12

.~~~.

The morning sun peeked over the hills and bathed Skingrad's vineyards with warm light – chasing the nighttime coolness away. Mytho breathed in the crisp air as he strutted through the fields, making his way beyond the guardsmen's patrolling grounds. Mytho figured they'd avoid interrupting his business but figuring and knowing for sure were two different things. With his recent streak of bad luck ever present in his mind, he preferred the safer of the two options. Besides, it'd be a damn shame to stain the fields with blood on such a beautiful morning.

"Where exactly are we going, sir?" Toren asked, stumbling along behind him, flicking his head around like he half-expected someone to jump at him from the weeds. "We've passed plenty of fine spots already. If we'd stopped at one of those, we wouldn't have to stomp through the grass out here."

Mytho wagged his finger. "Aye, but there's the problem," he said. "You shouldn't count on having an advantage based on terrain alone."

"I don't follow," Toren said with a huff.

Mytho stopped and looked over the area. It was covered in thick clumps of grass that stood as tall as his knees. "Think of it this way, then," he said, "Suppose you're being dogged by three bandits, a band of warrior-poets, a pack of wolves, and one very displeased mudcrab. You're fast approaching a dead-end and the ground is swampy. Do you turn around and ask them if they'd prefer to do battle elsewhere or do you make the best of the situation?"

Toren shook his head and grumbled a curse under his breath. "Fine," he said, "You've made your point. But we aren't on swampy ground, now are we?"

Mytho nodded. "We aren't, but this grass ought to do nicely for teaching you about footwork. Easy to get tangled up in." Mytho stopped and spun around on his heel. He unbuckled the rapier he'd brought along and tossed it to Toren. "Now, take this and show me your stance."

Toren grabbed the blade and removed it from its carrier – turning it over and tracing his finger along the surface, his eyes glossing over.

Mytho tapped him on the forehead. "Don't get any ideas," he said. "You won't get far selling it. Unless you're interested in seeing the dungeon's bars from the inside."

With a start, Toren returned his attention to Mytho. "Stolen?"

"Borrowed," Mytho said. "For now, that is. Whether it stays that way or not depends on how well you perform."

Toren looked over the rapier once more before lowering to his waist and gripping it with both hands.

"Unless you intend on ramming that up someone's rear, you'd best adjust that stance of yours," he said. "That's not a longsword. It's meant for thrusting, not so much slashing. Hold it further out – one hand this time." Mytho paced around him, arms crossed and shaking his head. "Straighten up that posture a bit as well. You're too low. And lead with your shoulder. You'll make yourself too wide if you're facing frontwards."

Toren's face hardened. "This doesn't feel quite right," he said. "Doesn't this leave me with less power behind my attacks?"

Mytho shrugged. "It would if this were about power," he said. "Where your standard guardsman would be swinging a broadsword, squealing like a stuck pig all the while and sweating twice as much, you won't be doing any of that."

Toren looked on with a puzzled expression.

"Here, I ought to show you before I start spouting hypotheticals at you," Mytho said as he took the rapier. He set his feet apart and placed one hand behind his back. "They may have the advantage of power, but you have the advantage of mobility. They're loaded down with their heavy armors and thick blades. You; light and agile."

"But if they have the armor, won't that make it hard to strike?" Toren asked.

Mytho nodded. "Good question," he said. "Now would be a good time to ask yourself how you intend on dealing with it."

Toren scratched his head and shrugged.

Mytho pointed the rapier at Toren's nose. "Precision," he said. "That's your answer. You've seen those openings on the faces of their helmets and on the backsides of the knees, haven't you?"

"Er, not on the knees I haven't," Toren said.

"Well, even if you haven't, it's important that you know those places are prime targets for thrusting," Mytho said. "You won't get quite as far trying to shove this through steel plate, but through skin and muscle, you'll find better results. However, you must find an opening before you try for these areas. This is where your footwork will decide your fate." Mytho handed the rapier back to Toren.

"But do keep in mind that you'll get nowhere against an opponent that's aware of your game," Mytho said. "Thrusting wildly will only waste your time and leave you open to a counterattack. Instead, you'll need to act defensively and then shift to the offensive when they've tired themselves out."

"How do I keep up the fight for that long?" Toren asked, trying to mimic Mytho's stance from moments prior. "If they can split me in two with one swing, how would I keep that from happening?"

Mytho jabbed a finger at Toren's feet.

"Ah," he said.

"Besides that, you'll need to do what you can to keep them on the move," Mytho said. "All that plate gets heavy after a while. The more they need to guard themselves, the quicker they'll be exhausted. That's why you only see them patrolling the streets in that armor and riding on horseback when outside the gates. The natural unevenness of the terrain would sap their stamina."

Mytho squinted at a figure walking along the dirt path. "Make no mistake, though. Anyone wearing that kind of protection isn't going to be a slightly more intelligent training dummy. The preparation they endure to become a guard doesn't allow for any sort of laziness. Even if you do everything correctly, there is a very real possibility they will still outlast you."

Toren gulped hard. "So how about you teach me how to attack, then?" he asked. "I could put an end to them before they have a chance, couldn't I?"

Mytho wagged his finger. "Remember what I said? Defense first, then offense. That isn't just for teaching, it's a way to do battle. Muck up that order and you'll end up flat on your arse."

Toren stepped lightly around behind him. "I'd wager I've got that under control," he said. "Back on my pa's farm, I fought off a wolf that tried to steal our chickens. Only nipped me once or twice."

Mytho chuckled. "Care to test that experience, then?"

With a nod and a smirk, Toren agreed.

Mytho uncrossed his arms and swirled around, catching Toren in the ribs with his heel.

Toren yelped and collapsed to the ground with all the grace of a dead tree. Grimacing, he rubbed his side and stood back up in a hurry. "You could've just pushed me!" he said.

"Which one will you remember for the next few days, though?" Mytho asked. "Will it be the few seconds you spent in the weeds or the bruise?"

Toren sighed and pressed his hand against his side. "Point taken," he said. "But if you're done kicking me about, I really would like to get to the part about attacking. Fancy footwork doesn't mean much if I can't retaliate."

"Eager one, aren't you?" Mytho asked. He spaced his feet apart and lowered himself. "Fine, fine. Come on, then. Give it your best."

Bewilderment written on his face, Toren lowered his blade to his waist.

"Why do you look so worried?" Mytho said. "Chances are you won't even catch me by the coattails. I just want to see how you carry yourself in motion so I know where to start."

Toren held the blade to his chest and rushed at Mytho, unleashing a thundering cry to rip the serene morning to shreds.

He had initiative, at least. Even if he was a loud-mouth.

As the morning dragged on, Mytho continued to practice with Toren. It'd been quite a while since he'd decided to teach someone how to use a blade properly. Still, it was a different experience than he'd come to expect. Toren may have been a quick study when it came to combat arts – a fact that took Mytho by welcome surprise – but he didn't possess the same instinct Aressia had. Aside from the fact that he actually worried he'd land a telling blow, he was far less experienced.

Mytho didn't utter a word about that, though. There was no sense in dashing his hopes so soon, not when Mytho was still adequately sure that Toren would make a fine duelist one day. If he devoted time to honing his skills, that is.

However, as morning became midday, he could tell Toren was growing sloppier with each attempt at catching him.

It'd been more than a few hours that Toren was drenched in sweat and red in the face, limply thrusting the rapier at him just as Mytho wanted. Endurance wasn't built from lounging, after all.

When another floppy thrust came at him, Mytho grabbed Toren by the wrist and yanked the rapier from his hand.

Toren landed flat on his back despite Mytho not intending on that happening. "You could've…" he heaved, "You didn't need to push me down!"

Mytho swished the rapier around in wide circles. "Get back up and stop whining," he said, "All I wanted to do was disarm you."

Toren groaned and sat up, his brow furrowed. "If you can wait a moment before knocking me around again, I've got something on my mind."

"Thoughts don't excuse your poor aim, lad. Try again."

Toren glared at him. "So, do I take that as you saying it'd be a bother if I asked a question?"

Mytho nodded but continued to swish the blade around in the air.

Toren sighed and cast his eyes down. "Whenever the Guild comes around for information, they hand me a small coin purse and nothing more," he said. "You, on the other hand, gave me a meal and a bed. That and more coin for information I haven't even given you yet. Now you've got me outside the city for swordsmanship lessons."

"What's your question, lad?" Mytho said, "The birds are starting to circle."

Toren squinted hard. "What's your aim in all this?" he asked. "I do know how these things work, actually. You do all these things for me, then ask something that's worth more than all those combined. I want to know what it is so I can get a head start. Otherwise, I expect I'll be in your debt forever."

Mytho shrugged and scratched his neck. The day before, he'd Toren figured for a fool, but he was sharper than he let on. It was no surprise Halora wanted to drag him into the Guild.

No, that'd be a waste. He could find a better use for his life than being another nameless, faceless thief destined for mediocrity. "Would you laugh if I said I saw a bit of myself in you?" Mytho asked.

"No, but I'd want to know why you do," Toren said.

"It's a bit more complicated, but we've both got similar outlooks, I figure," Mytho said. "We value our freedom more than life itself. Right or wrong, a storybook ending or tragedy, we both know that living life shackled by another isn't a life at all. When your father wouldn't let you live the way you wanted, you chose to leave. You knew that having a choice was more important than what he thought."

"It wasn't that conscious of an action, sir," Toren said. "I just didn't want to die a farmer when there's a whole world out there to see."

Mytho nodded. "And that is the exact reason I left home when I was barely able to grow hair on my chin."

Toren looked at him quizzically. "You were a farmer? I'd have never guessed you'd be the sort."

"Well, not exactly," Mytho said, "But the point still stands. Routine makes for a dull life. When you're in a rut, you'll find yourself living one while dreaming of another. I figure that the life you think of the most is the one you truly want. So, why not chase it until you find it? If you die trying, then at least you didn't live a long time in the misery of unrealized potential."

Toren leaned back until he was flat in the grass, staring up at the sky. "I don't think it's anything so complicated for me," he said. "I was only bored. I didn't think beyond that."

"That's another great thing about choosing your own path," Mytho said, "You can choose to not think about anything at all if it suits you."

Toren breathed a shallow laugh. "No one to judge me for being daft, then?"

"Nobody that you don't have the means to leave behind," he said.

It wasn't much of a smile that Toren plastered on his own face, but it did its best to look like one. "You know what, though?" he said after lying in silence for a bit. "Strange as it is, I still miss my pa sometimes. I wonder if I should write him a letter or go home to see how he's doing. Or if he'd even take me back if I asked. What do you think?"

"That's a question I can't answer, lad," Mytho said. "But if he's worth troubling yourself with, he'd understand why you've chosen to make your own way."

Toren screwed up his face. "So how about one that you can?"

Mytho raised an eyebrow at him.

"At some point, you're bound to meet people you care about," Toren said. "But if you can't be near them because of what you've chosen, I want to know how you're supposed to carry on without being burdened."

"You, er…" Mytho trailed off.

How odd. He found his lips had been locked up tight.

"I only do that to the people that need it," Halora's words from the day before echoed, not lacking in precision nor venom. "Like self-absorbed duelists with a paralyzing fear of commitment."

Mytho leaned on his heels. No, it was always more than that. Much, much more. She was only talking about things she didn't know.

After a few moments of quashing his own doubts, Mytho realized Toren was still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"Well?" he said.

"Well, what?" Mytho asked.

"How do you do it?"

Mytho turned his back and set his hands on his swords. "First, you stop trying to distract me," he said. "Second, you stop sitting on your arse. You've got a long way to go if you ever want to graze even a buckle, lad."

"Yes, sir," Toren said as he stood to his feet.

Mytho scratched his chin with one hand and motioned for him to follow with the other. A good question, boy. Damned good one.

.~~~.

Halora perched on the rooftop, eyes watching the shadows cast by the moonlight and setting sun on opposing ends of the city. The wind was howling grimly through the streets like it was eager to be elsewhere. However, she had nowhere else she'd rather be. Orange flickers from the patrolling guards and their torches circled in the world below, basking the darkest corners and alleyways of Skingrad in revealing light.

Her fingertips played on the edge of her shortsword but not once did she unsheathe it. She was alone on this night, that much she made sure of. Distractions weren't part of the plan and she couldn't afford for anyone to get in the way – guildmate or otherwise. At least, Halora hoped there wouldn't be any. The one variable beyond her control was hopefully going about his own business and not getting involved with hers. He'd only make a mess of things with his "kill first and ask questions second" attitude.

She hadn't seen him since their argument the day before, which was both a worrisome sign and a welcome surprise she didn't figure she'd be graced with so long as he was in town. But she wasn't naïve. While it may not have come to a head, Mytho was up to something, surely. In all likelihood, it would also become an issue she'd have to deal with later.

With a deep breath, she stopped herself from fretting over that. It wasn't worth the headache she'd give herself if she continued. In due time, she'd deal with it.

Halora waited on the same rooftop long after the last embers of the sun had burned out, leaving her in the black of night. The moons swirled above her in the blackness in a hurry to their apex. She wasn't afraid, but the pounding of her heart in her chest kept her on edge – alert to the smallest stirring in the night.

"I'm afraid I have to disagree this time, Madam," Luciros had said before she left the hideout earlier in the evening. "While I do believe that something must be done and soon, I'd prefer it if we handled this in another manner. Ideally, indirectly. We haven't any idea what he's truly capable of, and Nocturnal only knows how long his patience will last should one of us meet him face to face."

Halora frowned. Luciros may have had a point, but that was where she took issue. They may know that he's out there, that he was hungry for their blood, but beyond that they were blind. Someone needed to gather information from him, no matter how little or great it was, and that someone would be her. Halora couldn't bear the thought of sending another member of the Guild in her place. Not if it ended with another death of her people.

Perhaps she was desperate – out of her mind and out of control – but if it was to keep them safe then she'd be no other way.

She thumbed the buckle of the pouch around her waist, sloshing the potions around inside. Despite being half her age, Luciros was prudent in a way that she could only wish she'd been when she was young. He had brewed and given her two healing potions so potent the slightest whiff of them made her nose wrinkle. She insisted that she wouldn't be needing them, but, stubborn as a mule, he'd shoved them into her hands regardless.

She had to smile, albeit begrudgingly, at that. That boy, she thought, He'll make himself a damned fine Doyen one day.

She took a deep breath. If tonight went as she hoped, though, that day wouldn't be tomorrow. Halora steadied her trembling hands. Focus. Get whatever you can out of him, then make a run for it. You don't need to kill him and you don't need to die for him, either.

It was stark midnight when the winds picked up again, stronger than before. Not a guard in sight, either, almost as if they had left her there to conduct business uninterrupted.

At last, she heard footsteps behind her. She took a deep breath and turned around, oddly hoping that for once, it was only Mytho with his irksome smile.

It wasn't.

Halora gripped her blade tight as she watched him settle on the rooftop across the street – his body silhouetted against the crimson of Masser at its fullest. The cloak around his shoulders fluttered in the wind, wide and enveloping as he stood facing her head on, challenging her to make her move.

"I was beginning to wonder how long it'd take you to arrive," Halora said as she paced along the edge of the rooftop.

The Vigilante stood silent, eyes burning at her from underneath his hood. He turned and walked along the edge opposite of her, the blade at his hip peeking out from underneath his cloak.

"If I'm being honest, I almost wish my aim here tonight was to run a knife into your throat," she called out.

He stopped and faced her again. His hand floated on the hilt of his blade, head cocked to one side as if to question her.

Halora stopped as well. "However, it isn't," she said. "I'm here to speak with you."

His hand slowly moved back under his cloak.

Seeing that, she began to pace again. "I came to find out what it is you want from us," she said. "Why you have a vendetta against the Thieves Guild, and more importantly why you thought it was wise to slaughter one of my Shadowfoots and leave a note pinned on his corpse like he were a prop for your amusement."

Silence still.

Halora stopped and crossed her arms. "Most who'd dare challenge us would understand the error of their ways," she said, "Even the Dominion has decided that we're best left alone, and yet you seem proud of yourself. Which makes me wonder; are you simply a thrill seeker in over his head, or do you indeed have a goal in mind?"

She thought for a moment she heard him laugh, but his posture said he was only preparing himself to pounce.

"Perhaps it doesn't matter," Halora said. "If you know how to track us in the night, surely you must know how we operate as well, don't you?" she said. "At least, you know that we value business above crime, yes?"

The Vigilante leaped from one rooftop to the next, never taking his eyes off her.

"So, let's talk business," she said. "You want something for your troubles and we have the means to provide it. You don't need to deny that because it's true for each and every person in Tamriel. However, we must agree to terms if you wish to proceed."

As if he expected the winds to answer for him, he continued to stare her down. It wouldn't be the first time Halora was given that sort of treatment. It also wouldn't be the first time she'd broken someone's façade, either.

"Fine," Halora spat. "If you won't speak up, then I'll continue…"

A gust of wind blew hard against her. She raised her hand to block it.

The Vigilante was there when it stopped, looming over her – his darkened face just short of being visible and so close she could touch it. His cloak billowed around her like it was trying to pull her in.

"You're interested, then?" she asked, folding her arms. "Good. It's much easier to speak without you so far away. I don't have to strain my voice."

"You've nothing to offer me," he said, his tone low and guttural. "Nothing at all."

"On the contrary," Halora said, "The Thieves Guild is a powerful ally to have on your side. You are aware that others would kill to be in your position right now, aren't you?"

It wasn't her ears playing tricks on her that time. He did chuckle blatantly at her.

"Anything in this city can be made yours," Halora continued. "One of the estates in the Hightown District, a vineyard all your own, simple deals. We could even secure you a representative in the County Hall, should you favor the political over the material. But these come with a proportionate price, as with all things."

She didn't imagine him coming any closer without touching her, but somehow he managed it. "You're a fool," he said, words laced with fury, "Arrogant. Selfish. Acting as if you have any right to speak of such things with moral confidence."

"I've found that most would willingly do away with morality if it'd fill their purse," Halora said. "But insults are only good for angering simple folks and wildly useless speaking to all others. You seem to take me for the former."

"What else would you call a woman who's come to face me alone?" he said. "Who believes that her pathetic attempts at negotiating with me are alluring in any manner? Who stands before me, posturing as if she's any more than a speck of dung in my path?"

Halora uncrossed her arms. "Then you don't wish to strike a deal?"

His grueling silence spoke for him.

Halora nodded. "I see," she said, "I did have my hopes that it wouldn't come to this, but you've tied my hands. Consider this a formal warning from the Thieves Guild. Should you continue to interfere with our operations, we'll…"

His hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed tight. "You'll what?" he asked as he lifted her from the ground with ease.

Halora pulled at his fingers to keep them from snapping her neck in two. She reached for her shortsword and plunged it into his forearm until she was sure she hit bone. Defying her expectations, not a drop of blood sprayed from the wound.

The Vigilante merely sighed when he dropped her. He slid back across the ground like he was on ice yet his feet never moved.

Halora held up her blade and motioned at him. "Come on, then!" she said. "Don't be shy!"

The Vigilante drew his sword with a long, fluid motion. He held it pointed down at the rooftop and took a graceful step forward, leading with his left side.

Halora dashed at him and made a strike for his chest. His sword clanged against hers. In a single move, he swept up and cut the sleeve of her jacket. She slipped out of the way. His sword moved again and cut a few hairs from her head. He stepped back and threw his cloak around. With a blast of wind ushering him forward, he rammed into her.

Halora put up her guard just in time to keep him from running her through. Yet he continued to push on – forcing her to the edge of the building with ease.

"You're all fools," he growled, "You've acted without restraint. Targeting the good people of Skingrad as if they were but lambs. No more. Not while I still live."

He shoved her backward.

Halora's feet slipped off the edge of the building. He grabbed her by the hair and tossed her onto the rooftop again – her head throbbing already.

"You fashion yourselves as wolves prowling the night, and yet you've become bloated on your own greed," he said as he approached her, sword dragging the ground. "Unable to defend your pack when a true predator approaches. Because of this, you'll die. All of you," he said as he stood over her, blade pointed down at her head. The Vigilante thrust his sword down.

Halora slashed his leg and rolled out of the way, springing to her feet. There wasn't a drop of his blood still.

His leg swept around and knocked her to the ground again. With a wide swing, he cut across her cheek.

"But first, you'll fear me," he said as he stomped his foot on her ankle.

Halora gritted her teeth. It was a clean break.

"And you'll speak of me so that no more come after you're gone from this world," the Vigilante said.

She didn't have time to react when his blade seared across her chest.

Halora writhed on the ground. Shivers of pain stiffened her muscles. She fumbled around in the pouches around her waist. Her clothes were already growing wet and sticky with blood.

The Vigilante picked her up once again, carrying her to the edge of the building. He held her straight out like she was weightless. "Deliver this message to the Guild," he said. "As you have seen fit to threaten me tonight, I have decided I will no longer be patient in my dealings with you. Should I find any more of your members out after dark for any reason, they will be killed on sight." He held her close to his face until she could finally see his eyes – small, like glowing, orange pins. "Your hold on this city has come to an end."

Halora plunged her shortsword into his chest and ripped it back out.

He cocked his head to the side again. "You're beneath me," he said. "And I am beyond all of you."

She stabbed him again. Again. Again! Why wasn't he bleeding? What kind of person could shrug off so many fatal blows?

The Vigilante started to grow foggy in front of her, her eyelids growing heavy. As she pulled her blade back from one last stab at his heart, she caught something hanging from his neck and cut if free.

The Vigilante's attention followed it, dropping her as he let out a cry. Halora looked down to see a hay pile rushing up to catch her.

Above her, he was diving down after her as if the fall didn't frighten him.

As she landed, the world turned black. When Halora came to, she was already searching inside the pouch for one of the potions. She held the bottle out to find a crack running up the side of it – the precious contents draining from it fast. Her hands were shaking. The world growing dark. She hurriedly drank what was left and tried to still her pounding heart.

The hot pain from the gash on her chest ebbed a few moments later, but the rest of her body continued to throb. Halora imagined she'd have a few more broken bones besides her ankle, but none she couldn't deal with.

The Vigilante appeared again and ripped her from the hay pile. He threw her against the wall and wrapped his hand around her neck.

"Where did you hide it?" he shouted, drawing so close she could smell his metallic breath. "Where? Tell me or I'll kill you!"

"Who goes there?" called out a voice from around the street corner. The sound of steel footsteps rapidly approached them, orange light peeking around the corner.

The Vigilante looked at Halora, then back to the direction of the sound and light. With a growl, he threw her down and slid into the darkness – disappearing as if it welcomed his presence.

A guard rounded the corner, running at full speed with his sword held out. He held up his torch as he approached her. Halora had never before imagined herself being relieved to see one of them, but for once it the opportunity had been in her favor.

"By the Eight!" the guard said, "What happened here?"

Halora tried to sit up. Flaring pain from several broken bones and open wounds made her regret the attempt. "I was attacked," she said. "A man. H-he tried to rob me."

The guard stood up and looked around. "Which way did he go?"

"I don't know," she breathed. "Please, I dropped my belongings in the struggle. Help me look for them."

"Ma'am, please," the guard said as he held her up, "You need to be taken to the Chapel right away so the priestesses can have a look at you. We can find whatever it is you've lost some other time. I'll send out a few of my men to search the area."

Halora shook her head and used the wall to struggle to her feet. "No, I have to find it immediately. It's very important," she said as she limped away from him.

"Ma'am!"

Halora ignored his shouting. Whatever it was that sent the Vigilante into a rage was surely still around. She couldn't let all that she'd worked so hard for go to waste. She just had to stop herself from passing out in the street until she found it. The towering estates of Skingrad lurched over her, blurring and darkening into the night as she held the wall for support. The shadows of the night grew long, swallowing up the street lanterns. For a moment, she was afraid – afraid that she'd made a magnificently stupid mistake.

Then, in the dark, she saw it. In the middle of the street, gleaming from the moonlight, was the object she cut from the Vigilante; a silver ring.

She dropped to her knees and curled her blood-soaked fingers around it, holding it to her chest. Not so stupid after all. For all his caution and secrecy, he'd finally, finally made a damning mistake. Halora drew in a ragged breath and fell onto her side.

Two more guards came rushing towards her to join the first.

"Quick! Run ahead and let the priestesses know we're coming!" the first one said. "There isn't any time to waste!"

Halora shivered as the cold wind blowing in the streets chilled her to the bone. She barely felt it when the guard gathered her into his arms and began to run.

"Please, ma'am!" he said, the words sounding distant to her ears. "Just a bit longer! We're almost there!"

Despite the situation, Halora wanted to grin like a fool. She almost wanted to laugh, in fact. She had him. It would all be worth it. She could make him pay for all the humiliation the Guild had suffered. For killing Dahlin-Dar.

No more running and hiding like rats.