Mirror Mirror
He was hideous!
She watched in helpless abhorrence as the abomination ambled into view from the encircling shadows. It was impossible to pin the manifestation down in any certain terms, as it seemed more a constantly mutating and altering collection of aberrant and unsettling mental imprints rather than an actual being of flesh and blood. Then how did she even know that the creature was male? Well, she didn't, but such was nonetheless the interpretation that her mind gave it. Underneath the ever shifting nightmare features, she thought that she could discern something of Dunmeri characteristics—though where this impression originated was yet another mystery.
She was nailed into place, her mouth hanging open in dismay as this vile thing of horrors slowly slithered hither with viscous motion of absolute demonic crudity. The sensations that the creature's presence inspired in her were an additional cause of chagrin, the fear clutching her chest being the least problematic. For in addition to that quite natural response, she couldn't but notice certain growing fascination. What could this thing be, and what could its presence signify? For all its alien qualities, it yet held something familiar. There was the feeling of recognition—as if the monster she'd insisted lived in her childhood bedroom's closet was paying her a visit after all these years.
And yet that was not all. For in what the being represented, the malice and brutality plainly manifest even in its most trivial facet, was also a subtly enticing promise of power, a seduction of sorts. It promised not only terror and suffering—and it certainly did promise those!—but also a perverse type of pleasure. The horror and brutality, she realized with a shock, held a vein of underlying eroticism. There was sex in death. There was delight in torture. Ecstasy in carnage.
Underscoring these subtler sensations, the throbbing ache in the back of her skull kept growing as the creature drew nearer. That and the accompanying nausea increasingly took her attention away from everything else. She could not concentrate, only stand still and wait for whatever it was that was about to happen.
Where even am I? What does he want with me?!
"Ariadne!"
She frowned. For its unsightly aspect, the creature had an agreeable, warm baritone voice.
Wait—it knows my name!
"Ari-aaa-dnee!"
No, it wasn't the creature—now starting to blur about the edges, becoming indistinct at its center—at all who had spoken. Someone else.
A different kind of monster altogether.
The ache was still in her head as Ariadne opened her eyes, accompanied by weltering nausea. She closed them again. Without reflection, she willed health into one hand and waved it beside her head. A golden light spiraled about her supine form, bringing a wave of relief which not only evicted the pain in her head but relaxed and nurtured the rest of her aching body as well.
As soon as she felt better, her eyes flew open. She scowled.
"There you go."
She sprung up off the musty bedroll, only to see the despicable, attractive features of Calisto, grinning at her on the other side of room-height latticed wrought iron bars. She'd been locked into the middle cell adjacent to the one holding Ariela. A quick glance confirmed that the scholar was still there as well, now freed of her gag and bindings yet not looking any more chipper for it. Behind the man, seated by the table next to the door, was another one. A crony.
"Sorry about the clout," Calisto said, motioning at Ariadne's head, not sounding particularly sorry. "I'd no choice but to intercept before you acted upon the foolish notions you were starting to entertain."
She looked down. Gone were her sodden adept robes, and instead she was clad in a beige tunic of rough spun wool. Not the most flattering piece of clothing, to be sure. She lifted her gaze to Calisto.
"Ah, yes," he said. "Had you toweled down and changed into dry clothes. Wouldn't want you dying of hypothermia before your time, now would we? No, no! Don't worry, my sweet. I put a pair of women to it. I didn't sneak a peek, I promise!" He covered his eyes with one hand. When he removed it, there was an unnerving shine to them. "I'll be saving that for later."
Through a natural progression, the feeling of disquiet caused by the man's manner ignited a spark inside Ariadne. Her expression grew dark with the heat flashing through her. "Bastard," she snarled, as flames gushed out of her hands. Letting her regain her magica would prove to be a fateful oversight—
"Ah, uh, uh!" Calisto sang, waving a finger in the air.
Ariadne stopped, frowning. Yet every muscle in her body remained clenched in preparation. The arcane flames about her hands humming silently.
Calisto flicked his finger in the air and a tiny little lightning bolt shot out. Ariadne flinched on instinct, but the small thing reached no further than the cell's bars and then it was flung back to its source, who deftly stood aside and let the baby-lightning dissolve into the wall behind him. A strange flicker lit every space between the bars before vanishing.
The man studied the flicker with a smile on his lips, then slanted it at the suddenly perturbed Ariadne. "Shalidor's Mirror," he said, confirming what she already knew. "So, I wouldn't go casting any spells I didn't want reflected back at me."
Ariadne scowled so hard that her face hurt. "You—"
"Bastard, yes I got that," said Calisto, in wearied tenors. "I'm saddened both by your lack of appreciation and, alas, of imagination. And I had such high hopes for you."
The flames about her hands died out. With that, all the resolve in her seemed to sap out as well. She sagged, suddenly hopeless.
"Oh, now," Calisto said. "Don't look so crestfallen. I still like you. I'll get over it and then we can go about like nothing happened. How's that sound?"
Ariadne picked her eyes up off the floor, willing defiance into them.
"That's right. Put your pretty chin up."
"What do you want?" she asked quietly, slowly approaching him.
"Why, I've got it don't I? What more can a man ask than the love of a beautiful woman?"
Ariadne stopped right by the bars. "Love?"
"You're saying it like it's a foreign word."
"To someone like you, I imagine that it is."
"Oh!" Calisto wrapped his hand around two bars and leaned forwards, grinning. "Are you still mad at me?"
Scowling, she cocked her head at his mocking words, then gave it a shake. "You're insane. How did I not see that before? You're . . . just fucking insane!"
"For you?" he offered.
Ariadne stared, disbelieving.
"Oh, now. Don't play games with me, girl." The ostensibly playful admonishment was soon followed by the darkening of both his aspect and his tone. "I might get mad. Believe me, you don't want to see me when I'm mad."
Despite herself, Ariadne leaned in closer. "What are you going to do, Calisto? Cry?"
A quick tautening of facial muscles, then he flashed her another grin, unconvincing in its supposed nonchalance. "Nice try. You're going to have to—"
Ariadne spat in his face. The mirror could not deflect that.
The grin frozen on his face, visibly struggling to maintain it for all his presumed insouciance, Calisto closed his eyes, a thick wad of slime running down one cheek. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. "Charming," he said, as he put the cloth to his face.
The chair behind him groaned, and the other man with the distinct look of a run-of-the-mill bandit slowly walked over to stand beside him. "Want me to teach her a lesson, boss?" His yellowed eyes turned to her, an unsavory gleam lighting them. "I'm good at teaching lessons," he said. There was little in the way of doubt that he very much liked to as well.
Ariadne suppressed a shudder, keeping her features firm.
"I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself," Calisto replied icily, handing the handkerchief over to the man.
"Never said you ain't," the man replied, pocketing the rag after giving it a quick sniff. He grinned at her. "Can't stop a man from trying, I suppose."
Calisto studied him. Then grunted softly. "No," he mused. "I suppose you can't."
As Calisto turned to regard Ariadne again, she couldn't believe how ugly he looked to her. Had there really been a time that's she'd looked upon those features with fawning admiration? Seemed hard to believe, as if it had happened long, almost a whole other lifetime, ago.
Then again, on some level she still—
Gods, listen to yourself, woman!
Calisto gave a sigh. "Be that as it may. I did mention realizing that breaking you wouldn't be easy. But I do intend to do just that. And I do intend to enjoy it."
Ariadne contemplated putting her fist through the bars and into his nose. But before she could think of acting on that impulse, the man stepped aside.
"Yes, and in fact I'm thinking I may just end up having both of you." He stopped to regard Ariela huddling there on her bedroll. "The more the merrier, as they say."
The scholar gave a quick, terrified glance at Ariadne, but then cast her eyes back down as if unable to face the dreadful situation. Ariadne could not blame her for it.
"Perhaps I'll end up borrowing a page from Arondil's book. That man has some interesting ideas. Of course," he sighed with feigned resignation. "It will hurt. A lot. For quite a while." He met Ariadne's eye, motioning towards Ariela. "I'll start with her. You can watch."
She glowered, robbed of words.
"What?" Calisto, smirking, returned to stand before Ariadne's cell. "Are you afraid that you would enjoy that?" He studied her, as though actually waiting for reply, then said, wistfully, "Yes, there are so many things that I could teach you—if only you'd let me."
Ariadne stared at him in powerless fury, then suddenly remembered Sissel. The poor woman!
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Sissel," she snarled. "She knew about you, why did she never warn me? Was that what all of those glares of hers were all about? Oh, if only she had trusted Ariadne's judgement and shared all her misgivings! Then Ariadne wouldn't have—
Who am I kidding? she thought in dismay. I would have just brushed her warnings off. Who knows, things might even be worse right now—though how, I can't even imagine.
Calisto shrugged. "Most likely she didn't trust you. And in spite of all her assurances to the contrary, I really don't think she had me pegged as well as she liked to believe. Frankly, I think she had something of a thing for me. Yeah, yeah, I know: she didn't go for fellas. But I'm hardly just another fella, now am I? I'm sure you of all people can attest to that. Anyway, don't feel too bad for the old girl: she lived by her own convictions and took her chances where she had them. I can actually respect that. And don't you worry, she still serves a valuable purpose even dead. Those of us who dabble with the whole reanimation business and whathaveyou are always pleased to get some fresh meat."
The aghast Ariane returned to the one thing at her disposal, and gaped. "Unbelievable," she muttered. "You're one warped piece of—
"Calisto."
With stupendous alacrity, Calisto stepped back from the bars, like a child caught doing something he shouldn't, swinging toward the door to welcome whoever had uttered his name.
The atmosphere in the dungeon, uneasy enough as it had been already, grew ever tauter with the assembly of dark-robed, cowled figures that then filed in. In the lead was a figure taller by a head than most of them and conspicuously gaunt even in the loose-fitting robes. It was this figure that the young mage now received with obvious deference.
"Here you are." As the figure removed the cowl, an odd chill ran through Ariadne. The woman's appearance could not possibly have better matched her voice. The totality made Faralda seem like a breath of balmy summer air in comparison. The emaciated deathly pale features, the slicked back ice blond half-long hair, the peculiar different-colored eyes, one green and the other blue, all contributed to the eerie impression, as though her whole appearance had been designed by someone with a uncanny penchant for hyperbole. Then, as this Ice Queen of the Dead slowly ambled over to Calisto, she took a sweeping survey of the caged women, showing little in the way of interest save for the discomfiting flash of cursory amusement as those strange eyes met with hers. Ariadne thought that she could discern Altmeri undertones in the Nord's features.
The woman stopped in front of Calisto, standing roughly one inch taller than him, and smiled the way a snake might at a rat. "I can see that you have secured your toys."
"Aye," Calisto said, sounding uncharacteristically indeterminate. "They walked right into my trap. Never underestimate the stupid solidarity of the sheep, isn't that what you always say?"
"Yes," the woman replied. Something in her way told Ariadne that she drew amusement from the way Calisto had echoed her words—being, perhaps, of the judgement that a crucial aspect of them had escaped the young mage. "Very good." It was almost as if she were speaking to a well-trained dog.
"I, uh, think I'll start work on them as soon as I can. Free up the cells, you know."
"Will you, now?"
The woman gave Ariadne another glance, mostly devoid of interest, then settled her mismatched eyes on Ariela. Something approximating an emotion momentarily flashed upon her countenance, soon passing. She slowly walked over to Ariela's cell, the heels of her boots clacking on the flagstones, sand crunching underneath.
Ariela kept her head cast down, even as the woman stopped to study her. Ariadne could see that the scholar felt those eyes on her, and she looked to be wilting under their scrutiny. Yet, despite the lack of reaction, the woman's stare held.
What does she want with her?
The woman spoke then. "Our end of the bargain holds." She nodded, not seeming to be expecting confirmation from anyone. "You may do as you wish."
Calisto smiled. "You can be sure that I shall. They are my prisoners, and I'll—"
"Yours?" The frosty note in which she uttered the word as she turned to face the man sent chills down Ariadne's back.
Calisto seemed to wither some, yet stood his ground. "I was under the impression that this was what we—"
"Yes," the woman said. "'We'. An agreement between equals, no?"
Calisto swallowed, as she came to stand before him. Blinking, casting about for a reply.
The woman reached out a hand to grab him by the face, long pallid fingers pressing his cheeks so that his lips pouted out a little. She stuck her eerie, vaguely grinning face right close to his, locking his eyes with hers. "And was it not I who agreed to let you have your little way? As I recall, there was no argument to be had, no negotiation. Only me granting you your wish. Out of the kindness of my heart."
Just looking at her, Ariadne had reasonable doubt as to the woman having a heart, let alone any kindness in it.
"Yeah, yeah," Calisto assured placatingly, "of course,"
"And I trust," the woman said, a serpentine croon bleeding into her voice, "you would not think of letting that go to your head. Dream of growing out of those britches of yours, if you don't mind the turn of words. Of growing too willful, too hungry for more power to supplement what little I've granted you thus far. I do, I have, and always will call the shots around here. For all intents and purposes, I own you. And I trust I need not remind you of the consequences should I one day feel that you have betrayed me?"
Calisto shook his head against her grip. "Of course! I would never dream of—"
The woman pushed him back, releasing his face. Calisto reeled, holding his face and keeping his eyes cast on the floor, looking humiliated. Ariadne felt dark joy over seeing him like that. Despite the obvious, this lady can't be all bad.
"We are getting ready to start," the woman told Calisto. "Do you think you're going to be long here?" It didn't exactly sound like a question.
"I'll be done soon," he replied tersely.
"Good," she said, then addressed one of the other cowled figures, "Tell old Faelmir that he can begin the ritual." The figure promptly sprung out the door, and the woman's eyes once more swept over the prisoners. "Do what you've got to do, but do it quick," she said, then drew the cowl back over her head and sailed out of the room with the rest of her robed cronies in tow.
Then it was just Calisto and the original henchman left. The latter stood back, reservedly observing his supposed boss, as he scraped together the remains of his dignity.
Ariadne stared at Calisto. Twice now, within a short period of time, her image of him had shattered in front of her eyes. Peel a man, layer by layer, she thought, and what, in the end, shall there be left of him? It was no accident that the woman had done what she'd done. Being humiliated in front of his supposed prisoners: why, that was the last thing he had wanted. And precisely what he deserved.
Then, as he looked up and met eyes with her, she gave him a smirk. I can see you now! And I'm not impressed.
Coloring with anger, Calisto broke free of her derisive gaze and sought out his underling. "We have to get ready," he snapped. To the other man's evident perplexity, he waved a hand. "Change of plans, we leave as soon as we can. We can take care of them later. A couple more days in the waiting can do nothing but good for them." He shot a resentful glare at Ariadne. "Let them stew in it."
"So what's the—?"
"As soon as we're done here, with the ritual—subjugated the King of Worms—and after I've harvested whatever power lurks in Avangzand, I will show everyone what a force to reckon with I truly am. First Nora, then that vampire bitch of Haafingar. I will teach them to toy with me!"
With his words, Ariadne noticed that Ariela's head had popped up. The woman was frowning.
The henchman scowled pointedly at the prisoners, then back at Calisto, only to have the latter wave his hand again. "Forget them! What power do they have to enact anything? Once I've returned, no one can tell me what I can and cannot do. This I swear by Sithis himself!"
He eyed Ariadne once more. It appeared as if he was weighing sufficient parting words, but then only hissed and spun around. "You stay here," he told the man. "I need to find my ceremonial robes. Now where did I leave the stupid thing?" He removed the satchel hanging over his shoulder and tossed it on the table next to the exit. "Guard this for me."
Without another look at his supposed prisoners, Calisto stormed out of the room. The remaining man looked nothing short of relieved. He took another glance at Ariadne over his shoulder, but barring a quick glimmer in his eye, didn't appear to harbor any intention to insinuate himself on her. For which she was thankful. She was rapidly growing tired of telling people off.
The man then moseyed over to the table and chairs, sat down and leaned against the backrest with hands folded atop his protruding gut. Sooner than what seemed reasonable, he was snoring.
Ariadne stood there for a long time, just staring at the place where Calisto had been. It was as though a thought was trying to break through but she couldn't work up sufficient mental momentum for it. Her mind was too much awhirl for her to make sense of. The gravity of their predicament weighed heavily upon her.
They needed to get out! And they needed to do so soon.
But how in Oblivion are we gonna do that?
And yet, the thought of Calisto's manner in front of the strange woman couldn't but bring a smile to her lips. After all that the man had put her through, after the conceited and spiteful things he had said to her, the way he'd threatened her and hinted at what he planned to do with her as though she were his possession—well, seeing him all humiliated and submissive had been incredibly satisfying. To be sure, she could easily conjure images of far worse things that she'd like to see done to him.
"What are you smiling about?"
Ariela was standing by the bars separating their cells, staring at Ariadne, frowning. She looked harrowed to say the least.
"Don't tell me you didn't like to see someone put that bastard in his place the way she just did."
The scholar said nothing, and just shrugged. She sure did not look amused though.
"Well, I for one loved every second of it," Ariadne said, knowing full well she was exaggerating. "A healthy reminder he is only a man, despite what he would like you to believe. And like all men, he is weak. There's always a bigger fish, as they say, and he ain't even all that big." She shrugged. "Besides, I'm not intending to stay locked up here, waiting on his return so that he can try and do whatever he has in his depraved brain to do to us— Now, don't look at me like that!"
"No, no," Ariela said. "You misread me. I'm just . . . admiring you, that's all. Your indomitability."
"Oh," said Ariadne. "Well, sure. Um, so anyway, we have to come with some plan." She suddenly felt awkward.
"Beats me," Ariela said with a sigh. Then her expression became troubled. "Look, what he said—"
"What he said," Ariadne snapped, "was a bunch of blustering horse crap. It's clear that the creepy lady has him by the fruits, for all his pretending otherwise." She shook her head. "Gods, what a pathetic maggot! Can't believe I ever saw anything in him."
Ariela, also shaking her head although in a far more resigned manner, sat down on her bedroll. Ariadne remained standing there, surveying the bars as if searching for a weak spot in the spell, although of course she knew there wasn't one.
She'd heard of Shalidor's Mirror, of course, but never before seen it in practice. And she had no idea as to how it was possible to cast it on an inanimate object like this and then to maintain it. There was so much more, it seemed, to magic than what they were willing to teach at the College. But how did they think they were going to defeat people like this if they could not match their magic? Or perhaps it was simply that the more advanced stuff was saved for a small clique of elite mages? No, that didn't seem likely.
In any case, perhaps there was something, after all, to the grievances of all those people who'd left the school over the years to go searching for greener pastures.
Hardly pertinent at the moment, Ariadne. Better stick to wracking that brain of yours to figure out how to get out of here!
The bars yet stood. The spell yet held. There was no getting around it: while those two truths remained unchanged, there was no way they could—
Glancing over toward the other cell, Ariadne frowned. The scholar was hunched over the trencher in her cell, picking at the meager and unappetizing fare which the bastards had graciously left for their prisoners. Her frown turned into a scowl.
"You're eating?"
Ariela looked up, baffled. "What should I be doing? I'm hungry."
"Yeah, but . . . I mean, you don't even know what's in it. For all you know it could be poisoned!"
Ariela frowned. "What would be the point of poisoning us now?"
"Well . . ." Ariadne searched hard for the good answer she knew should have been there. Then her eyes settled on the untouched trencher on her side of the bars. The dry bread, the overcooked baked potatoes, the sad grilled leek, and the measly slab of roasted salmon. They'd probably gone cold a good while ago, if they were ever warm. Yet she felt a pang in her stomach . . .
She took a petulant step at the trencher and kicked it over. It clattered into the furthermost corner, food scattering all over the floor. There, that closes that argument! She glared at the bemused scholar, then went to stand moodily by the bars with her arms folded in front of her. Stupid food. Stupid cell. Stupid Shalidor's stupid Mirror!
The clamor had seemed to wake the guard up. His initial slumberous scowl softened as his eye went to the eating Ariela. He then reached out to grab a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese at the far end of the table.
Oh yeah, go ahead you too. Eat up. You'll be swallowing your own teeth once I get to you! Her acrimonious thoughts did nothing for the empty gnawing in her stomach, as she watched the unbathed man attack the bread and cheese with a serrated knife.
A minute later, the door opened, and in glided one of the place's robed inhabitants, cowl pulled over its head as seemed to be their wont. What are they hoping to accomplish with that anyway? Is it supposed to make them look all mysterious? Like a bunch of jackasses is more like it!
The man gave the newcomer a minute glance, but seemed far more interested in the food he was stuffing in his face.
The figure stopped for a second. With the cowl Ariadne could not tell whether they were looking at the prisoners or not. But whatever the case, they soon turned around and faced the eating man, who again glanced at the nearing figure. A frown came upon him, his cheeks bulging with the food filling his mouth. Before he had time to react, the figure quickly lurched forward, snatching the serrated knife off the table. The man jerked in alarm, but was utterly defenseless against the knife, which the robed figure unceremoniously plunged handle-deep into his right eye.
A violent convulsion took him, and the figure caught him by reaching an arm behind his back, to keep him upright while he finished dying. It did not last long, and when the figure retreated its arm, the dead man retained his sitting position, head lulling back with the knife still sticking out of his socket. Blood and something else trickled out to pool on the floor behind him.
Ariadne felt vaguely discomfited by the display, and when she took a look at Ariela she found the scholar with both hands clapped over her mouth. Bet eating doesn't seem like such a good call now.
More than anything, though, she was dumbfounded. What's going on here? Her dumbfoundedness, truth be told, came with a side of foreboding. But whatever happened, she was ready to fight if it came to that.
The figure then went over to the row of four levers on the wall next to the door, grasped the two in the middle and drew. Ariadne's mouth fell open right after the door to her cell did. The scholar, her door likewise open, looked no less bewildered. The figure, as it briskly walked towards them, then pulled back the cowl. Ariadne's jaw dropped even lower.
Familiar features grinned at her. "Miss me yet?"
"Sissel!" Ariadne gasped. "But you . . . you . . ."
The woman looked amused. "Died? Yeah, I know. A neat trick, huh?"
"Trick?"
"I'll explain later. Come on you two, we have to go, pronto!"
"No, no, no," Ariadne insisted as she stepped out of her cell. "You owe me an explanation. That thing with Calisto, the explosion, not to mention the death part, how did you pull those off?"
"It was nothing, really. Mostly I was bluffing. I knew he would be waiting for us. Was more or less counting on it."
"What?"
"I'm not stupid," Sissel replied. "Of course he'd set us a trap."
Hey! What's that supposed to imply?
"It went down perfectly, exactly according to plan. Sorry to cause you extra gray hairs, but I had to keep it even from you."
"Yeah, sure, whatever." Gray hairs, speak for yourself! "But what did you actually do?"
"It was nothing."
"Like the Void it was!"
Sissel sighed, rolling her eyes. "Alright, look. What I did there I did not learn at the College. And in fact, it may be best that word of it doesn't reach Faralda, don't you think?"
"You've got to tell me!"
Sissel looked around, as if expecting her superior lurking in the vicinity, eavesdropping. "Perhaps we can see about that later. Our little secret, yes? I could probably teach you a thing or two."
Oh, I bet you could!
Ariadne frowned. Not now!
"Something wrong?" Sissel asked.
"Never mind. Alright, I'm ready."
"Good. Let's get the hell out of here—"
"NO!"
Perplexed, both Sissel and Ariadne turned to Ariela. The scholar's eyes were ablaze.
"We can't go," she said, slightly less fervently.
"What are you on about?" Ariadne demanded.
"Why couldn't we go?" asked Sissel.
"Didn't you hear him?" Ariela asked Ariadne. "What he said?"
Ariadne shrugged. "He said lots of things. All a load of horseshit—"
"The King of Worms!"
She shrugged again. "Who's that?"
Ariela blinked, disbelieving. "Mannimarco?"
Ariadne made an expectant face. "Is that supposed to ring a bell?"
Ariela stared another moment, then shook his head. "Unbelievable," she muttered.
"Wait, wait, wait," Sissel said. "What's this about Mannimarco?"
"Who's Mannimarco!?" Ariadne demanded.
"Mannimarco," Sissel said patiently, a warding hand up for Ariela whose eyes were bulging out of her little head from flabbergastation, "was a powerful necromancer who in his time not only helped Molag Bal in his attempt at capturing Nirn during the Planemeld, but repeatedly went out of his way to gain power in Tamriel, going as far as controlling the Cyrodiil Empire at one point. He is no longer believed to exist in the mortal realm."
Aha. Well that does actually kind of ring a bell. Hey, that was probably the fellow I was thinking of earlier, the one who caused the whole necromancy ban to be instated.
"Now," Sissel asked Ariela, "what does Mannimarco have to do with anything?"
"Calisto mentioned some ritual," the scholar said, "as did the eerie lady who stopped by here. She seemed to be their leader."
Sissel nodded. "Seems so. And what sort of ritual did they mention?"
"There were no specifics. But when talking to him," Ariela motioned at the dead man, "Calisto said something about 'subjugating' the King of Worms."
Sissel's eyes were wide. "No," she exhaled with a shake of her head. "That's impossible."
"Why would it not be possible?" asked Ariadne, in spite of not really following the reasoning of the women's exchange.
"Mannimarco," Sissel said, "as I said, is no longer believed to be in the mortal realm, yet this does not necessarily mean that he is dead. In fact, there are many who believe that he found a way to ascend to godhood, and to this day presides over necromancers, as their patron of sorts. This is at least my understanding; have you something more educated to add?"
"None," Ariela replied. "To be sure, we now tread a ground I've always found most confusing. Dragon Breaks and all that. Kind of bends my mind out of shape, the whole theme. Albeit immensely fascinating!"
"So what's that mean?" Ariadne asked.
"I wish to gods I knew," said Sissel. "But unless they're mad enough to try to bind a god to their will, there's a marginal chance that they've found a way to bind the soul of Mannimarco the man in order to reanimate him. Frankly, even the latter option chills my blood."
Ariadne's heart sank. "So we can't leave?"
"I'm afraid not. Ariela's right, this is something we absolutely must investigate. If we leave it here, Faralda will have us all de-animated!" The woman then considered. "Of course, I can always just stay by myself, if you and Ariela wanna get to safety . . ."
"No!" Ariadne exclaimed. "Ahem, I mean, no. I couldn't possibly let you take this all upon yourself."
Sissel grinned. "I thought so. And how about you, Ariela?"
Ariela thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded gravely. "I must see this myself," she said. "Don't even ask me why."
"Don't worry, I won't. Just stay back and let me and Ariadne take care of things if it comes to that."
Ariadne frowned. "If? They don't exactly come off as a welcoming bunch."
"Well, it's evident that we're gonna need to procure us some of those robes."
"And then what?" she asked with foreboding.
"Then? Then we take part in their little ritual. Like Ariela, I've gotta see this myself. The King of Worms?" She hissed. "Shit, never thought I'd live to see the day!"
We'll be lucky enough to live through it, Ariadne thought miserably. Yet, she couldn't deny that little growing feeling of anticipation. Wasn't this exactly the sort of action and excitement that she'd been craving? Was not the hallmark of any true adventure the inevitable possibility of imminent death? Yeah, this is exactly what I wished for.
Look before you throw your wishes around, —Another one of his father's little sayings—you never know what you'll hit. She remembered him as a moderately wise, and most decidedly irritating, man.
Ariela slung her knapsack over her shoulder; the thugs had had the courtesy to include it with her in the cell. Perhaps so that the woman could entertain herself as she awaited becoming their entertainment. This made Ariadne remember Calisto's satchel, which still lay on the table.
She went to rummage through it. If you've got something valuable here I'm keeping it. But first of all, there's something of mine that I want back.
True enough, she soon found her amulet of Dibella in one of the inside pockets. She placed it again around her neck and continued rummaging. As she was doing so, a book fell out, but she didn't pay the stupid thing any mind.
The scholar, of course, did. She picked the thin volume off the floor. Then gasped as she read the title.
"What?" Ariadne asked.
"A biography of Ababel Alereth, the mad Ashlander" she replied, in awe, "I did not even know such a thing existed!" As she opened the book, a folded piece of paper fell at her feet, but she was too enraptured to take notice.
Despite herself, Ariadne asked, "Who's that?"
There was something of superstitious terror in the scholar's eyes. "The author of the infamous Drarammshokhahn," she pronounced. "Book of—" Then, it seemed, she astutely picked up on the dull light which had come upon Ariadne's regard. "Uh, never mind. It's not important right now." She stowed the book away in her knapsack.
The woman then seemed to notice for the first time the piece of paper on the floor. She reached down to pick it up.
Ariadne returned to her searching. She was about to throw away the whole satchel when she came out empty. Then Ariela gave an even louder gasp.
Ariadne, frowning, asked, "What now?"
The scholar looked up, her eyes wide in sheer horror. "It's a letter," she managed.
"Yeah? Well, it isn't like that's—"
"From someone I know."
Ariadne frowned again. "What?"
"I can't . . . I can't even believe it," Ariela said, her eyes racing back and forth on the paper as she shook her head.
"Well, come on," Ariadne said, pricked by unbearable impatience, "what's it say? Who's it from? Read it!"
The scholar's dread-filled eyes lifted to her, and then she did as asked.
"There isn't much," she said. "But it's more than enough . . .'Regarding your inquires as to what we want done with the quarry once she is in your possession, I shall say simply that she is all yours. We have no further need for her; all we ask is she be removed—permanently—out of our way. So by all means keep her. Have—'" Ariela paused to swallow, a bitter expression on her. "'—your fun! This, I believe, concludes any business between us for the time being. Fare well and may the blessings of—'" She paused again, closing her eyes in anguish, then resumed as a powerful emotion twisted her features. "'—of . . . Hermaeus Mora be upon you. Yours, Plitinius Ceno, the principal of the Scholar's Guild of Tamriel.'"
Ariadne had to admit that even she felt something akin to shock upon the final words.
"My guild," Ariela said, stricken. "My guild . . . has turned to . . . to Daedra worship." Her hand rumpled the letter as she slowly dropped to the floor. "No," she whispered. "I can't believe it."
Sissel came squatting beside her, laying a careful hand over her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now."
Ariela lifted pained eyes to hers, then again dropped them to the floor between her legs.
"However," Sissel said. "And I'm sorry if this comes across as insensitive. But we really have no time to fret about that right now. Can you put it aside for now before we're done here and back to safety? Can you do that for me?"
Ariela nodded weakly. Then a flash of something momentarily lit her eyes, and she nodded with more confidence, meeting the other woman's eye. "I'm alright," she said. "Frankly, I don't even know . . . how surprised I am, really. Should have seen this coming, shouldn't I?"
"Don't blame yourself—"
"I'm not! I'm blaming Plitinius, that . . . snake! I always thought there was something not quite right about him, and here's the proof." She shook her head in disgust. "I'll teach him a lesson yet—I swear!"
Grinning, Sissel clapped the scholar's bony shoulder. "That's the spirit! Now, shall we get to the bottom of this?"
"Let's get it done," agreed Ariela.
As Ariadne watched Sissel help the smaller woman up, she felt the stab of a double-edged emotion. At once admiration for both of her companions, their strength and resolve—even Ariela's, truth be told—and guilt over how she'd acted toward both of them. She did not care to dwell on the emotion, yet didn't push it away, either, as she would have in the past.
The Past—like an hour ago?
She did, however, push away the derisive voice in her head. She could learn to admit to her mistakes, and even make amends, but she'd be damned if she let voices in her head push her around!
"Well, let's get us some of those robes, then?" she said.
"Let's," Sissel said with a nod. "Best if we try be stealthy, but we might have to take some of them down nonetheless."
Ariadne grinned. She could already feel the energy preparing to surge into her. She could feel the heat. The tantalizing prickle. "Believe me when I say, I have absolutely no problem with that!"
