Brynjolf jerked as he heard the creak of the Flagon door, but he had given up on looking. For the past two days he had jumped at every arrival in the guild headquarters, only to be disappointed when it turned out to be Sapphire or Maul or anyone except the one he was hoping for.
"Fill 'er up Vek," He slurred, sliding his empty flagon down the counter to where Vekel gave him a disapproving look.
"Look Bryn, I know you're upset about the Khajiit, we all are. But ever since Mercer got back you've done nothing but drink, pass out for a few hours, then drink some more. I'm not one to judge a brother's alcohol habits, but I'm pretty sure yours stopped being healthy a long time ago."
"I said, fill 'er up."
"Fine," Vekel grumbled, uncorking another bottle, "It's your funera—"
He broke off, staring past the Nord at something behind him, not even noticing when the ale he was pouring overflowed onto the counter. Brynjolf twisted around, trying to focus his alcohol-muddled vision. What he saw must have been a hallucination—he could have sworn Ma'joraa leaned against the doorframe, a healing spell clamped to her side.
Brynjolf slid from his barstool, nearly falling before bracing himself on the counter. He turned to Delvin and pointed at the figure in the doorway.
"You…you see her too, right lad?"
"Aye," Delvin confirmed with a grin, lifting his flagon in a toast. "Damned if I don't!"
Ma'joraa approached, feeling the gazes of all the Flagon's occupants upon her, but she was only focused on the fiery-haired, green-eyed Nord, and the blue amulet of Talos he wore around his neck.
"Lass!" Brynjolf exclaimed, as though just realizing she wasn't an alcohol-induced vision. He lurched forward, stumbling against two tables before impacting the Khajiit in what was intended to be a hug, but his drunken enthusiasm overbalanced her and sent them both toppling in a heap on the floor.
"Careful there, twinkletoes," Delvin laughed, "Don't want to smother the kid when she's already back from the dead."
The Nord wasn't listening—he peppered Ma'joraa's face with sloppy kisses, squeezing the breath from her in an embrace that rivaled that of Ulfric Stormcloak. The Khajiit couldn't suppress her laughter, overjoyed to see him safe, not even caring that he reeked of booze.
"I—we thought you were dead!" Brynjolf said, managing to disentangle himself from her and push himself into a sitting position. "Oh, Mercer is going to be overjoyed to see you when he gets back."
Hearing her betrayer's name reminded Ma'joraa of the mission, and her heart sank.
Brynjolf, there's something you need to know, she signed. Something everyone here needs to know.
"What's that then?"
Instead of answering, the Khajiit turned and called through the Flagon door, "Sadontafiir!"
Delvin leaped upright, drawing his dagger as Karliah stepped into the tavern. The other occupants followed suit.
"You've got some nerve coming back here Karliah," Mallory growled. Brynjolf turned to Ma'joraa with a frown as he struggled to his feet.
"Lass? What's this all about?"
"It's about Mercer," The dark elf said flatly, pulling Gallus' translated journal from her satchel. "I'm sorry, but he's not who you think he is. He never was."
She tossed the journal onto a table, standing back as the guild clustered around it. Delvin opened the book and read several passages aloud, detailing Gallus' discovery and subsequent investigation of Mercer's betrayal, with the last entry being the former guildmaster's apprehensions on meeting Frey at Snow Veil Sanctum.
"Mercer's been stealing from the guild for years, right under your noses," Karliah told them. Mallory flung the book down and pointed his dagger at the Dunmer.
"How can we trust anything you say?" He snarled, "It's the word of our guildmaster, a man who's been with us for over twenty years, versus yours, the one who conveniently disappeared right after Gallus died. You have nothing to back up your claims besides a journal that could easily be fake."
Actually, I've got some evidence in support of her, Ma'joraa signed, but no one was paying attention. Karliah stepped back as daggers were drawn around her, the tension in the room straining to the breaking point.
"Koraav dii rotte!"
All activity ceased as the dovahzul echoed through the Flagon. Now that she had the guild's attention, Ma'joraa hitched up her cuirass to reveal Frey's stab wound, which was starting to turn into an ugly scar.
"Did…did…" Brynjolf faltered as he touched the place, unwilling to speak what he knew was the truth.
Mercer did this to me, Ma'joraa signed, replacing the leather over the wound. If not for Karliah…I'd be dead.
"This is all well and good," Vex spoke up after several moments of tense silence, "But it sounds like the only way to find out if what the elf and the cat says is true is to open the vault."
"Now wait just a blessed moment," Delvin began, but Brynjolf interrupted him.
"She's right." The Nord braced himself on the table as he tried to shake the alcohol from his system, but with little success. "Delvin, Vex, let's go. Karliah, Ma'joraa, you come too. The rest of you get back to work."
The guild grumbled, but reluctantly dispersed as the little group headed for the cistern. Brynjolf gripped Ma'joraa's arm for support, but also, the Khajiit thought, to remind himself that she was there.
"How could Mercer open a lock that needs two keys?" Delvin muttered as they approached the massive metal vault doors.
"That vault has the best puzzle locks money can buy," Vex added. "They can't be picked."
"He didn't need to pick the lock," Karliah stated flatly. Vex glared at the other woman as Delvin inserted the first key into the mechanism. Brynjolf followed suit with only a minor amount of fumbling, and the heavy doors groaned open.
"By the Eight," The Nord breathed in shock, "It's empty! Everything's gone!"
Ma'joraa stood on her toes to peer curiously over his shoulder. The large room was full of stout wooden chests, all of which hung open and empty.
"That son of a bitch," Vex growled as she checked several of the bare chests, "I swear by all the gods, when I get my hands on that bastard—"
"Hold on a moment," Brynjolf interrupted, holding his head as he struggled to think clearly. "Let's not lose our cool. We need to calm down and focus."
Delvin nodded in agreement. "He's right Vex. This isn't helping right now."
Vex still looked furious, but she sheathed her dagger. "Fine. We'll do it your way for now."
"Good," Brynjolf said. "Now, I need you and Delvin to watch the Flagon. If you see Mercer, let me know."
The two obeyed, but not without a final suspicious glance as they passed Karliah, who waited outside the vault.
"Alright lass," The Nord swayed slightly as he spoke, steadying himself on the wall. "I need you to tell me everything you learned from Karliah."
The Dragonborn did so, recounting how Gallus, Karliah and Mercer were members of the fabled Nightingales, Mercer's killing of the former guildmaster, and the Dunmer's purchase of Honningbrew and Goldenglow in an attempt to get Frey deposed by an irate Maven Black-Briar.
"Anything else?" Brynjolf asked once she was through. Ma'joraa shook her head. He was taking all this surprisingly well she thought, but it was likely the alcohol clouding his mind. He probably wouldn't process much of what had just happened until well after a killer hangover.
"Then I've got an important task for you," The Nord told her. "I need you to break into Mercer's house. It's a mansion here in Riften that he hardly ever stays in—just hires a few lackeys to keep the place up. Get in there and see if you can find some hint as to what his next move will be. We've got to pursue him as soon as possible."
Understood, Ma'joraa signed. While I do that, you're going to sleep.
"Fair enough." The ginger-haired man managed a crooked grin as he allowed the Khajiit to help him out of the vault and towards an unoccupied bed. "Make sure you come back this time—you still owe me a rematch. Back from the dead or not, I fully intend on kicking your ass."
Challenge accepted, Ma'joraa signed, smiling as the Nord toppled into bed. Within moments, he was snoring.
Breaking into Mercer's home proved easier than the Dragonborn was expecting. One hired guard patrolled the back garden, and all the lower doors were barred, but the Khajiit climbed onto a nearby roof and leaped silently onto the balcony of an upper story window. As she had expected, it was unlocked, allowing Ma'joraa to slip into the house like a wraith on the wind.
The interior was clearly unlived in, tidy but with a thin film of dust over everything. As she passed through the bedroom, Ma'joraa felt a twinge of sadness. She hadn't given much thought to a future with Mercer beyond the guild, but she found herself wishing her first visit to his home wasn't such a somber, intrusive affair.
The sound of voices coming from downstairs was a welcome distraction from her melancholy. The Dragonborn unsheathed her dagger and set to work.
Ma'joraa finally found what she was looking for in the basement of the manor. In what was clearly Mercer's office, a yellowed map lay atop a desk, right next to a copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid. The Khajiit flattened her ears in distaste—really, Mercer?—but moved it aside it to study the parchment.
Judging by the name Irkngthand scribbled at the top, the map was almost certainly of a Dwemer ruin of some sort. Ma'joraa moved down the page, her interest growing as she read of a detailed scheme to steal a set of artifacts called the Eyes of the Falmer, which were apparently priceless twin jewels that served as the eyes of a great statue, a visage of the Snow Elves before they were corrupted by centuries of underground slavery. The Dragonborn pocketed the map and headed deeper into the basement. The office contained several valuables the guild could make use of, but with Mercer still alive, Ma'joraa couldn't make herself take them. Perhaps some other time.
The Khajiit dropped through a trapdoor, and to her surprise, found herself in the deepest section of the Ratway beneath Riften. It made sense, she supposed, for Mercer's house to have a secret exit into the guild's domain for easy access.
"Good, you're back," Karliah said as Ma'joraa found her in the shadows of the Ragged Flagon. "Not everyone here has accepted that I was never against them, so I've kept my guard up. What did you find?"
The Dragonborn showed her the map. Looks like quite the elaborate scheme, she signed.
"Gallus' greatest plot," The she-elf murmured fondly as she studied the plans. "The Eyes of the Falmer would have made us even more respected than the Gray Fox himself. Gallus spent months on these plans, and more than one good thief was lost to the Falmer to get the information needed."
Sounds like a dangerous mission, Ma'joraa remarked. And Mercer's going to tackle it alone? Isn't that a death wish?
"Not for him," Karliah said grimly, "Remember, he's—was—a Nightingale. The shadows are like a second home to him. Those Eyes are worth enough for several lifetimes each. If he gets his hands on them, he can flee Skyrim for good and be set for life, and we'd never have a chance of finding him."
So how do we stop him? The Khajiit asked, but the Dunmer shook her head.
"Once Brynjolf's awake, I want the two of you to meet me at the standing stone south of town. I'll explain everything then."
A/N: Koraav dii rotte = 'See my words'
The chapter title translates to 'Knowledge is Power,' or literally '(To) Know is Power'
