Chapter 7
"Perhaps you ought to look for a Shadow-born mage, then," said Reilonde. They were in the small garden near the Lustratorium, in the lee of the wall. The day's shadows were lengthening. Ashleigh sat on a stone bench, looking without much interest at the wild profusion of flowers in their stone circle in front of him. Other plants climbed up the bench, the wall, and the pillars that circled the little plot. The leaves of a morning glory tickled his scalp as he leaned back against the wall. Reilonde stood leaning her lower shoulder against a small pillar, lean and cloaked and looking quite out of place.
Prideaux shook his head. "I appreciate the thought, but it's no use. Almost everyone here is either a student or a teacher. Either they don't know enough to keep themselves alive, or they're so absorbed in research that they'll never leave this place." He sighed, then coughed when the air flow irritated his raw throat. "Besides, people who are born under the Shadow practically never learn magery. The Apprentice, or the Mage, or even, gods help me, the Atronach, but not the Shadow."
"Aye, so one hears, Master Prideaux," said Reilonde. "But sure and there must be some of that sign who are unsuited to the life of a thief or a robber."
"Without any doubt, Madam," said Ashleigh. "But even if I could find such a person, how should I ask them to come with me into danger, possibly to death? I need not know what peril I face when I'm going to it in your company. What do the Dark Brotherhood want you for?"
"As I said before, 'tis only a matter of business for them," said Reilonde. "Though I suppose they would relish the chance to recover the reputation of their fallen colleagues in Mournhold. I know not who bought the contract under which they act, so I cannot stop it." She looked around them briefly, made sure the foliage screened her from being seen in the distance, and flipped back her hood again. "Were I to hazard a guess, I would say it was probably one of Her Hands who could not find me himself. It cannot be someone truly wealthy, else they would be sending better assassins than that last one."
"The Hands of Almalexia?" Ashleigh stared at her. "Why would a religious order dedicated to a dead deity pay to have you murdered?"
"D'you know who struck down the Merciful Goddess, Ashleigh Prideaux?" asked Reilonde, lowering her voice. "Who it was that found the shriveled corpse of Sotha Sil in his own house, where she had left him?"
"I heard that it was," he said, and shut his lips tightly as he looked at Reilonde.
Nerevar reborn, who went to Mournhold after she slew the demon-god Dagoth Ur, said an inexorable voice in his mind.
The Nerevarine, who destroyed the Heart of Lorkhan using the Tools of Kagrenac. The hero against whom not even gods could stand.
Kagrenac's history was well known to Ashleigh. He was quite certain the Tools would be Dwemer in appearance. He felt a small tight feeling in his belly, as if someone were about to hit him. It was a familiar sensation, but no less unpleasant for that.
He stood up carefully, so that he could look into her single eye. He stifled another cough without noticing.
"That dagger you carry," he said. "Does it have a name?"
"Aye," said Reilonde. "It is called Keening."
Stendarr protect us.
"Was there another such weapon? A hammer, perhaps?" Ashleigh asked. Reilonde nodded.
"I gave Sunder into better hands than mine, and it is gone from the world," she said softly. It seemed unnatural for her high, sharp voice, like listening to an eagle try to sing. "Other weapons have passed through my hands, but none I loved so well as Keening. For my life, I could not part with it."
"You are the Nerevarine," said Ashleigh Prideaux. His voice came out as a hoarse rasp. He cleared it impatiently.
"Aye, Master Prideaux," said Reilonde. She shook herself. "That I am. Did I not tell you when we met that I have eaten the sin of the Tribe Unmourned? 'Tis the verse of a very old prophecy."
"I didn't understand," said Ashleigh. "I didn't know." He ran his hands back over his hair distractedly. "...Saved one who could destroy me... Me? Gods and daedra!" He resisted the urge to shout. This was not something he wanted known to everyone at the University. "You could bring what's left of the Empire crashing down around your ears, Madam," he hissed. "I thought you had gone to Akavir!"
"I did go to Akavir," said Reilonde. "And twenty good men and women went with me. And of all that went into that strange and terrible country, only I escaped alive." She ran one fingernail down one of the crisscrossing lines on her face. "'Twas there I came by these, and many hours' work by a craftsman they were, I assure you." She smiled, a tight, hard little expression that had as much to do with humor as swords have to do with pruning hedges.
"What can you possibly want with me?" Prideaux demanded.
"I wanted naught to do with you, nor anyone else," she said sharply. "I wanted to die alone drinking brandy. But you put a stop to that, did you not? 'Tis only yourself you have to blame for what follows."
"Too true," said Ashleigh Prideaux. He sat down limply on the bench.
"Too much time you spend lost in your own little world," said the Altmer. She folded her arms. "Else you would have guessed much sooner and not gone off into silly ideas. Me, a vampire? Ha. Nothing can infect one who has had the divine disease, Ashleigh Prideaux. And that includes porphyric hemophilia."
"It was not at all a silly idea," he said with dignity. "One does not assume the reincarnation of Nerevar would be drinking in a bar on the Imperial City Waterfront."
He felt that the web of fate must be somehow woven askew, a thread tied in where it did not belong.
"You should have been saved by someone important," he said. "The Hero of Kvatch, perhaps. Then you could have gone on to," he waved a hand. "To save all Tamriel from something. It should follow quite logically."
"The Hero of Kvatch has her own troubles," said Reilonde. "The deeds that earn us renown earn us bitter enemies as well, and we save strangers and watch friends perish. Nay, I would not wish myself on Thrissi the Luckless. When last I saw her, she seemed to have found some measure of peace." She sniffed, a small, disdainful sound. "But there can be no peace for me, Ashleigh Prideaux. And it seems trouble will find you whether I am here or no. Shall I not be there to fight it? Shall I not lay my hands on evil where I may?"
"I wouldn't stop you," said Ashleigh. "If there were any possibility that I could." He eyed her. "It just seems to me that involving yourself with my particular trouble is somewhat akin to swatting gadflies with a warhammer. Somebody is apt to lose a finger."
And that somebody will be me, he thought, coughing gloomily. And by lose a finger, I believe I mean die screaming.
"Now that, I have not yet done," said Reilonde, quite calmly. "Although I do lack a couple of toes and all the nails thereof, I admit. 'Tis too early to concern yourself with these things, in any case. You must yet pass the Master-Wizard's test and claim your rank, aye?"
"Yes," said Ashleigh, who now thought the delay much more inconvenient than he had thought it that morning. "And I sincerely hope that any further attempts at assassination wait until we have left the University."
"'Twould ordinarily be a couple of days before they can find another that will accept such a contract," said Reilonde. "The first few who took it did not know they faced Nerevar reborn. The next few thought themselves equal to the task. Now all of those are dead. Those who would try now are either so low in rank and skill that they have nothing to lose, or so utterly mad that they do not care for the hazard."
"Once again, Madam, you fail entirely to reassure me," said Ashleigh Prideaux.
"Nor the assassin in the black silks who is presently creeping down the ivy, I hope," said Reilonde sardonically. "Aye, I can see you quite clearly." Her eye was fixed on something behind and above Ashleigh. He stood up and turned slowly. A flicker in the air dissolved into a broad-shouldered, tawny-scaled Argonian, presently clinging to the ivy that ascended the wall. He was still some ten feet above the level of the Lustratorium's garden columns.
"Hallo," said a chipper baritone. Ashleigh saw an entirely unembarrassed flash of sharp teeth. "It is this one's friend the Atronach-born! This one did not expect to meet you here. But then, where else should she find a mage but at the Arcane University?"
"She?" said Reilonde.
"Juggles-One-Dozen?" Ashleigh said. "I had been told we would meet again, but I confess I did not quite expect it to be here."
"Nor did this one," said the Argonian. He somersaulted down and landed at the base of the wall, where he stood grinning at them both with one fist on a jutting hip. Prideaux could not help noticing that he now had a thick black ribbon tied around each of his two horns, matching the polish on his clawed fingers and bare toes. "This one does not make a habit of visiting premises academical. An acquaintance asked her to do a favor for which she had every expectation of receiving a nice quantity of moon sugar. She has always had a sweet tooth. It is a sad failing of the Khajiiti race."
"This favor," said Ashleigh Prideaux. "Would it be anything like the one involving the bandits?"
"There are certain commonalities," said the Argonian. He drew a dagger idly from his belt and began to spin the pommel on the tip of one claw. Prideaux noticed particularly that he was not looking at it. He was looking at Reilonde, whose gauntleted right hand was on the pommel of Keening.
"Did someone pay you to kill the Nerevarine, Madam?" Ashleigh asked bluntly.
"No, Sir," said Juggles primly, looking back at Prideaux. "They paid this one to kill a surly Altmer with one eye, whom this one was informed was currently on the University grounds for reasons which she was not told. But have no fears, Master Prideaux!" He twirled the dagger twice, ostentatiously quick, and sheathed it. "This one would by no means wish to harm Nerevar reborn." The sharp teeth reappeared. Ashleigh glanced at Reilonde, who seemed to be watching warily. "This one would not, as she told you, have innocent blood on her hands."
"Reilonde, this is Juggles-One-Dozen," said Ashleigh. He paused to cough, then tried to say the next words without special emphasis. "The Khajiiti lady who rescued me from bandits in the West Weald. Juggles, this is Reilonde, who is indeed the Nerevarine, and whom I met in the Bloated Float yesterday."
Each one bowed politely to the other. Juggles-One-Dozen, Ashleigh observed, did it more gracefully than Reilonde, whose movements were careless and abrupt.
"How d'you do," said Reilonde. She seemed to have caught the dropped cue, at least.
"This one is slightly disappointed," said Juggles bluntly. "But it cannot be helped. Ah, woe that she should find herself again the pawn of evil men! It is enough to make an honest woman despair." He turned and sprang lightly up into the ivy. "This one will have sharp words to say to her acquaintance, anyway."
"Wait," said Prideaux, belatedly remembering something. "What's your birth sign, Juggles?"
"How very curious that you should ask that," said Juggles. He came down from the ivy again, the end of his scaly tail twitching slightly. "This one was born under the Shadow. It is a sign which the folk of the Black Marsh hold in special awe, or so she was told when they had made her believe she was an Argonian boy." The Argonian's eyes narrowed at the memory. They were very green above his pointed muzzle, and the pupils were long and thin.
"Do you know anything about the White Grave?" asked Prideaux.
"White Grave?" Juggles shook his head, brow clearing. "Alas, no. This one knows hardly anything about astrology, particularly as it relates to Molag Bal."
Ashleigh opened his mouth and shut it again. He made a small mental adjustment. "It's a star," he said. "And it's going to be aligned with the Atronach in two weeks. The Wizards told me that people born under the Shadow have a special ability to resist the powers of that particular daedric prince during that time."
"Ah, you wish to bid for this one's services!" Juggles-One-Dozen nodded wisely. "Perhaps you also have sugar?"
"Well, no," admitted Ashleigh. "Nor have I much gold, alas. I don't suppose you are in need of any magical services, Madam?"
"Hmm, perhaps. Are you a very confidential person, Ashleigh Prideaux?" inquired Juggles.
"I certainly can be," said Ashleigh Prideaux.
"This one needs a certain philtre made, yes," said the Argonian, with a smile with was probably meant to be demure, but instead had somewhat the look of a friendly shark. "And this one knows you are a powerful alchemist. It should be well within your capabilities, if you are willing."
"What sort of philtre?" asked Ashleigh cautiously.
"Oh, a trifling little thing." Juggles examined his painted nails. "This one cannot seem to hang onto a knife for any length of time. It is most vexing. She would like something that can be put on whatever weapon she happens to be using at the moment, something to unlock those doors by which the spirit may be let out of the body, you understand."
"You want me to brew a poison," said Ashleigh Prideaux. "Which you are going to use to kill people. I'm not sure I can do that."
"Only very deserving people," said Juggles-One-Dozen.
Prideaux looked at Reilonde. Against all odds, she seemed to be trying not to smile.
"The seer did tell you, Master Prideaux," said the Altmer.
Right. Not every unsound mind is evil. Not every sound mind is good. Fail this test, and more than my life may be forfeit...
"Very well," sighed Prideaux. "I will brew you the deadliest philtre which it is in my power to create, in the amount of - "
"One vial," said Juggles-One-Dozen. "One of those which you use for your restoratives should suffice."
"Indeed. In exchange for which, you will do what?"
"In exchange for which, plus her bed, board, and any costs of healing or restoration, this one shall prevent your death up to and during the ascendancy," said Juggles promptly. "And immediately afterward, of course, should any particularly threatening consequences ensue."
"That... hardly seems fair," said Ashleigh Prideaux.
Juggles-One-Dozen sighed heavily. "Ah, but it drives a mickle hard bargain, this mage. Very well. This one shall attempt to safeguard Madam Reilonde as well, though that hardly seems necessary."
"Thank you, Juggles-One-Dozen," said Reilonde gravely.
"Ah, but call her Juggles, please. For two weeks at least we shall be in one another's company a great deal. Starting as soon as you have made the philtre, yes?" The Argonian arched a scaly brow at Prideaux.
"Yes, of course," said Prideaux. "I should be able to present you with it by tomorrow. It will not take long. Suppose you were to meet us in the outer court tomorrow morning? I should know by then what I will have to do to test for my rank here."
"Excellent," said Juggles-One-Dozen. "Then I shall return at the appointed time. Good day to you both." He inclined his head politely, sprang up into the ivy, and was up and over the wall in seconds.
Ashleigh and Reilonde looked after him in silence for a moment.
"What will you do if he falls in love with you, Master Prideaux?" Reilonde asked eventually.
"Small danger of that," said Prideaux. "Women of my own race and occupation give me no second glance, Madam. I hardly think I am likely to attract the attention of Khajiiti femmes fatale, do you?"
For the first time Prideaux had heard, Reilonde laughed.
