

He woke up sore the next day, swore at the horse, and got his fingers bitten while he was saddling the beast. "Next time I'm walking," he said. The horse snorted, but it let him mount up. The chestnut had been owned by a lot of adventurers. Generally they were obliging enough to get themselves killed within a few dozen miles of Bravil. It always found its way home.

The Black Arrow didn't know that, of course. All he knew was that he was almost to the end of his journey, and probably his life as well.

---

Agronak sat on a stone slab, whittling at a thigh bone. LoAmai had chosen this crypt for her arrowmaking because of its flat surfaces and storage niches, although Agronak suspected the original inhabitants would have been less than thrilled with her use of them. The ceiling was high and distant, and the room had a tendency to echo. He was trying to learn arrowmaking from LoAmai with indifferent success. She wasn't much of a teacher.

"How's that for a shaft?" he said, holding up the result of an hour's work.

"Not narrow enough," said LoAmai, without looking up from her own project. She was fletching her own arrows with feathers from a bird she'd shot a few days previously. Agronak sighed and prepared to resume whittling.

There was a distant wail. He paused, silver dagger in hand. "Hear that?"

"Yes," LoAmai said. She set aside the fletching unhurriedly. "It was one of the Ayleids."

"Probably just after Barsabas again," Agronak said.

"Probably," LoAmai said.

"I think I'll go and check, just in case," Agronak said. He dropped the embryo shaft and bounced easily to his feet. LoAmai rose beside him, tucking a new arrow into her quiver. Agronak jogged down the crypt, brushing aside a dangling mace from a trap long since tripped by Barsabas. It was only a short trip down the hall to the main hallway with the pit trap.

The floor section with the bones had dropped out of sight, although Agronak could hear them rattling somewhere down below. He also heard someone swearing. The gravelly voice seemed vaguely familiar. As he came closer, he saw the single gray hand clinging to one edge of the pit. The fingers were slipping on the smooth stone. Agronak jerked his head toward the front entrance. LoAmai nodded shortly. She circumnavigated the hole and went up the stairs.

Agronak went to look into the pit.

---

The Black Arrow swore again. He'd never been inside an Ayleid ruin before. He knew to expect ghosts and ghoulies, but disappearing floors were a new one. Even his own quick reflexes had barely saved him, and now he was losing his grip. The floor down below showed no signs of incipient rising. He'd probably survive the fall. The spikes were more of a problem.

Like most mer, the Black Arrow had slightly better hearing than a human. The pit trap made a deep grinding noise below him, probably ancient machinery at work. Still, it was surprising that he didn't hear any footsteps at all before a pale face appeared right above his head.

Just like that, he was looking into the eyes of the Orc he'd killed months earlier. It was really no surprise that he let go.

A wiry arm shot out and seized his wrist before he'd dropped a foot. The Dunmer waited for his heart to start beating again before he said, "Wondered if I'd find you here."

Agronak gro-Malog stared down at him, his face unreadable. Then he hauled the Black Arrow up one-handed and deposited him on the stone floor. The Dunmer closed his eyes and shook himself. When he opened them, the Orc was yards away, looking down at him. The Black Arrow got slowly to his feet.

"It really is you," he said. "You know, I never really believed it 'til now? You're lighter gray. And your eyes're funny. But you're still you."

Agronak just stared. His eyes were very pale blue, not a usual color for Orcs.

"Brought your sword," the Black Arrow said. He slowly untied the bound weapon from his back, then tossed it. Agronak caught it without looking away from him. He had a weapon belted at his waist, but it looked to be plain silver. Agronak hefted the ebony scabbard in one hand. The silence stretched on.

"Say something, gods damn you," said the Black Arrow.

"Why are you here?" Agronak said finally. His voice had not changed one whit.

The Dunmer shrugged one shoulder. "I heard you weren't dead," he said. "I had to know."

And, just like that, Agronak was in front of him, so close the Dunmer could see his sharp canines when he spoke. If the Dunmer had been a little taller, they would have been nose to nose.

"I am dead," Agronak said. "You killed me, remember?" He looked down, brows knitting. He still spoke very precisely. It was funny the things you remembered, thought the Black Arrow. Another Orc might have picked him up by his neck, but that was Agronak gro-Malog for you. "Your ugly elvish face was the last thing I saw. Are you here to try again? Because I'm not standing still for you this time."

"Easy," the Dunmer said quietly. "You want a fight, I'll give you one. You want a kill, I'll give you one. You want to hit somebody standing still? Be my guest. It's your turn, fair and square."

"But you're all mer, you little weasel," Agronak said. "You won't get up again."

"I know," said the Black Arrow.

Agronak looked down at him for a long moment.

"You're breathing," the Black Arrow said. "Didn't expect that."

"Nerve," Agronak said. He shook his head slowly. "I never could fault your nerve." His eyes flickered to something over the Dunmer's shoulder. "And LoAmai, what are you doing there, exactly?"

"Watching," said a voice. It was not a human voice. And it definitely wasn't an elvish one. The Black Arrow was not an educated mer, but he wasn't stupid, either. Even if he hadn't recognized that tinny echo by the way it made the hairs stand up on his neck, he'd had one or two Dremora summoned on him in the ring. So he knew, when he turned slowly to look, what he was probably going to see.

It was sort of a surprise to see a Dremora wearing a leather traveling coat, though.

"Without, I observe, drawing any weapons," Agronak said.

"If you cannot deal with one small mortal on your own, you deserve to die," the Dremora said. It stood with folded arms, weight over one bony hip. "And if you are that angry with this creature, I would not dream of cheating you of your kill."

"That's a demon," the Dunmer said. Beside him, Agronak rolled his eyes.

"You came here thinking I was going to kill you. What do you care?"

"I would guess that being sacrificed to a daedra did not form part of his plans," LoAmai said.

"I'm not going to do that, either," Agronak said, before the Dunmer could do more than open his mouth. "That's what she considers a joke."

"She?" said the Black Arrow.