Gold-Heart burst through the door of the inn and doubled over, panting. Octavian and Vilyn stood up immediately.
"Where's the food, lizard-breath? You've been gone hours," Vilyn snarled.
"Give him a moment," Octavian said, putting a hand on Vilyn's shoulder. He looked at Gold-Heart. "What happened out there? Have they upped the night patrols?"
Gold-Heart waved his hand, still breathless. "No, the guards weren't a problem. We need to leave the city. Tonight."
"What? Why?" Octavian asked.
"I think Cirroc is working for the Thalmor."
"You think?" Vilyn said, shrugging off the hand and coming forward. "So now we have nothing to eat because, what? Your tail-scales started itching?" He raised his dagger.
Gold-Heart raised his hands. "Look, I'd gladly fight you on an equal level, dark elf, but not while I'm out of breath." He took a second to gather himself, then explained everything he'd heard – about the plot to spark war between the Redguards and the Empire, about Cirroc working for the Thalmor, and about the elf saying that they were going to track down the survivors and kill them. "They're going to send agents after us. We have to leave the city as soon as possible."
"How can you be sure of that?" Vilyn asked.
"I heard it with my own ears. Is that conclusive enough for you?"
"Are you certain?" Octavian asked.
"On my word and honour," the Argonian purred.
Vilyn shook his head. "The word of a mercenary? An Argonian mercenary?"
Octavian ignored him. "If there is even a hint, the tiniest possibility that the Thalmor are in Hammerfell… We can't afford to take any chances. We must warn Tullius and King Casmar before this goes too far."
"We can't warn them both. There are only four of us - we'd never make it through the Alik'r and the Dragontails if we split up," Gold-Heart said.
"Woah woah woah, four of us? It's you they want, not me – this has nothing to do with me," Guilbert Lelles stammered.
Vilyn turned to him. "Yeah, try that one on the soldiers, see how far it gets you. As far as they're concerned, you're a wizard - a murdering wizard at that, and a wizard that just escaped from prison. You know how Redguards feel about wizards. No, you're an escapee just like us, whether you like it or not."
"Does that mean you're coming with us, Vilyn?" Gold-Heart asked.
Vilyn made a face like he was swallowing bile. "I don't hate the Thalmor as much as I hate Argonians, but I still hate them. And I'm not sitting around in this barbarian city waiting for them to kill me."
"That's fair enough," Gold-Heart said.
"But I'm not your friend. Not even close. Understand?"
"I wouldn't want you as a friend anyway," Gold-Heart said.
"You're all mistaken. They'll protect me once they know who I am. They have to. I'm a nobleman! The son of Francois Lelles!"
"Which means your father is probably dead," Vilyn said. "Remember the fire in the West Side?"
"Don't say that! Don't say things like that," Guilbert said, close to tears, and Octavian found himself feeling sorry for him. Pathetic as he was, he was little more than a boy, and he hadn't actually done anything wrong - short of annoying one of the city guards - if his story was to be believed. Miraculously, it seemed that Vilyn was thinking the same thing because his voice softened. "Look, I know you didn't do anything wrong in that alley, but there isn't much you can do about it now. But I told you I'd get you out of this mess, so… stick with us. Stick with us and we'll get you out of Hammerfell." He tried to smile. It was an unnatural thing. "There's a mages college in Skyrim. We'll take you there. Yes? You still want to study magic?"
Guilbert nodded, gulping back tears. "I was never cut out for a merchant's life anyway," he said, and they laughed dutifully.
Then the mood changed.
"Someone's coming," Gold-Heart said and pointed out of the window. Four figures, all swathed in black cloaks, were coming down the street, and coming quickly. They were completely invisible when in darkness, but Gold-Heart saw them as they passed under a streetlight. And in that light he was sure he saw the glow of golden fur. "Four of them. Khajiits."
They immediately dropped down, out of view. "Put out that lamp," Octavian said to someone at the back of the room. They grumbled, until Vilyn turned and threatened to rip their soul apart with lightning. That seemed to do the trick.
"How did they find us so quickly?" Octavian said, incredulous.
Vilyn stabbed a finger at Gold-Heart. "They must have followed you back from the inn."
"Not possible. I made sure I wasn't followed."
"Well, how else could they have found us?" Vilyn demanded.
Octavian looked around at the many faces in the inn, now obscured in darkness. Most of them were Redguards, obviously, but there were all kinds of people: Nords, probably warriors-turned-settlers after the conquest of Dragonstar some years ago; Elves of all kinds, and Khajiit, likely those who had disagreed with Thalmor policies and so had been expelled from the Dominion. "There have been plenty of refugees coming through this inn over the last few days. Any one of them could have been a Thalmor spy." Then Octavian had a thought. He looked over at where Oska, the innkeeper, stood behind the bar. He'd been cleaning glasses until now, oddly quiet for a burly Redguard like himself. "Oska, your offer of a place to stay was very generous. And free of charge, too. As much as I appreciate that kindness… It arouses my suspicion also. You wouldn't happen to be working for the Thalmor, would you?"
Oska dropped a glass in panic. "I-I… Legate, you must understand -" he mumbled, trying to explain himself, but his nervous reaction had already doomed him – Vilyn pelted him with a bolt of lightning and he fell to the ground in the shape of a thousand tiny dust particles.
"The rest of you had better stay quiet or I'll fry you too," he snarled at the rest of the inn.
"Well, that's that then." Gold-Heart said. "I fear it was too little too late, though. He must have already tipped them off - they're heading straight for us."
"What do we do now?" Guilbert asked.
There's only one thing left to do, Octavian thought. He heaved a great sigh. I suppose it was always going to come down to this. "You three will have to leave through the back door, into the alley behind the building. I'll keep them occupied - cover your escape while you lose yourselves in the backalleys. When you've gotten far away – and I mean really far - head to the stables at the East Gate. Rustle some horses. You have to stop Tullius. Stop him before he can cross the Dragontails, or it will all be over."
Gold-Heart stepped forward with alarm. "What are you doing?"
Octavian drew his sword, a battered old iron thing he'd found in the prison break. "I'll cover your escape."
"No," they all said at the same time. "Friend, you must see reason," Gold-Heart said. "Tullius won't listen to any of us, you know that. Especially a Stormcloak merc-"
"Go, Gold-Heart. By the Eight, I lost my cohort because I wasn't brave enough – no, don't argue with me. I'm not making that mistake again. Go!"
Gold-Heart put his hand on his shoulder. "Sun-on-my-scales, your sacrifice won't be in vain. I swear it."
Octavian laughed at that. "It seems like you do have a heart after all, mercenary. Go!"
They went.
The alleys were dark and cold, but none of them said anything about it. None of them said anything, actually. It wasn't long before they heard the sounds of fighting behind them; it didn't last long. Octavian is dead, then, Gold-Heart thought, and vowed again that it wouldn't be for nothing. They broke into a run.
As they reached the end of the alley, a figure in a black cloak blocked their path. It smiled at them, white teeth behind bronze lips.
"Justiciar Nelacar, at your service. Did you really think to fool us with such a simple trick?" He looked mildly surprised when he saw Gold-Heart. "The Argonian from the tavern. I wondered if I might have trouble from you again, but I never expected you'd be quite this wrapped up in this mess."
"Pleasure to meet you again," Gold-Heart hissed.
"It's a shame Cirroc botched the original plan. It would have been much kinder to let you die honourably in those desert mountains, in blissful ignorance, rather than have you discover the real reason your friends died."
"I'd take an extra week of life over an honourable death any day," Gold-Heart said. "As for blissful ignorance – I'm not much of a fan of that either, to be honest."
Nelacar grinned again. "I like it when my enemies have a sense of humour – I really do." Vilyn tried to cast another lightning spell, but Nelacar waved his hand. Emerald green light filled the whole alleyway for a short second. Vilyn screamed and fell to his knees.
"What did you do to him?!" Guilbert shouted.
"Oh, don't be such a child – it's only a silencing spell," Nelacar said.
Gold-Heart looked back down the alleyway but there were three more of those khajiit agents coming up behind them. Nelacar noticed his interest. "Do you like our little pets? They call themselves the Pellitinian Claws. You won't find better-trained assassins anywhere else in Tamriel, not since the Brotherhood collapsed."
"What about the Morag Tong?" Vilyn said defiantly.
Nelacar considered. "The Tong? No-one's heard from the Tong in decades."
"That's rather the point of the Tong," Vilyn said. Gold-Heart looked back. The Claws were getting closer. No chance of escape, and certainly no chance of fighting this guy. We're trapped. "As nice as it has been chatting to you, Justiciar, I'm getting fairly restless. So, what now? Where are you taking us?" he asked.
"Oh, you'll see soon enough," he said, and then there was a flash of white light and a faint ringing sound and then everything went black.