Broken Vows

Chapter 8

The blood of the hunter and the blood of the hunted. The joy of the hidden and the joy of the seeker. The blood of the eye and the blood of the gate. The joy of the living and the joy of the dead. Are you one with these things? Then, perhaps, your oath and service may please Mephala.

The words stirred something inside me, something dark and secretive that I did not wish to face. I snapped the book shut and rubbed absently at one corner of the cover, staring out to sea. There was little to see off the east-facing wall of the Temple; I had stolen a few moments alone, out of sight of the Ministry of Truth's looming shadow, to open the book Amurah had insisted I read. Just visible in the pale, early morning light were the scattered islands off the coast, past a wide expanse of waves. The day promised to be fair, clear and sunny, at odds with the darkness that I felt was trapped within me.

My hands tightened on the book and I desperately shoved away the thoughts that formed in my mind, thoughts of blood and death and fierce joy. Thoughts of Amurah, her eyes haunted and pleading. Her voice, giving shape to my name-

"No," I told myself harshly, willing the tide of guilty thoughts to stop. With a snarl, I hurled the cursed book as hard as I could. It sailed over the water for a good distance before the cover opened and pages fluttered wildly, slowing its flight. It sank out of sight with a faint splash, and I felt a little better. Ridding myself of Mephala's tainted touch, and the Morag Tong's interest in me, wouldn't be as easy as tossing a book into the ocean... But I resolved that, for whatever reason it was that Vivec chose to test my faith, I would not turn my back on the Temple.

Feeling that my burden of secret guilt weighed less heavily upon me, I returned to my tiny room in the Hall of Justice. There was a stack of books from the Temple Library that awaited me there, and I hoped that they would drive the words of The Black Glove from my mind....

----

Several days passed uneventfully. As before, my nights were plagued with nightmares, from the moment I closed my eyes until I either woke at dawn to begin my day, or jerked awake with a strangled gasp and a pounding heart. My days, though foggy in my memory for lack of rest, were mercifully free of any contact with the Morag Tong. I prayed, drilled with my new brothers in the Order of War, studied texts from the library, took occasional shifts on the Watch, and did my best to put Amurah Llenith out of my thoughts. Sometimes, my attempts at that were successful.

Other times, however, a vision of her would appear unbidden in my mind: a memory of her in in Hlormaren, glancing at me over her bare shoulder, or sliding through the night as silent and smoothly as a shadow. The memories took me by surprise each time they came, and it was a struggle to banish them from my thoughts.

As the days passed, this happened less and less often, and I began to believe that I'd overthrown whatever hold Mephala and the Guild had on me.

That was, of course, a foolish assumption.

Early one morning, I was called before Aroa Nethalen, my official superior in the Order of War, and given orders: I was being dispatched to Azura's Coast. Reports from the area indicated that the blasphemous Sixth House Cult had set up camp in a cave called Salmantu. I was to investigate, and dispatch any cultists I found there.

"Use caution, Brother Sul," Nethalen advised me. "Most of these cultists, though violent, are weak and easily overcome... but sometimes, they can surprise you. However, Salmantu is a small cave, and there shouldn't be many of them. This will be a good task for you to familiarize yourself with the kinds of foes you'll be dealing with in your new duties... quite different from petty thieves on Vivec's streets, I assure you."

Across the room, Elam Andas harrumphed disapprovingly. He'd been eying me while Nethalen gave me my orders, and it made me uneasy.

"I don't doubt it, sir," I murmured, taking the folded map and small purse of gold Nethalen handed me.

Thus, by midmorning that day, laden with healing potions and provisions for the journey, I found myself stepping off the silt strider in Molag Mar. I didn't linger in the city, but struck out immediately to the northeast, knowing that it would take the better part of the day to reach the tiny peninsula on which Salmantu was located.

Molag Mar is situated at the southern edge of the Molag Amur region, a barren, ashy expanse of volcanic rocks. There was little to see as I walked. So close to the border between the Ashlands and more fertile ground, conditions were less than ideal for creatures from both areas.

Despite the barren view, it was a pleasant day, warm and sunny, though a dark line of clouds on the western horizon hinted at approaching bad weather. I made good time, and found I was enjoying myself. It was rare for me to be so truly alone and isolated. I kept my thoughts fixed firmly on the sorts of things upon which an Ordinator would be expected to meditate, and enjoyed the solitude.

It didn't last, however. Some few hours past noon, the sky was darkening under the encroaching storm front as I emerged onto the grassy terrain of the coast. Somehow, I was not surprised to see Amurah sitting with her back against the wall of a Daedric ruin, peeling the skin from an ash yam with one of her myriad blades. She sat cross-legged, ready to spring to her feet at a moment's notice, and she froze when she saw me approaching.

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd show yourself," I said, truthfully, as I strode past her without stopping.

I could feel her eyes on me as I passed her, staring at me in disbelief. I didn't see her move, didn't hear her get up when she was behind me, but I saw her shadow creeping up next to me. This was becoming familiar, having her fall into step beside me whether I wanted it or not, and I clenched my teeth, wishing she would just turn around and leave me be.

"You are the last person I expected to see out here, Sul," she said, and even with the hint of anger in her voice, I felt a little thrill again at hearing her say my name. "What in the name of the Spider are you doing?"

"That's odd," I said coolly. "Somehow, I knew that if I met anyone in this forsaken empty land, it would be you."

Amurah shot me a glare, and raised an eyebrow. Knowing that it would only make her suspicious if I refused to answer, I said, "I am going to exterminate a group of Sixth House cultists in a cave on the coast. And you?"

"I was headed in the opposite direction, just stopped to eat. I carried out an execution on an Ashlander hiding out near Sadrith Mora."

"Good," I said, in my best, inflectionless Ordinator voice. "Then there is no need for us to travel together. I have nothing to say to you, assassin, so you'd best turn around and continue on your way."

I expected her to be insulted, but she only snorted. "You're lucky I'm not easily offended, Ordinator," she said, her voice tinted with humor, this time. "I know a Guildmember or two who would kill over such rudeness."

I didn't want to hear about the Guild. "I have nothing to say to you," I repeated stubbornly, refusing to look at her.

She was silent for a moment. "You read the book," she guessed quietly.

"Yes." I risked a glance, saw disappointment flicker briefly across her face. "I'm afraid I'll have to pay your Grandmaster the purchase price of a new one. The copy he lent me is somewhere at the bottom of the Inner Sea."

She laughed softly, casting me a bemused look. "He has other copies. Don't trouble yourself."

I didn't reply, and we walked on in silence for a few moments.

"Well," she said eventually. "Though you've turned down the Guild's offer, perhaps you won't mind some company. I've heard some nasty rumors about this Sixth House-"

I stopped in my tracks, beating back the frustration that reared up inside me. "No!" I said, nearly shouting. "I do not need or want company, or backup, or a Morag Tong assassin following me halfway across Vvardenfell, trying to tempt me away from my faith! Just... just leave me be. Do you understand?"

Her eyes narrowed, and a muscle jumped in her cheek. "I understand perfectly, Ordinator," she said in a tight voice. "I understand that the gods themselves have interwoven our two lives, and you have done nothing but try to unravel their work. I understand that your precious Temple has done nothing but throw you into situations you cannot handle, because you have become a problem they're eager to be rid of. I understand that I have endured sleepless nights, and waking visions, and life-threatening injuries while trying to do Mephala's bidding, and you have nothing but gratitude for the help I've given you!"

"'Gratitude'?" I snapped. "As I recall, the last time you tried to help me, you sliced my ear open, proceeded to follow me against my wishes, and I ended up saving your life. You are not the one who is owed thanks!"

It was a petty thing to say, and I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. Amurah folded her arms across her chest and stared at me.

"And if I hadn't gone into Hlormaren with you?" She asked. "Would you have been the one wounded, with no one to guard your back? And would you have bled to death, alone, because you had no one there to tend it? Bloody Oblivion, Sul, I'm sorry I've been such a hindrance to you. Good luck with the Sixth House; I don't know whether it'll be Mephala or your precious Tribunal who look after you. The gods know, I'm through with you." She strode away, southward, her normally fluid grace hampered by the tension knotting her shoulders.

I watched her go with a mixture of relief and regret. I'd gotten my wish, finally, but I hadn't wanted to insult her. She had helped me, after all, and that was a poor way to repay her. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance as she disappeared from view.

It's over, I reassured myself, forcing my feet to carry me in the opposite direction. You wanted her gone, and she's gone. Don't worry about how. With everything that she tried to do to you, it's no less than she deserves.

----

I found Salmantu that evening without much trouble, just as the first cold raindrops were beginning to fall. After a last glance at the stormclouds and a last check of my supplies, I gripped my mace and ducked into the cave.

I stood blinking in the darkness for a moment, letting my eyes adjust. There were a few red candles flickering nearby, and I could see more of them further in the cave. Somewhere, incense was burning, an acrid scent. It did little to mask the stench of death and decay that hung about the place. I said a quick prayer to the saints and the Three for protection, and moved warily into the tunnels, my mace in hand.

There is little to tell of that first bit of the cave. I fought creatures I had before seen only in books: ash ghouls and ash slaves, even corprus beasts, creatures twisted by the tainted touch of Dagoth Ur. There were a few cultists there, too, all Dunmer, gone mad in their worship, attacking me with clubs and bare hands. I hated to kill them, for we were hardly well-matched opponents, but they gave me no choice. I learned, after the first two, that there would be no convincing them to see reason.

As I let another one fall dead at my feet, I paused to inspect my weapon, and reflected on the monstrosity of a "god" who would so disfigure his followers. I had to admit, even Mephala seemed merciful by comparison.

That was a dangerous line of thought, I realized, and I abandoned it quickly, making for the door to the shrine that stood before me. Nearly finished, I told myself, bracing for whatever manner of foul creature I might find within the shrine.

Inside, the cloying, sickly-sweet odor of decay was stronger, deep enough to nearly make me gag. Grimacing, I hurried forward, hoping to empty the shrine quickly and be done with the place.

The chamber was silent, though warm, rancid air moved in a soft breeze. Like as not, it was only caused by volcanic fissures deeper in the cavern... but my imagination conjured an unpleasant image of some deformed follower of Dagoth Ur, blowing his fetid breath through the cave.

As it happened, my imagination was not far off. I emerged from a tunnel into a wide space, filled with two of the coffin-like pyres used for sacrifice, and a rack of massive iron bells. To one side stood the most hideous beast I had yet seen: shaped like a man, but wide and hunched over beneath its robes. It had a face that belonged to neither man nor mer, with multiple dark hollows for more than one pair of missing eyes, and tentacles that reached nearly to its feet. I froze in shock at seeing such a beast, and only narrowly managed to dodge the first spell of fire that it unleashed upon me.

Battle instinct overcame my shock, and I charged forward, sinking the spikes of my mace into its repulsive face with a yell. It swung at me, catching the side of my helm with an open-handed blow, and I felt a line of pain flare along my neck. The monster had split my skin, between the join of my helm and my cuirass. It cast a spell of frost at me that crackled over my armor, and I jerked my weapon free, stumbling back a step. The mace left gaping rents in the creature's flesh; the wounds hung open, bloodless and deep, not troubling it in the slightest. In contrast, I could feel my own blood seeping beneath my armor, from my neck.

Not sure what else to do, I swung at it again, landing a blow between what might have been two eye sockets. With an inhuman snarl, the beast slammed its fist into my armored chest. The impact bruised my cuirass against my flesh, and the sheer force of the blow sent me hurtling backward.

I fought to get my feet under me before I landed, but the monster had unleashed a spell of paralysis with the blow. I landed hard, limp as a rag, tumbling over one of the pyres and into the row of bells. Dazed and immobile, with spots dancing before my eyes and a cacophony of bells clamoring in my ears, I watched helplessly as the creature tore my mace loose from its own face and hurled it aside. It strode toward me with unhurried strides-- fortunately, I could feel my strength returning. As it closed the last few steps between us, I scrabbled for anything to use as a weapon, closing my fingers around the hook at the top of the largest bell. I surged to my feet and smashed the bell into its face with a loud clang.

That seemed to stun it; the creature staggered back a step, tentacles quivering in shock. I hit it again, forcing it back, far enough that I could reach my weapon. With my Temple-issued mace in one hand and a bell for Dagoth-worship in the other, I advanced on the monster, striking it again and again, with one weapon and then the other. It faltered, dropping to one knee, raising a hand in a plea.

I knew better than to offer mercy to such a creature... but still, the gesture cut through my battle-instincts, and I hesitated. It was only for an instant, but that was long enough for the monster to unleash a last curse. It let out a shivering, inhuman laugh, even dying under my hand, as the blight-curse settled upon me and corrupted my wits.

I lurched unsteadily, my limbs suddenly heavy and unresponsive. The bell slipped from my weakened fingers, and I struggled with all my might to keep my grip on my mace, though I couldn't remember why that was so important. The shrine spun in my vision, and the stench of the place filled my nostrils, making me want to gag. Behind the sudden, overwhelming disgust was the singular thought that I had to exit the cave, immediately. I stumbled for the door, my mace dragging across the rocks; I had not even the strength to carry it properly.

I don't know how I made it out of Salmantu. My armor had become unbearably heavy, and I moved as slowly and clumsily as a guar, driven only by the thought that I must get out. I don't remember retracing my steps to the cave entrance, but I remember emerging into dark chaos. The thunderstorm had hit hard while I'd been inside, and night had fallen early under the clouds. Rain lashed down, slanting in the roaring wind. Thunder was a constant rumble beneath the roar of the waves and the rain pouring into the sea. I lost my footing on the slippery grass, saw the ground rushing up at me in a flash of lightning. Unable to catch myself, I rolled down a slope and into the water.

With the only thought in my head still that I had to get away, put as much distance between myself and the cursed cave as possible, I struck out for deeper water, even as my intolerably heavy armor threatened to drag me under. Faintly, over the din of the storm, I thought I heard a shout. I choked on water, sputtering, felt my head go under. Something solid bumped against my helm, and I clutched at it, struggling to find the surface of the water; then all I knew was cold, wet darkness.