Chapter 7
Hours after having made his decision to exonerate Harrald Law-Giver, Eoric was sat at the head of Mjoll and Aerin's dining table. A fire blazed in the hearth and over it a pot of spiced wine was heating. Both freshly awoken and blearily rubbing at their eyes, Hakon and Thorek came walking up the stairs behind him. He'd spent some time planning before waking them up, as well as going out and asking for the final intended member of the late night meeting. As Hakon and Thorek reached the top of the stairs, there was a knock at the door.
"I'll get it." Eoric said, rising from his chair as Thorek retrieved a set of tankards and Hakon fetched a jug for the rapidly warming wine.
Opening the door, Eoric saw it was who he had sent for, wrapped in a hooded cloak.
"I'm here for the dice game." Cyrus said, flashing a smile. "That is what this kind of meeting is called, yes?"
"Come on in." Eoric said, rolling his eyes slightly.
Doing so, Cyrus doffed his cloak, which revealed that he was in fact wearing a set of leather armor, dyed black with a multitude of bandoleers and pouches stitched into it, and had his pair of scimitars strapped to his sides. Seeing his garb, Eoric raised an eyebrow.
"Catch you at a bad time?" He asked as he closed the door.
"You asked to see me in the middle of the night," Cyrus answered, nodding a greeting to the two other Nords. "I figured it was best to be prepared."
"Fair enough." Eoric shrugged, sitting back down.
"No offense meant," Hakon yawned as he ladled the mulled wine into the clay jug. "But who are you, exactly?"
"Cyrus Azaan." The Redguard replied with a smile as he took the seat to the Dragonborn's right. "I'm an old friend of Eoric's."
"He's also the Master of the Thieves Guild." Eoric supplied, nonchalantly. That revelation visibly slammed into the younger Nord, who stood motionless for a moment, simply staring at the criminal sat at the Dragonborn's right. Eoric could see the cogs turning in the lad's rapidly awakening mind. Thankfully after the moment of stillness had passed he followed Thorek's example and shrugged, taking his place at the table, jug of hot wine in hand.
"Well that went better than expected." Cyrus said, accepting a tankard of wine with a nod of thanks. "I half expected you to jump me, my young friend."
"I thought about it," Hakon answered truthfully, sitting down. "But I figure if Eoric trusts you, then so do I."
"A good answer," Cyrus replied, before tilting his head with a smile. "But perhaps not a wise one, eh?"
"Anyway," Thorek spoke up wearily, not wishing the conversation to get sidetracked and further keep him from his bed. "What's all this about Eoric? Why wake us up in the middle of the night?"
Sighing, Eoric rested his elbows on the table and linked his fingers. For a moment he rested his head against his fingers, before letting his hands fall to the table and raising his head to meet the gazes of the three men he had assembled.
"I called you here," He said, looking around the table at the men he had assembled. "Because I do not believe Harrald Law-Giver is behind the attempt on my life." His words had a visible effect, Hakon narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, Thorek leant forward and Cyrus cocked an eyebrow. They probably couldn't have been more confused unless at that moment Tiber Septim had jumped through the window, wearing a dress and juggling sweetrolls.
"Eoric," Thorek spoke up. "The evidence against him is-"
"I know Thorek, I know." He cut in, holding up a hand. "But despite the evidence I don't think he's behind it. For one he would have had to arrange the assassin very quickly and secondly though Harrald Law-Giver is at times an immature, boastful fool one thing he does take seriously is his own honor. If he truly wanted me dead he'd have challenged me directly, not send some knifeman." Around the table there were half-nods as the others considered that.
"I don't have hard evidence of his innocence," Eoric continued, his voice low and full of conviction. "But I believe in it. If any of you do not wish to help me, I'll understand."
For a few moments there was silence as the three men turned things over in their own minds. Finally it was Thorek who broke the silence.
"I'm with you lad." He said, nodding and taking a swig of the warm wine.
"Aye, me too." Hakon spoke up, looking at Eoric with determination in his eyes. Then all eyes turned to Cyrus, who was sat back in his chair, looking absentmindedly at the mulled wine remained in his tankard. The Master Thief looked up at the trio of Nords, before smiling an easy smile.
"Well it would be awfully divisive of me to say no, wouldn't it?" He said, before draining his tankard of wine. Smacking his lips, he turned to Eoric. "What do you need, my friend?"
Grateful for the trust of his comrades, Eoric turned his mind to his plan. "Cyrus, I need you to be my eyes in the underground."
"As usual." The Redguard pointed out with a grin.
"Fulgrim thinks the knifeman was a native of the Ratways, I reckon that's a good place to start. You know them, figure out where this wood-elf came from, who contacted him."
"Very well." Cyrus said, before standing up. "I'll start immediately. Thank you for the wine." With that he swung his cloak around himself and made for the door.
As he did so, Eoric turned to Thorek. "In the morning, head down to Elgrim's shop. I know you're better with potions than poisons, but a fresh pair of eyes might help him figure out what the poison the assassin used was. We find out what it was, we might be able to track down who bought it."
"You got it lad." Thorek said, before too downing his cup of wine and heading below.
"And me, Eoric?" Hakon, the only one not yet given a task, asked. "What should I do?"
Eoric smiled. "You'll be my eyes. I can't be seen to be investigating this myself, it'll probably spook whoever's really trying to kill me. So you'll watch the street, see who's coming and going. If they make a move, I want to know."
"Alright." Hakon answered, nodding and heading off back to bed. But as stood at the top of the stairs, he turned back. "Eoric?" He asked the older man, who had stood up and was now in front of the hearth, his arm resting on the mantlepiece.
"Yeah?" Came Eoric's reply, though he kept his eyes on the fire, the flames glinting in his grey eyes.
"I don't mean to sound cold, but shouldn't we be getting on with our mission? The one King Ulfric put us on?" Hakon asked, sounding uncomfortable at second-guessing the man who'd killed the firstborn of Akatosh. "I mean, we could talk to Captain Fulgrim, get him to reopen the case."
"Aye lad, by all rights we should." Eoric admitted, having considered that idea as well. After all, what was one man's life against a danger to the whole kingdom?
"Then why aren't we?" The younger man asked.
For the briefest of moments all was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire. Then Eoric answered.
"Because they hurt my friend." Hakon saw the hand lying on the mantlepiece curl slowly into a fist and grey eyes become as hard as stone. When Eoric spoke again, his voice was iron. "I will not let that stand."
Those grey eyes moved from the flickering flames and looked over at Hakon, who simply nodded in understanding and acceptance.
"Good night, Eoric. I'll see you in the morning." He said, once again heading down into the basement, where his bedroll was calling to him.
A little time after leaving the late-night meeting at the Lioness' den, Cyrus found himself once again within Riften's seedy underbelly: The Ratways. Here, in the darkness and the shadow, he was as powerful as Ulfric Stormcloak himself. If just anybody chose to walk into the Ratways then they'd get jumped by at least five different muggers and cutthroats before they'd taken five steps, but him? He strolled through the dimly-lit tunnels as if through a field of flowers. Those same muggers and knifemen simply stepped aside or stepped back into the alcoves they hid from the unwary in, some mumbling hurried greetings as he passed. He was Cyrus Azaan, Guildmaster and Agent of Nocturnal, and these were his Ratways.
Opening a thick iron studded door, Cyrus stepped from the darkness of the Ratways into the torch-lit heart of his criminal empire: The Ragged Flagon. Here all manner of vagabonds and pickpockets congregated, providing they paid their dues, and here the full-fledged members of the guild celebrated jobs well pulled or commiserated after a failed heist. He could see a number of them playing dice at one of the corner tables, from his defeated expression Garthar, the ridiculously tall Nord, was losing. Walking around the large pool that dominated the center of the room, Cyrus passed by a few of the stalls set up by those who wished to ply their trade in the black market.
Walking over a small wooden bridge which passed over a small channel that drained away from the pool, he passed by Grodok, the tavern's Orc bouncer, Dirge having left after the Maven incident, before stepping onto the wooden boards of the Flagon proper. Immediately at least twenty faces turned to see who was arriving. Seeing it was their Guildmaster, most nodded a greeting before turning back to what they were doing. Brynjolf, on the other hand, got up from his seat at the bar and walked over.
"Cyrus," He said, greeting his fellow Nightingale with a wrist-clasp. "How'd the Dragonborn's secret hush-hush meeting go?"
"Well enough." Cyrus answered, his tone serious. He briefly looked around, seeing how many of his members were present, before looking back at his second. "Guild meeting, in the Cistern."
"Now?" Brynjolf asked, slightly taken aback by Cyrus' request.
"Now, Bryn." Cyrus said, before walking off, leaving Brynjolf to wrangle the others.
By the time all the thieves made their way into the massive cistern that served as their living quarters and training area Cyrus had doffed his leather jacket and hood, donning an open black robe over his white woolen undershirt. He leant against the dark stained wood of his desk as the others assembled before him. Most looked a combination of either confused or grumpy. Delvin was the first to speak.
"What's this about, chief?" He asked, as Brynjolf closed the door to the Ragged Flagon and slid the door-bolt home, before walking over to stand to his right.
"I've just had a nice conversation with the Dragonborn." Cyrus answered, which immediately caused a wave of whispers as he stood up properly. Coughing slightly, he silenced those whispers. "He believes that Harrald Law-Giver actually isn't behind the attempt on his life and I believe him."
"Boss?" Sapphire asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Oh come now," Cyrus replied. "How many times have we robbed him, a dozen? Two dozen? Harrald Law-Giver is totally bereft of guile. There's no way he could conceive of an assassination, let alone organize one. Somebody else is behind it and I mean to find out who."
"Why?" That from Ar'jjir, a Khajiit who'd only just recently become a full member.
"Because, Ar'jiir," Cyrus explained, trying to keep his sense of irritation out of his voice. "If somebody's trying to kill the guy who can knock a building down by yelling at it, then that person is either insane or very powerful. Either a way they're a potential threat. So we'll find out who it is, I'll tell the Dragonborn and then he'll take care of the problem. Understand?"
"Yes boss." The Khajiit thief responded.
"So first thing we're going to do is find out about the would-be killer. The intrepid Captain Fulgrim thinks he came from the Ratways. He's probably not wrong, surprisingly. So I want those of you Delvin hasn't given jobs to find out who he was and who hired him. Pay bribes, intimidate, do whatever you have to." He cast his eyes across the group of thieves. "You all got that?"
There was a chorus of words of assent.
"Good." Cyrus said, and with that the group began to disperse, most heading back towards the door to the Ragged Flagon. However their steps were checked as he spoke once more. "One further thing." All of the thieves turned back to face him. "If anybody had a hand in this speak up now, if it was just some extra gold in your pocket that's fine, just say it now. Nothing'll happen to you."
Silence filled the Cistern.
"Very well." Cyrus said, before narrowing his eyes. "Because now if I find out somebody here was involved." There was a sharp intake of breath from a few as, quick as lightning, Cyrus drew the pair of scimitars from his sides. The viciously curved blades gleamed with eldritch light as the enchantments worked into the steel stirred and when he spoke his voice was hard and unyielding. "I'll hang them from the Flagon's ceiling by their ankles. Go."
The thieves, who had been ambling before, now left the Cistern with purpose. As they all filed out, Cyrus sheathed his blades with a chuckle, looking over at Brynjolf, who too had an amused smile on his lips.
"Amazing what a little bit of positive encouragement can do, no?" He asked, before nodding at the sheaf of papers on his desk. "What's next?"
It was just past noon and Hakon was sat on the bench outside Mjoll and Aerin's house, from which he could see both the main gate and the main streets that headed towards the postern gate and the dock gate. It'd been a day and a half since Eoric had called the late-night meeting and Aerin was getting slowly worse, for all that Elgrim's tinctures could do to keep him alive. Mjoll hadn't left his side in all that day, not even to get food, which either he or Eoric would bring her from time to time, Thorek having stayed closeted within Elgrim's alchemy shop, trying to help him identify the poison.
He was doing as Eoric had told him, watching the comings and goings of the people of Riften. In the day and a half he'd been doing this he'd seen a meadery worker getting yelled at by his wife for knocking boots with the owner of the city's bunkhouse, who apparently had quite a reputation; talk of leather straps and horker tusks abounded. He'd watched a particularly energetic guard jump down from the street level to the canal boardwalks, landing atop a fleeing thief. The guard got away with a sprained ankle, the thief was not so lucky, the armored guard falling on top of him had broken his leg and dislocated one of his arms from the sound of things. Rather than rewarding the guardsman, he'd seen Captain Fulgrim smack the man across the head, gauntlet and all, before reminding him he had a bow for a reason.
But despite all the comings and goings he'd seen nothing he could report back to Eoric with. Nobody had looked suspicious or particularly furtive, save for the thief. Though he had noticed that he too was being watched. Every so often a tall, heavy set Nord with dark hair and a grim looking face, clad in steel armor, would look over either at him or Eoric, who was today spending the day in the market and right now was currently talking with the town smith. The surly looking Nord looked over at him again, momentarily, before walking away through the dock gates.
As he chewed on a bit of cooked gammon he'd bought from the Dunmeri grocer who plied her trade out of the back of a cart in the market, he noticed the door to the Bee and Barb open and Cantus and Kara step out into the midday sun, which wasn't doing much to warm the cold air. It was obvious they were leaving, they were dressed in hard-wearing traveling clothes and they had various packs and saddlebags thrown over their shoulders. As the pair of singers walked across the bridge over the canal he lifted a hand in greeting. In response Kara walked over, whilst Cantus carried on walking towards the main gate, albeit at a slower pace, shaking his head with a slight smile on his face.
"So you're heading off then?" Hakon said, standing up as Kara drew near.
"Yeah," The young singer replied, adjusting the strap of the bag she had flung over her shoulder. "We've earned enough coin and it's best we're off before we start to get stale."
"Where you going to head next?"
"Windhelm," Kara answered, before shrugging. "And after that wherever the road takes us."
"You two going to be alright on your own?" Hakon asked, brow furrowing slightly. "The roads are getting pretty dangerous nowadays."
"We'll be fine." Kara replied, with a smile at the concern shown by the young man. "Cantus had a talk with the Khajiit caravan outside the gates, we'll be heading north with them to Windhelm. And besides" The smile then turned into a playful grin and she turned, allowing Hakon to see that there was a lever-action crossbow strapped to one of her bags. "We know how to look after ourselves."
"Kara!" Cantus called from just in front of the main gate. "Come on, the Khajiit'll have finished packing by now!"
"Coming Cantus!" Kara called in response, before turning back to Hakon. "Well goodbye Hakon, I hope we meet again."
"I hope so too." Hakon said. "Good luck, and enjoy the capital."
"Thanks." And with one last smile, Kara turned on her heel and followed after her fellow singer, leaving Hakon once again sat on his bench, watching the day go by.
It was only hours later, with the sun slowly beginning to sink below the horizon, turning the sky a magnificent shade of burnt orange, that Thorek came running up the stairs that led down to the canal. The old wanderer hadn't left the alchemist's shop since he'd gone down there and it was plain that he hadn't slept either; dark rings hung beneath his eyes and his hair was a mess.
He skidded to a halt, his armored boots digging deep into the light layer of frost on the paving stones.
"Lad," He near-gasped as Hakon surged to his feet. "Get Eoric, now. We've got it."
Needing no other instruction, Hakon took off, leaving the rest of his gammon behind him as he rushed off to fetch the Dragonborn.
Moments later the door to Elgrim's Elixirs practically burst open and Eoric, Thorek and Hakon hurried in. The alchemist's was three things; it was dark, with only a few candles and a small candelabra providing light, it was cold, even more so now it was winter, and it was damp, as if the canal itself had come in with them. The alchemist himself was stood at a workbench, grinding something in a mortar and pestle. As the three men entered, he didn't even look over his shoulder.
"What've we got Elgrim?" Eoric asked as he walked up to the workbench, giving a polite nod to Elgrim's wife, who was sat behind the counter and who had nearly jumped out of her seat when the door swung open.
"What we have, Dragonborn." Elgrim said, putting down the mortar and pestle. "Are answers." And with that he crossed to a lectern and returned with a large book. The tome looked old, the leather of its bindings cracked and its pages curled with age. Putting the book down on the workbench, Elgrim flicked through its aged pages.
"De Venenis," He explained as Hakon and Eoric looked at the rapidly turning pages, whilst Thorek took over working at whatever was within the mortar and pestle. "In the common tongue, Concerning Poisons. It's a very old compendium on all manner of toxins and venoms, written in the Third Era by an author who only went by the name of Lucien. It was discovered in a burnt out ruin in north eastern Cyrodiil and received only a limited amount of publishing. Only perhaps two dozen copies still exist. With it I would've figured out what poison our would be assassin used days ago, but it seems my apprentice put it away in the wrong place."
"And what is it?" Eoric asked. "What's the poison?"
Suddenly the old man stopped flicking through pages and practically stabbed the book with his finger. "Godsbane." He announced triumphantly.
Looking at the indicated section, which was written in a neat, efficient script.
Godsbane,
Known to the Altmer as Syrabane's Fire, this is by far one of the most potent poisons I have discovered. Made from a distillation of two parts Heart's Dam (pg 24), one part Blooded Cap mushroom oil, ground common Nightshade and the venom of the Rian'Kor scorpion, this poison serves to corrupt the blood, seize muscles and serves to grant an agonizing death, perfect for those whose enemies are of the most hated or intimate nature. It is odorless and tasteless, though direct sanguinary contact is by far the most efficient delivery method.
NB Recent consultation with Arquen netted a most intriguing development. The mixture can be further enhanced by magic to be completely incurable. However only the Aldmeri know the method. Further research needed.
The mention of the word incurable made Eoric and Hakon's faces drop from the look of disgust they had possessed at the cold, clinical way whoever this Lucien was laid out how to take somebody's life in such a horrific manner.
Seeing this Elgrim clapped him on the shoulder. "Take heart Dragonborn, all is not lost. I highly doubt that the poison was enhanced, if it was I reckon my restoratives would not have worked at all."
"So you can cure it?" Eoric asked fervently.
"Of course I can." Elgrim answered, seemingly affronted by the question. "It'll take a bit of time to prepare the antidote, but I can make it."
"Thank the gods." Eoric said, a smile of relief and gratitude spreading across his face briefly. But then his mind turned back to the task at hand; finding who was trying to kill him. "Do you know who sells this?"
"Oh, nobody sells this, Dragonborn." Elgrim explained, whilst Thorek snatched the book to take another look at the ingredients within it. "Whoever knew the recipe would have to either buy or grow the ingredients and then make it themselves."
"And who would know the recipe?" Hakon interjected.
"Few enough people. And they didn't buy the ingredients from me, nor anybody else in Riften, or for that matter anybody in Skyrim."
"Why's that?" Eoric asked, tilting his head slightly.
Elgrim sighed, unsuited to dealing with people with absolutely no alchemical knowledge. "Because the Rian'Kor scorpion lives only in the Corinthian badlands, in southern Elsweyr."
"Elsweyr?" Eoric asked, before his brows shot up and he clicked his fingers. "The Caravans!"
With that he turned and hurried towards the door, only checked when Hakon called after him.
"Eoric!" He called, causing the Dragonborn to turn.
"What is it lad?" He asked hurriedly.
"The caravan outside left just after noon." Hakon explained. "They're heading north, to Windhelm."
"Damn!" Eoric swore, before turning back again. "Go to Mjoll and tell her what we've found out. I'll see if I can catch them."
With that he ran from the shop.
Hours later Eoric was still riding north along the road than linked Riften to Skyrim's capital, Windhelm. His wolfskin cloak, worn over his hastily donned armor, streamed out behind him in the moonlight and strapped to Aegir's saddle was the Stormblade. The time he'd taken assembling his kit meant that the sun had completely set by the time he'd set off after the Khajiit, but a ride by moonlight was better than getting an arrow through the chest if there were any bandits on the road.
The snow lay deep upon the ancient roadstones, but Aegir drove on through all the same. This was his country after all, Eoric had bought the great grey stallion from the Riften Stables years ago, when he had traveled to the Rift during his journey to High Hrothgar for the first time. His old horse taken from him when he was taken prisoner by the Imperials when he'd first come to Skyrim, a carriage ride from Whiterun had got him to Riften but he'd decided, rather than to get a carriage from Riften to Ivarstead, the small town huddled beneath the Throat of the World, that'd he'd buy a horse. Aegir had been little more than a colt but he'd been by far the finest horse there. He'd paid Hofgrir the few hundred septims he'd asked for, all the money he'd had then, but for which he also got saddle and tack, and thus had gained one of the finest companions he'd had in his life. There had been one time when, facing off against a group of raiders alongside Farkas, he'd turned around to see one of the enemy go flying from a well placed kick from Aegir, the bow and arrow that'd been aimed at his back falling to the floor.
Suddenly, coming over a slight rise, Eoric saw light. It was the watchfires of Shor's Watchtower, a guard post that stood vigilant over the passage north. During war the old timber structure had been razed to the ground by the Imperial Legion's scouts, before he and the Stormcloaks had taken Falkreath Hold and thus secured the Rift's borders, but it had been rebuilt since then. Now it stood proud once more and on the opposite side of the road to it was crowded a cluster of tents that was centered around a low burning campfire, all but one of them the circular shape of the Khajiit.
He had found the Caravan.
Reining in, he slowed Aegir to a walk and made he way towards the caravan's camp. But before he came too close a challenge rang out into the night air.
"Who comes?" The voice called out, it was Kharjo, the caravan's chief guard. He stood illuminated by a torch held in one of his left hand, clad in his usual garb of plated steel, with a longcoat thrown over the metal to keep out the winter chill. Eoric could see in his other hand was a Khajiit sickle-sword. He knew well Kharjo was deadly with it, when they had shared the road, he'd seen him near decapitate one bandit with a single blow, before killing a second with the backhand.
"A friend." Eoric called back, dismounting from Aegir as he did so. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a guard on the watchtower look over towards the encampment. "It's me Kharjo, it's Eoric."
"Eoric?" The armored Khajiit sheathed his blade and pushed back the hood of his longcoat to get a better look. Seeing he was who he said he was, Kharjo smiled warmly. "You come unlooked for, friend. What brings you out after us in the dead of night?"
"I need information Kharjo," Eoric explained, walking up towards the guard. "Is Ahkari still awake."
"She is," Kharjo said, before motioning toward the fire. "Come."
True enough, the Khajiit merchant was sat on a thick mat before the campfire, which was reflected in her brilliant blue eyes. To Eoric's surprise she was joined there by the singers, Cantus and Kara, but then he realized that must have been how Hakon had known the Khajiit were heading towards Windhelm, Kara must have told him. Evidently surprised to see him as well, Cantus moved to speak but Ahkari spoke first.
"Welcome Dragonborn," She said, her voice rich and throaty, like all Khajiit. "What brings you to my camp? Need you goods?"
"Not goods, Ahkari." Eoric replied, declining the seat offered by one of the other members of the caravan. "I need information."
"I see." The caravan leader said, whilst Kharjo returned to his watch duty. "What is it that you require?"
"I need to know if you sold Rian'Kor scorpion venom to anybody recently."
The answer was surprisingly forthcoming. "I did, not yet one week ago."
"Who did you sell it to?" Eoric asked.
"Now that, Dragonborn, is a problem." Ahkari answered, before spreading her furred hands. "The buy Ahkari for silence as well as venom."
Having expected such a response, Eoric simply took a pouch of fifty septims from his belt and threw it to Ahkari, who caught it expertly before weighing it in her hands. Satisfied, she grinned. "Ahkari did not know the man, but can tell you of him. He was a Breton, short, with dark brown hair and a face like a hatchet. A scar ran down across his left cheek and he was thin, but obviously possessed coin for Rian'Kor venom in not cheap."
"Thank you Ahkari." Eoric said, before turning with a nod of goodbye and heading back to Aegir, whose rains he had left standing at the camp's edge.
"Farewell, Dragonborn." Ahkari said as Eoric departed. "May your road always lead you to warm sands."
It had been some hours had ridden off into the night and Hakon was sat in the main room of Mjoll and Aerin's house, absently reading one of the books that populated their relatively sparse bookshelves whilst on the opposite side of the room Thorek dozed in an armchair by the fire. It was a book of poems and the one he was currently reading was called "Ode To The Tundrastriders". Whoever the unknown writer was, Hakon thought to himself, it seems they really wanted to be a giant. He could see the appeal, he had caught a glimpse of one on the journey to Rorikstead from Solitude with the High King and General Galmar and they truly were, as the poet said, majestic creatures, though he was not so sure about graceful.
Putting the book aside for a moment, he thought upon the events of the last few hours.
Having completed the antidote, Thorek and Elgrim had arrived at the house around half an hour after Eoric had ridden off. The mixture, Elgrim explained, was designed to counteract each individual ingredient used within the poison that coursed through Aerin's body, as well as act as a powerful restorative. It had been a vivid green color within the clay flask Thorek had carried and had possessed quite an acerbic smell to it. Once again, Aerin's head was tipped back and the concoction poured down his throat. For a few moments all had been still, but then he had coughed and spluttered and then his eyes had opened. The relief and exultation had been palpable as everyone was glad to see the Imperial back amongst the living. Mjoll had tried to pay Elgrim but the old alchemist had surprisingly refused, saying that the challenge had in fact been enough.
The restorative part of the antidote indeed proved powerful, as barely ten minutes later Aerin was sat up in bed, taking bread and stew without complaint. Once he had polished that off there had been brief talk of what had happened whilst he had been in his stupor. He seemed shocked that Harrald Law-Giver had been arrested, but that shock took second place when compared to what happened next. Mjoll, revealing that during his slumber she'd come to the conclusion that she cared for him a great deal more than she'd at first thought, had kissed him passionately. The engineer had been stunned, but then thankfully had returned the kiss, at which point he and Thorek had relocated downstairs, he to read and Thorek to rest.
At that moment there was a knock at the door, which served to awake Thorek. Getting up, he crossed the floor and opened it. Outside was stood Cyrus Azaan, Eoric's friend. He'd been shocked to say the least at the revelation of the Redguard's profession, but as he said, if Eoric trusted him then so did he.
"Greetings." Cyrus said, flashing a smile. "Can I come in?"
"Of course, of course." Hakon said, standing aside and letting the master thief enter.
"Thank you." Cyrus replied, nodding a hello to Thorek as he doffed his cloak, which he threw over his arm. "I heard the elixir of our good friend Elgrim worked, how's the patient doing?"
"Very well indeed." Thorek said, with a smile.
"Good, good." Cyrus said, he then looked around, before turning back to Hakon. "I have news for Eoric, where is he?"
"Chasing down a lead." Thorek supplied.
"Ah, then I pity the lead." Cyrus said, taking a seat at the table. "When should he be back?"
"We don't know." Hakon admitted, reclaiming his own seat.
"I see." Cyrus answered. "Does anyone mind if I wait around for him?"
"I do." Mjoll's voice drew the attention of all three men.
She was dressed in the green robe she'd been wearing earlier, though it seemed a deal more rumpled than it had been and her hair was a deal more ruffled than earlier. Even so she walked down the stairs she'd made her declaration from and up to Cyrus, who himself was dressed in the leather armor he'd showed up in before, including the twin swords at his side.
"What are you doing here Azaan?" She demanded of the Thieves Guildmaster. She knew quite well what his position was, but she had to abide by the law and the man left completely no evidence of his crimes. Nothing to pin him with.
"As I said," Cyrus replied, apparently unfazed by the Thane's reaction to him. "I have information for Eoric. Information regarding the man who tried to kill him and who nearly did kill your friend Aerin." He looked the Nord woman up and down, before smirking. "Or should that be lover?"
"Why you-" Mjoll began to growl back but before she got any further the door opened and Eoric, armed and armored, stepped in.
"What's going on here then?" He asked, directing the question at the pair.
"Some hot tempers is what we've got here, Eoric." Thorek answered from his chair by the fireplace.
"I see. How's Aerin?" He asked, doffing his own wolfskin cloak.
"Resting nicely I shouldn't wonder." Cyrus said, which got him an almighty scowl from Mjoll, who reluctantly dragged her attention away from the Redguard thief.
"He's fine Eoric." She said, as the Dragonborn removed his wolf-like helm and ran his fingers through his long hair. "The antidote Elgrim and Thorek made did its work."
"That's brilliant." Eoric said, sitting down at the dining table with a smile. He then looked at Cyrus. "What've you got for me?"
"Information, my friend. I have information." Cyrus said, moving away from Mjoll and also sitting down at the dining table.
"What do you know?" Eoric asked.
"A great many things," Cyrus answered with a grin. "But with regards our would-be killer I know this. His name was Therion, he arrived in Riften perhaps two years ago. He used to work at the meadery before getting fired for drinking on the job. With no coin he's been living in the Ratways, making ends meet by selling on whatever junk he can find in the deeper Ratways."
"So who hired him?" Mjoll asked, sitting down.
"I was getting to that. The day you arrived, he was approached by a middleman I know, Amory Seral." Cyrus revealed with a smile, before continuing.
"This Seral," Eoric interjected. "Is he a Breton? Thin-faced with a scar on his cheek?"
"He is indeed." Cyrus replied, cocking an eyebrow. "How do you know the wretch?"
"Because Ahkari, the leader of the Khajiit caravan, said she sold a man with that description ingredients for the poison that Therion used." Eoric answered.
"Ah, your lead paid off then?" Cyrus asked. "That makes sense, Amory's known to be an expert alchemist, has a shack of to the west where he grows his reagents."
"You know where?" Mjoll asked, her distaste for the thief vanishing momentarily.
"I do." And then with a flourish Cyrus pulled out a map. Spreading it out, he put his finger to it. "Here." He said, whilst everybody in the room gathered around behind him. "Just east of the Falkreath Pass and north-west of the crossroads to Ivarstead."
"Thank you Cyrus." Eoric said, clapping his friend on the back with a smile. He then drew himself up and took up his wolfskin cloak. "I'll go tell Captain Fulgrim what we've found out. Don't worry Cyrus, I'll keep your name out of it." He said, holding out a hand to forestall the Redguard. "Thorek, get some rest. Mjoll and Hakon, get your things. We're going to have a chat with this Amory Seral."
Just as the first light of dawn was beginning to creep over the Velothi mountains, Amory Seral was hard at work in his cabin. Formulating the Godsbane had been relatively easy, once he'd procured the Rian'Kor venom from the Khajiit, but what he was doing now was so much more delicate, demanding so much more control. One slip and it could all go awry. But he was a genius when it came to things like this and he was going to prove it once more now.
"Aha! Got it!" He said as he was victorious. Holding up the mug he smiled as he saw he had timed it perfectly, the wine filling it without overflowing. With a steady hand he brought the cup to his lips and smiled as he drank the smooth, rich wine.
Only to cough and nearly spit it all out again as somebody hammered at his door.
Cursing, he waved his hand, furiously trying to dry off the wine he'd spilt on it. "Piss off!" He called out to whatever bastard was outside. "You can't stay here."
Another set of hammering at his door.
"I said piss off!" He growled. It was probably some stupid Nord shepherd, who'd gone off to search for some lost sheep and gotten lost.
Whoever it was, they didn't let up as they kept on knocking.
Snorting in anger, Amory set down his cup and picked up his dagger, a thin bladed piece made of fine steel, he'd soon scare off whatever shit-stained peasant was outside.
"Listen you bastard," He said as he opened his door. "I said-"
He didn't get a chance to continue as he soon found himself flying across the floor of his shack, propelled by a punch from an armored fist that hit him like a hammer. Blood streaming from his splintered nose, he looked up and saw an armored figure in his doorway and as his vision darkened he also saw the stern face of Captain Fulgrim of the Riften Hold Guards. As he lost consciousness one thought went through his head.
"Shit."
Eoric had to admit, as he awaited the revival of Amory Seral, he hadn't thought Captain Fulgrim, whose men were now waiting outside, keeping watch along with Hakon, would've been so easy to convince. He'd expected to have had to spend the rest of the night and most of the morning debating the issue of what he and the others had found out but it seems he'd misjudged the captain, he wasn't one to stubbornly stick by his decisions if it meant more leg work. Yes, Harrald was still imprisoned and, with no evidence yet to the contrary that he wasn't Therion's overall employer, still under threat of execution when the priests returned to Riften tomorrow but the captain had heard him out and come with him to bear witness to what Amory Seral had to say.
The man himself, who was currently tied up, unconscious, in a chair, was exactly as Ahkari had described, a short Breton with a scar and thin features, save for his nose, which was now wider as a result of having been broken quite severely. That was the thing most people forgot about heavy armor; if you hit someone properly with a gauntlet on it was like hitting them with a mace.
Over to one side Mjoll was sat on a chair, watching Amory's unconscious form like a hawk. On the way here he'd asked her why she'd looked so...disheveled upon his return from riding after the Khajiit caravan and all she'd said was that she and Aerin had come to a conclusion about what they meant to each other. From how she'd looked it must have been a very vigorous conclusion, that antidote must have been pretty damned restorative. Truly though he was happy for the pair of them, he and Mjoll had been lovers, a grand total of once, years ago and only then because they'd both just gotten themselves ridiculously drunk, it wasn't as if he was going to spend his days pining for her. Though he did find it a bit odd it had taken Aerin and Mjoll more than half a decade to figure out they loved each other.
Amory's awakening, along with a loud curse as the pain of his ruined nose hit him, cut across such musings.
"So you're awake then." Captain Fulgrim said, his voice gruff and unyielding.
"Wha-, who?" Amory began blearily as the Captain knelt beside him. He was soon jolted awake as Captain Fulgrim grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back.
"We know everything Seral." He hissed into the man's ear. "We know you bought the venom and we know you paid Therion. Now all we want to know is who paid you."
Predictably, the Breton began denying it. "I don't know what you're talking about." He said, now fully awake.
"Don't give me that Seral," Captain Fulgrim responded, throwing the man's head forward as he stood up. "We talked to the Khajiit, we talked to the guy who slept next to Therion in the Ratways. They all put you in the frame, now all I want to know is who you're working for."
To his credit, even when faced with that, Amory stuck to his story. "They're lying, it wasn't me."
Then the Captain changed tactic.
"Alright then, I tried being nice." He promptly indicated both Eoric and Mjoll. "This man you probably already know, his name's Eoric Greystone and it's thanks to him your nose now covers half your face. He's also the Dragonborn and can kill people by yelling at them. The woman beside him is Thane Mjoll of Riften, who alongside the Dragonborn took out the biggest Skooma ring north of Elsweyr. Now what these two also have in common is that thanks to you, their friend has spent the last few days in agony. So I'm going to step outside and have a chat with my men about the weather, whilst these two fine people ask you about your employer. I'm sure you'll find them very inventive conversationalists."
And with that the Captain walked through the door and out of the shack, closing the door behind him.
"Shall we get started?" Eoric asked Mjoll, with a voice as hard as iron.
"I think so." Mjoll said, standing up, hate searing in her eyes.
That's all they needed to do.
"Maven Black-Briar!" Amory practically squealed as the pair of Nords moved towards him. "It was Maven Black-Briar, she paid me! She said I'd get five-thousand Septims is the Dragonborn died and Harrald Law-Giver took the fall."
"How'd she write a note with his handwriting?" Eoric asked, still moving towards the bound man.
"She's got a quill, a magic quill! I swear to the Nine! It lets the user write with another person's handwriting, I saw her use it myself." Despite the abject terror in his eyes it was plain that he wasn't lying.
"I see." Eoric said, before calling over his shoulder. "Will that do for you Captain?"
"Aye Dragonborn," Fulgrim called through the door. "That'll do fine."
"That do for you Mjoll?" Eoric asked. "You are Thane of Riften after all."
Mjoll tore her gaze away from Amory and looked over at Eoric. "Yes, that works for me." She then turned back to the bound Breton. "But gods forgive me, I wish you'd lasted longer."
For the second time that day, an armored fist slammed into Amory Seral's face, sending him once again into unconsciousness.
Walking outside, the pair mounted their horses, motioning for Hakon to do the same. Neither of them were particularly surprised by Seral's revelations. Maven Black-Briar had always been a nasty piece of work and this latest crime was just the latest in a life time of corruption, intimidation and indeed outright murder. But now they had something on her, and they were going to bring her down. That thought sat well with both of them.
"Captain," Mjoll said, looking down at Fulgrim. "Me and the Dragonborn and his allies are going to go arrest Maven Black-Briar."
"Yes, my Thane." Then the Captain actually smiled. "I hope she doesn't go quietly."
"Nor I Captain." She pointed towards the shack. "I'll leave Seral to you, see he wakes up in a dungeon cell."
"Yes ma'am!" The Captain said, saluting.
And with that Eoric, Mjoll and Hakon spurred their horses and took off down the track towards the road that lead to Riften. They were going to pick up Thorek and then they were going to bring down the Black-Briar empire.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Wow it has been ages since I've been back, but hey rejoice, you didn't sign up to a dead fic. Really I am sorry that I haven't updated in a while but things at University have just been very hectic.
Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter and here's just a few things about what's happened in it:
For the Khajiit sickle sword Kharjo's got, imagine an egyptian khopesh sword. That's basically what I meant.
I have not pulled this twist out of my rear-end, Maven Black-Briar does have a magical quill. (Admittedly she lost it, but it's Maven Black-Briar, I think she'd be able to recover a quill in a strongbox in a lake just outside Riften) Also in-game it is supposed to only be able to copy what the user is looking at so you can take this in one of two ways either accept that a wider version of the quill's enchantment works, or she simply got a whole stack of Harrald Law-Bringer's mail and pieced the incriminating note together.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter. Reviews welcome, as well as PMs if you want to discuss anything. Once again, so sorry for taking so long in putting up a new chapter, but rest assured I am determined to see this done. I will not abandon it!
Wolf
