A/N {This is it - the final chapter. If you read this far, I thank and applaud you for sifting through the crap to the end of this story. It took a while to finish, but it's finished and a Kryptonian thank you must be extended to SuperGreg for helping me out with this one and making it better than it was. You, sir, are awesome. Another thanks to anyone who followed, favorited, or even read and enjoyed. You are also awesome. Well, on to the fic. Hopefully, you like the ending. If feel the need, let me know what you think!}
Ansen was silent for a long while, staring into the piercing elven eyes before him, his mind a torrent of conflicting thoughts and uncertainties. He wondered if the things he was being told were true, or if he was just being fed lies. He wondered if he was actually endangering people by not telling what he knew of the woman who had been under his protection for months. The mercenary was beginning to question his own better judgment, something he did not find himself doing often.
"No…" he finally said. "I won't tell you anything."
"That's a shame, young Ansen. Your refusal to speak could send the world into darkness."
"Or it could be that you're sentencing an innocent girl to death."
"I am willing to take that risk, if it means that there isn't a repeated Oblivion Crisis." Arthon stood, dusting the rear of his robe off. "Ansen, my duty is to ensure that all of Cyrodiil is secured. My hands are soaked in the blood of those I've had to kill, lives taken with only the strokes of a quill or a few words from myself to an Inspector. I have to live with the knowledge that because of me, someone lost a mother, or a father, or a child. It's not an easy position, but one that cannot go unfilled… The only thing that I can tell myself at night to get even an iota of rest is that I am helping to keep the people safe. Sometimes not even those words can help…"
"I hope sympathy isn't what you're looking for, because you won't find any here…"
"Don't misunderstand, mercenary. I don't seek empathy, especially not from you - one who sells his soul to the highest bidder. I only seek information…" Arthon assured the Imperial-Nord.
A mocking grin was the only response given to the elf, and he returned a look of disappointment. "Sorry, but my father drove the concept of loyalty into my mind as a child. I can't betray her."
Zel began to slowly shake his head. "If only more of the men of the Imperial Legion were like you… Unfortunately, I believe many of them, if enough pressure were applied, would break like a branch during the winter." The elf slowly and deliberately turned and began to move toward the cell door. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ansen Black-Heart. I leave your fate up to my men."
As soon as Arthon had stepped out of the room, Motierre replaced him, shutting the door as he entered. "You've outlived the little usefulness you had…" the young man stated. A silver dagger appeared from behind his back. The mercenary's eyes narrowed, but the mocking, leering expression did not vanish.
"… What a coincidence; I said the very same thing to your wife…"
The bard did not make a sound, creeping on the balls of his feet to the side of the man standing before the table, looking over the inmate ledger. A sharp, quick kick was delivered to the bend of his leg and before he could recover, his head was driven into the solid wood surface with enough force to release a steady flow of blood and bring unconsciousness to the Inspector. Avery began to go through the documents on the table, making sure to keep one eye on the downed Oculatus agent, in search of just where in the immense mountain structure Ansen was being kept. A'mber stood watch by the door, her vampiric eyes peering through the dark, barely illuminated halls of the stronghold with ease.
"If I get my hands on that girl, I swear to the gods, I'll make her regret this…" mumbled the Breton vampire.
"There's no point in dwelling on it. It's already happened," Avery told her.
"There is a point. If I don't dwell on it, then I won't still be angry when we find her, and if I'm not angry then I won't be able to thoroughly throttle her."
Mara had slipped away from the pair at some point during their infiltration, which – up until that point – had gone on without a hitch. A'mber was having rather vivid fantasies about the pain she was going to inflict on the young Imperial once they located her, but until they did, Mara was in a great deal of danger. Inspector's lurked around every corner, men and women who were well-versed in the art of swordsmanship and could cut down a person as inexperienced as her without much difficulty. A'mber and Avery had successfully snuck by the lot of them to make their way to one of the smaller offices on the main level, what the woman assumed to be that of the warden's aid, but they had each other and the vampire's otherworldly abilities to rely on. Mara had only herself and an unstable magic. They had to find their misplaced mercenary soon, before things went bad.
"They're holding him two floors below us," Avery announced, rapping the table with a few light pounds of his fists. "I suppose that is also where we'll find our young maiden."
"She'll meet her end when I find her." Unexpectedly, the bard knelt beside the unconscious man at his feet and began to strip him of his uniform. "Exactly what are you doing?" asked A'mber.
"You don't survive in my line of work without learning to take advantage of what's around you. Go on, I'll catch up. Remember, two floors down."
"Don't take too long."
A'mber peeked out into the hall, and when she saw it was clear, slipped away. She slithered stealthily through the corridors, like a viper in the grass, without making even the slightest sounds as she crept. Having to come to a stop at a fork in the hall protected by a pair of watchful guardsmen, she tried to devise some kind of plan to get by them. These men were well-trained and far from gullible. Agents of the kingdom, assassins and infiltrators – they would be hard to fool and even harder to kill. That left her with few options.
A firm hand was placed on her shoulder and squeezed it. The jerk reaction, her hand moving to her curved dagger, was halted by a second hand. "Calm down," Avery told her.
She looked up to him, wearing the uniform of the Penitus Oculatus, the full set of black leather armors with the leather mask covering his face. She recognized him by his mannerisms, the way he stood, putting most of his weight on his right and the way he cocked his head to the side when he looked upon her.
"You really think this will deceive them?"
Avery shrugged. "Any better ideas?" He pulled her hands behind her back, slapped a set of shackles on the young woman and she could see him smile beneath the mask. "What do you say we put on a little performance for these gents?"
"I don't know … I was never much of a thespian…"
"All you have to do, beautiful, is look angry and disgruntled."
"That, I can manage."
Placing a hand on her restrained wrists, he brought A'mber up to her feet, and pushed her forward, barking something in an angered tone to alert the guards to their approach. The unwelcome guests wanted to dispell any suspicions about their presence. The two men that stood watch over the hall watched as they slowly walked in their direction, the woman roughly being guided by Avery. She mumbled curses beneath her breath, but complied with his commands and continued moving.
"I'll let Lord Arthon decide what to do with you, bitch…" the bard told her.
One of the guards extended a hand, halting their progress. "Hold it…"
Avery looked to the man challengingly, staring into his eyes, which were the only parts of his face not concealed. "Step aside," he ordered, hoping the rank of the disguise he wore was higher than that of the man that stood before him.
"… Forgive me, sir, but Lord Arthon has ordered that no one disturb him."
Letting a deep, convincing sigh go, the bard replied, "Fine. I guess I'll have to deal with her, then…"
He shoved A'mber once again and they continued deeper into the stronghold.
All sounded normal from within the fortress, leaving Lili to agonize over what could've been happening. Sitting in the thick, freezing forest around the mountainous Bruma area, she waited impatiently for any sign that those she cared for were alright. The sounds of leaves rustling in the winds and the occasional chirping bird were all she had to listen to out in the world. Her only companion for conversation was a small Daedra, and he mostly spoke on how cold it was and how he missed his home, some "tower in the sky". She only half-heartedly participated in the conversation, mind on Ansen.
The continuous nipping of the icy winds sent chills running up the Redguard's spine, making her shiver and pull her coat shut. The wind was strange and carried with it a sensation, like electricity that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up on end. Dirk felt it too, relieving Lili because that meant it wasn't her imagination. His little knife-shaped ears perked up and he swiveled his head around and, without warning, took off into the woods.
"Hey! Come back!" she whispered. "There could be guards nearby!"
Lilllian gave chase, following the creature as fast as she could, but he was quicker than he looked, skipping over exposed branches, between trees and around stones with apparent ease. Two women striding confidently came into view, walking side-by-side, and the scamp squealed and purred as he drew closer to them.
"Mistress. Mistress!" he cried.
One of the women, the slightly shorter of the two, took a knee to greet the creature. "Hello, Dirk. What are you doing here?" Grace asked, patting him on the head.
"We come, we look!"
"Look?" the woman turned to her older sister. "What do you suppose they came in search of?"
"Probably Mara, just like us… What she's doing at the headquarters of the Penitus Oculatus, I have no idea," Talia said. "I'm just thankful we were able to successfully track her."
"No. We come looking for boy, not girl smells of bloodgrass."
"Boy...?"
Talia noticed the young Redguard standing a short ways away, hiding behind the thick trunk of an oak tree and raised an eyebrow to her. She knew the woman as a friend of Ansen's, seen her through his eyes. "You're Lillian, correct?"
The young Redguard cautiously took a step back. "How do you know me?"
"I'm Ansen's mother," she smiled. "He's spoken of you before."
"You're his mother? Are you here to try and save him as well?"
The eldest witch's eyes narrowed. "Save him?" She glanced quickly behind the young woman and the mountainous structure and asked, "He's not in there, is he?"
"Yes! We came to rescue him! He's been missing for weeks!"
"The Penitus got to him…" Grace deduced, bitting down on her thumbnail. "We should've had a back-up plan if that happened…"
"We couldn't have thought of everything," Talia said, feeling regret and guilt build in her chest. "I shouldn't have asked him to investigate the group in the first place. I knew how dangerous they were and still..."
"We had no choice, sister. We needed someone to look into them."
"But it shouldn't have been my son."
"Ansen was the only one we knew we could trust. He's been captured, yes, but the boy is yours; he's tougher than steel. He won't be broken by an interrogator," Grace assured her older sibling, reaching up from her kneeling position to squeeze her hand.
"… But what happens when an interrogator can't extract any information out of his prisoner…?"
Slowly realizing the severity of their predicament, Grace stood and pulled her hood over her brunette-haired head. "Go look for my nephew. I'll find Mara and get her out of there. Wanna' meet outside of Bruma?"
Talia nodded and said, "Be careful, alright sister? Remember you're not invincible."
"You be careful too."
The eldest witch took off, sprinting toward the fortress, so many worries and concerns running through her mind. Lili was grabbed by the bend of her arm and pulled against her will by the other witch to a small clearing in the woodland. "You've got to get away from here. There's no telling what's going to happen, and someone who has nothing to do with this shouldn't get caught up in the whirlpool if things go bad."
"But-"
Releasing the Redguard, Grace extended her hands to the air before her and a bubbling, rippling light erupted from nothingness, quickly forming a circular portal. In the murky, water-like window was the image of the Sparrows Nest, with a handful of people wearing the badge of the organization present, chopping wood, sparring and keeping the grounds. With force, Lili was lifted off of her feet and tossed through the magical opening, carrying her far from Northern Cyrodiil in an instant. With a clap of her hands, the portal closed and Grace turned back toward the fort. She and her sister still had a mission to complete.
The depths of the sanctuary were dark, barely illuminated pits with the pungent smell of the blood hanging in the air, along with a feeling of hopelessness and desperation. It was undoubtedly a prison below the main structure, but one unlike any that Avery had been in. Just looking at the inmates, looking into their eyes, he could tell that they had given up on not only escape, but resistance long ago. It was as if any fight that lived within had been drained from the men and women by whomever ran the prison. Almost all of them were starving or close to it, beaten and broken, both physically and mentally. None of them even moved when they saw him and A'mber strolling through the blocks, the latter now free of her shackles.
"These guys run a tight, depressing shift..." Avery remarked.
Each cell seemed to be self-contained chamber cut into the mountain itself, with thick, natural walls of stone separating them. None of these chambers held the man they were looking for. "Where is he?" A'mber thought aloud. "You sure he's on this floor?"
"I'm only going off of what I read on the map of the facility and the prisoner key. The key said that there was an A. Black-Heart on this floor, somewhere near the western side. I don't know any other Black-Hearts whose names start with A... The cell should be just ahead."
"Good, because I don't want to be in here any longer than I must."
A quake ran through the mountainous structure, shaking the balance of the duo for a brief moment. The sound of an explosion followed and the vampire met the bard's eyes. "What was that?"
"I don't know, but we should keep moving," said Avery.
"You don't think it was Mara, do you?"
"Somehow, I doubt it. If she knows where Ansen is, she wouldn't be up above us."
"You're right. Let's hurry…" A hand reached through the bars of one of the cells, grabbing a tight hold of the short hair atop A'mber's head and pulled her close to the iron. "This one's still got some fight left in him!" she said, grasping the man's wrist and yanking his narrow, lanky form into the iron bars. The action was repeated thrice, with increasing force, before the prisoner released the woman.
"He must've thought we were guards," Avery said in passing as they continued down the hall. The man whimpered, holding his aching, pained head.
"Even so, he shouldn't have grabbed my hair."
The fires within the lanterns and torches around the large chamber suddenly grew until they each burned like the flames coming from a hearth. Both A'mber and Avery ducked down, trying to get as far away from the searing heat as possible. Even the bard, who was magically inept, could feel the sudden spike of the pressure in the air, and A'mber knew the cause.
"Dammit… What did she do…?" the woman said, sprinting down the hall and hanging a right. She worked her way through the maze-like prison floor, following the rising magical agitation, hoping she arrived at the source soon, before irreversible damage was done.
She rounded another corner, and at the end of the hall, a cell door, different from the ones they had come to see within the sanctuary, stood open. A bright, flickering light shone from within the cell and A'mber moved toward it, calling out to the bard whom she had lost in the twists and turns. She could hear him not far away, hollering back. The vampiress came to a sliding halt on the soles of her boots as she came to the open iron door and peered inside.
"Oh, gods…" she whispered, shoulders slumping.
Mara stood in the center of the room, her back to the door. At her feet lay a corpse, charred black beyond any possible recognition and before her, hang another. Restrained by his wrists by worn and rusted shackles, blood running down his toned, naked chest and abdomen from the slit in his neck, was the man they had come so far in search of, deep green eyes still open. A sigh escaped A'mber's thin lips as her head fell.
She watched as Mara leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the Imperial-Nord, holding him tight against her body. Avery finally reached the entrance to the cell as well, and, after getting a good look at the horrific scene within, drove his fist into the door frame. "Son of bitch!" he growled, driving a second fist into the thick stone. He sank down to the floor and repeated, "Son of a bitch…"
"Avery…"
The bard pulled away from the consoling hand that was extended toward him by A'mber and snapped, "Just … just get her so we can leave before the Inspector's find out we're here."
A'mber turned her attention back to Mara and took a step inside the cell. Now closer, she could see lacerations, burns and bruises all over the mercenary's young body, and felt pity for him. She also felt sorry for Mara, having lost yet another friend. Placing a hand on Mara's shoulder, the woman said, "I'm sorr-"
A feeling like no other the vampire had experienced, akin to what she would imagine flaming electricity running beneath her pale skin would feel like snaked its way up the hand that gripped the Imperial's shoulder, and once it reached the center of her body, exploded within her, launching her right back through the open door and into the arms of the bard that had been watching from the doorway. The pair hit the wall opposite the doorway, knocking them both to the floor and pushing all the breath from their lungs. A'mber clawed the wall, trying to return to her feet as she struggled to draw breath, her heart pounding in her pale-skinned chest. A ringing in her ears and the blurred grey vision that was slowly beginning to fade let her know that she was still alive – or as close as a vampire could get. She felt like she'd been kicked in the sternum by a Minotaur or was having a heartattack.
"What happened?!" Avery asked her as he pushed himself back up to a vertical-base.
A'mber did not have a response, because she didn't know, herself. "Mara!" she screamed.
The Imperial released Ansen and turned to leave the cell. She walked right by the pair, and when Avery reached out to try and stop her, A'mber grabbed his hand and held it still. "What're you doing?"
"We can't touch her…" the Breton replied. All they could do is stand back and watch as the Imperial made her way down the hall, wearing a look of disbelief and sorrow. A'mber tried to think of some way to put a stop to what was happening, to what was about to happen, but none came to mind. She didn't know how to handle Mara, and doubted that there was anything she could say at this point to bring the woman's emotions down or bring her to her senses. She might've already been too-far-gone. "We can follow her, though."
The duo pursued, trailing purposefully behind the woman as to not draw her ire. Her unstable mental state made Mara a dangerous person, and if she wanted, she could pose a large threat to both A'mber and Avery; keeping their distance was the best strategy whilist she continued to formulate a plan of action. As they followed her toward the stairs, a silhouette appeared at the end of the hall, slim and short with slight curves along its length. It was a figure that the vampire immediately recognized and knew well. It was the unmistakable form of the witch that had been her companion for what seemed like a lifetime. Stepping into the dim illumination, the witch assessed the scene before her as her sister came to her side.
"We've been looking for you, kid," said Grace, taking a step toward the Imperial. She then noticed the density in the air and the magical anomalies around them, such as the torches hanging from the walls that now burned a bright cobalt blue. She saw Mara's eyes glowing a dull gold and Grace jumped back, meeting her undead companion's gaze briefly. She ordered sternly, "A'mber, darling, get out of the way!"
The smile the vampire's lips had contorted into quickly vanished when she saw the two women take defensive stances. She snatched the key hanging from Avery's belt-loop, fumbling to unlock one of the cells nearby, and pulled the young bard into the chamber with urgency. She had an idea of what was about to happen next and did not want to be caught in the crossfire.
"Mara. Are you alright, sweetheart?" Talia inquired slowly in a calm, steady voice. "You seem a little angry… Why don't we go through your exercises? Try in calm down a little?"
"Yeah, there's no need to get worked up," the witch's sibling added.
The torch's flames flared, reaching up to the ceiling of the prison, scorching the stone. Sparks and embers fell to the floor and the witches both noticeably fidgeted, feeling the heat radiate from their sources. "If she doesn't reign in her emotions, we'll have to do something… A'mber, why is she so upset?" asked Talia.
The Breton hesitated to answer, unable to rightfully get the words out. She had been called coldhearted in the past, but it just wasn't in her to tell a mother that her son was no longer living, that just a couple dozen feet away, he still hang, bloody and beaten.
Grace noticed the pause, and, knowing the undead woman as well as she did, assumed something was amiss. "A'mber?"
"I can't…" she mumbled in return.
"A'mber, what's wrong?"
"Ansen's dead…" Avery finally said, unable to remain silent on the subject any longer. "They killed him."
The torches flared again, telling that Mara was indeed listening to the conversation. "… I thought so…" Talia whispered to herself. She felt something strange when they entered the keep, but couldn't put her finger on the source of the odd sensation. Now she knew..."
The younger witch turned to her sister. "I'm sorry Hope… I can't begin to understand how you feel…"
In the now well-illuminated chamber, the tears running down the mother's cheeks were visible, but Grace pretended not to see. She allowed her sister a moment to shed her sorrow for her dead offspring, as she prepared herself for what they would probably have to do if Mara didn't regain her senses. Grace was saddened as well, wishing she had a chance to actually meet her nephew again, see what kind of man he had grown into with her own two eyes, but there was a problem before them that just could not wait for them to mourn.
Talia sniffled, stifling a whimper trying to get out, but it appeared that she had composed herself, or was beginning to. The youngest witch said, "Mara, I know you're angry. I know. And I know that you want to express that anger and take revenge on these people, but imagine how someone like Talia must feel. That was her son! Imagine how Warren will feel! I need you to get a hold of yourself an-"
"Don't worry, Grace. I'm in complete control of myself. I'm finally embracing my emotions instead of stuffing them down, and I can keep them in check," Mara finally spoke.
Taken aback for a moment by the statement, Grace responded, "But for how long? What happens when your anger boils-over?"
"That won't happen."
"Mara, you are unstable right now, physically, emotionally and mentally. We need to reinforce your seal-"
"No."
"Stop acting like a child! You could be endangering everyone for miles! If you lose control of your abilities, you could open a magicka vortex."
"And what do you propose I do?" Mara retorted rather calmly. "You think I should allow these men to continue to kill every single person I love? Everyone attempting to protect me?"
"Mara-"
"I've lost everything and everyone. What harm will it do if I lose myself too?"
Wiping her eyes, Talia protested, "I understand you're upset – so am I – but you can't just give in."
"I'm not giving in and I'm not giving up. I'm doing what I need to… like you said, I'm dangerous. But right now, I feel like I'm only a danger to those that I want to be in danger."
The witches glanced at each other briefly. "You think we're going to let you go and possibly get yourself killed, Mara. We care about you too much to allow you to do something so stupid."
"I never said anything about you allowing me."
Mara suddenly raised her hand and a single streak of red electricity snaked from her palm through the air, faster than the wind. Halfway to the witches, it separated into two bolts. Just as they neared the pair, the magical bolts slithered around them and struck the two Inspector's that had sneakily descended the staircase and positioned themselves behind the witches, reducing them to twin piles of ash. Talia and Grace were left in a state of shock.
"The two of you have done a lot for me, more than any other person would do for someone else outside of their family. But I can't let anyone else stick their neck out for me."
Neither Talia nor her sister could believe the display of Destruction magic they had just witnessed. They hadn't seen such a powerful spell since they watched their mother blast trees apart in the wilderness around their small, humble cottage. Only a master of magic with decades of knowledge and experience under their belt could perform such feats, a level that they themselves, veteran spellcasters, had yet to reach. Casting such a spell without the help of several amplifiers would have done permanent damage to their bodies.
Mara took several steps forward, until she was standing in between the siblings and reached out to the both of them. Once her hands came in contact with their cheeks, the witches felt energy surge through their bodies and were suddenly with a loss of strength. Their eyes grew heavy, their legs weak and their minds went blank. Both collapsed to the cold stone floor, unmoving and thoroughly unconscious by way of the young Imperial's powerful magic.
"Grace!" A'mber wailed from the confines of the cell she and Avery occupied.
"I didn't hurt her. They're only sleeping. Get them out of here, A'mber. Ansen, too. I'm going to bury this place in the mountain…"
The vampire slipped out of the cell and came to Grace's side, cradling her head and upper body in her arms. She brought her fingers to the women's neck, directly beneath her jaw-line, and felt a strong, steady pulse. Holding her close, A'mber looked up at Mara and said, "Thank you. Thank you for not hurting her…"
Mara said nothing, turned on her heels and began up the stairs. "Just go. Get them out of here, and thank them for me. Please."
She disappeared in the darkness and A'mber sat motionless, wondering if she should try and stop her. Grace groaned lightly, probably fighting against her unconsciousness, and the vampire decided against it, figuring getting the sisters out was more important than giving a futile attempt to talk the Imperial out of leaving. She pulled the woman she was so close to up onto her shoulder, Talia onto the other and turned to the bard standing behind her.
"Go get Ansen... we're leaving."
"Are you sure?"
"Posititve."
"Halt!"
The man was engulfed in flames as soon as his sword escaped its scabbard, his screams filling the hall that Mara strode through. The man's comrades hesitated to move for a brief moment, which for Mara was a moment too long, and all three of them suffered an identical fate as the first Inspector, dying in a fiery explosion.
Mara could feel the power within her surging, ready to erupt like a volcano. She knew that at any moment, even with as much focus as she could muster holding it back, she could lose control, her magicka could overflow and consequently level the entire mountain, and probably everything else fifteen miles in every direction. But she felt compelled to do this. Too much had been taken away from her, with a single man responsible. Though with the power to take her revenge, came a cost. She had read about the anomoly known as "Magicka Vortexes" in one of Grace's books in Carrion - a strange occurence where unstable magic began to swirl like a tornado, destroying everything in its path as it slowly expanded. They were rare, and when they were recorded by mages, the notes stated that not much survived the storm's touch. Anyone caught in the magical winds were reduced to nothingness. It worried the Imperial.
A nearly crippling migraine gripped her and the young woman had to use the wall beside her just to keep on her feet. It racked her head with a pain unlike anything she had previously experienced, and she associated it with the growing powers, and her rising heart-rate. At first, Mara had not believed that fighting the current of power, controlling the powerful force running through her mind and body, would be so difficult. She was slowly losing her grip, losing her mind in the sea of thoughts that did not seem like her own.
She opened her eyes in time to see an archer pulling back on the tightly wound twine of his bow. The pointed projectile streaked through the air toward her, disintegrating just before Mara's forehead with a Destruction spell that was almost cast too late. She had enough sense about her to blanket the man before her in an Illusion spell that turned the world through his eyes into an ocean of nightmares. His weapon fell to the floor at his feet and he dropped to his knees, frozen in that position as he looked around at the imaginary horrors.
Mara pushed her pain down and started moving again, even if she was sure she was not ready to do so. It was an absolute miracle, in her opinion, that she didn't fall flat on her face, her head was spinning so severely. Pushing on, she walked around the now mentally dead Inspector and rounded the corner, met by a row of four men, waiting for her. The wave of electricity they projected hit her like a ram, but with an exertion of her own magic, she was just barely able to stay on her feet. Her chest ached from the attack, like it was going to collapse, and the migraine continued to boom in her skull, but Mara was able to throw up a Ward that shielded her from the next wall of magic that came her way, shaking the hall and her protection. The shield withstood the onslaught and, when it fell, Mara responded. The heaviness in the air sudden lessened and all of the torches lining the walls in the hall were snuffed out. Now engulfed in darkness, one of the agents intelligently cast Candlelight, bringing a white illumination to their surroundings. The Imperial woman was nowhere to be found.
"Where is she?" one of the men asked.
"Stay in formation, and keep your eyes open!" the senior member of the quartet said sternly.
As they stood at attention, the temperature suddenly fell, making their breath visible in the slowly dying light and sending clear chills up their spines. The freezing, almost unreal cold forced the hardened Inspectors to shiver and whimper, as they were bombarded by temperatures even lower than those of the most brutal and frigged mountain in the Fatherland. It was as if they were being frozen to death. Their extremities grew numb, to the point where almost nothing was felt, and following were sharp stinging pains in their hands, feet and fingertips that spread across their skin.
"Sir… is she the cause of this?" one of the younger men quivered.
"Show yourself you monster!" another barked.
After they were thoroughly chilled and Mara was satisfied, she put the finishing touches on her spell. The frost quietly gathering at the feet of the men hardened, turning into sharp pointed spikes that rose from the floor, skewering each of the agents and letting crimson liquid run down the length of the frozen spears. The woman emerged from the darkness just as the light died.
"Oh, yes. I'm a monster."
Arthon sat in the jailor's chamber, where the Oculatus commanders had thrown him to keep him safe. The door was shut and locked tight, and on the other side, in the hall, stood two dozen of the best trained men in the region, blades, arrows and spells directed toward the one and only entrance to the long hallway. The explosions that were heard earlier were undoubtedly caused by magic, and no one that had been sent to investigate had returned, leaving the agents to believe they were under attack. The others were oblivious to the identity of their attackers, but Zel knew, and waited patiently for her arrival. He knew the feeling running through his bones, the very same feeling he experienced when Mara Cane came into the world twenty-two years ago.
He had never intended for the situation to come this far, for the woman to live this long. The elf could feel her growing closer, cutting through the men that populated the keep, none of them serving to even slow her. She would arrive shortly, and Zel was prepared. Lying across the desk before him was a blade, crafted from the steely bones of the Dremora warriors that had slipped into the realm of man and mer during the Oblivion Crisis, as long as the elf's arm with rigged edges. It was possibly the only weapon that could efficiently kill a Daedra.
Shouting and the sounds of conflict outside the door met his ears. Screams followed – the screams of men that had been trained not to feel pain, the screams of those steelier than any warrior or mercenary in the province. Arthon knew it wouldn't be long.
He stood from his chair, lifted the heavy blade by its wrapped handle and stood ready in front of the only entrance to the room. Arthon felt no fear, no regret for any of the things he had ordered in his time as one of Martin's Trinity. The blood of many was on his hands, and he would not have it any differently, because someone other than him might have hesitated, or made the wrong decision. In his opinion, he had yet to make an incorrect choice. He did what had to be done to ensure his Emperor's rule.
Silence filled the hall outside of the door, and Arthon wondered for a brief, foolish moment if his men had killed the woman. One of his agents was thrust through the steel door, breaking it off of its hinges. The black armor-clad man was hurled into the back wall of the office, his head twisted around to back of his body and his own blade jutting from his chest.
Mara stepped over the threshold, and looked the man in the eye, seeing her tormentor for the very first time.
"I've been waiting for you," he told her.
"Not very smart for such an intelligent man."
"There would be no need in running from you."
"That's disappointing," Mara said, her features twisting and contorting with a combination of disgust and disappointment. She could finally see his face, and he wasn't what she imagined him to be. "I wanted you to know what it was like to have run, knowing that someone was always looking to kill you. That the next day you could be dead. Tha-"
Zel raised his free hand, stopping her. "Save me the emotional rant. I don't feel like hearing you whine about how hard you've had it over the last while."
Cracking a sudden smile, the woman raised her eyebrows and said, "You're right." She noticed a liquor cabinet on the other side of the room, and through the glass doors she could see a bottle of Sujamma sitting on the bottom shelf, all alone. "Well, will you look at that…"
She crossed the room to the cabinet, opened it up and retrieved the short, wide, square bottle. Forgoing a glass, she brought the mouth to her lips and sipped the golden liquid. It still had a bitter metallic taste to it, and an aftertaste she could not put her finger on, but not one she enjoyed.
The elf watched her from the other side of the room, still gripping his weapon tightly, waiting for her to try and spring toward him or catch him off guard.
Mara set the bottle back in the cabinet and returned her attention to Arthon. "I suppose there's no further need in letting things drag on."
"You do realize, even if you kill me-"
"I know. I'm all but dead already. I can feel my body imploding on itself…"
"And you'll take everyone for miles and miles with you. Is that what you want?"
"Oh, don't worry." She pulled down the collar of her shirt revealing the design carved into her chest, in the shape of a star with its ends connected by curving lines. It was shoddily done, but carved deep in her flesh, with blood seeping out, rolling down her skin. She cringed at the pain that came with the air coming in contact with the wound and said, "I took a knife off of one of your men and did this…"
"Couldn't find any ink?"
Mara shook her head. "It's not a tattoo. It's a sign I learned in a book a few months ago. A teleportation rune."
"Really?"
"Not perfect, but I think it'll get the job done."
"And just what is the purpose of this teleportation rune?"
"It'll take me to the center of the Padomaic, right in the middle of the ocean, halfway between Tamriel and Akavir, where I won't be able to hurt anyone. Before I do that, though, I'm going to make sure to show you your own intestines."
Just inches separated Zel's skull with the ice-spike that was launched toward him as he dropped down into a defensive stance. He deflected the second with the edge of his blade, and rushed toward the young woman, intent on ending the battle before it actually began, before she was able to get any momentum. Mara dodged the blade with a jerk of her head and drove a flaming fist into the mer's side, launching him into the air and sending him back toward the desk against the wall. Arthon was able to shift his weight and land on his feet atop the wood desk. He cast a spell of his own, a Ward, just as a river of fire flowed over his body.
Sweat beaded at his forehead and a long crack ran across the length of the transparent shielding, its strength being tested. The Imperial continued to let the flames flow onto the elf and took several steps forward, increasing the pressure. Before he was cooked alive by the magical heat, another migraine crashed down upon her head and she was brought to her knees by the immense pain. Unable to even think, she stopped casting the spell and reached up to grip her skull.
As soon as he noticed her in the weakened state, Zel moved forward, swinging his blade for her head. She was able to move her head beneath the blade's arc, but the expert swordsman shifted the momentum of the swing with a twist of his hand in midst of the attack and turned the point of the curved weapon toward her neck. All Mara could do was raise her arm to try and protect herself from the piercing thrust, sacrificing the limb and allowing the sharp serrated edge to come into her flesh, slicing through her with ease. Mara cried out, reaching her hand up to grip the side of the man's face in desperation, scorching it with fire.
The skin of his cheek and temple charred black, Arthon stumbled backward, unable to see out of his right eye. Mara drew her dagger and sloppily thrust it into the right side of the Altmer's chest. Still standing, the Imperial Advisor swung on her with his left hand, drilling the woman's skull with his fist. Collapsing to the floor, her headache returning with a vengeance, Mara attempted to gather what was left of her rapidly transforming stable magic and focus it in her right hand. She sent a direct, accurate bolt of electricity into the handle of the knife still jutting from his chest, allowing the energy to flow into Arthon's body with ease. Convulsions and seizures ran through his as the electricity snaked through his body, striking his heart.
Silence returned to the office. The mer fell to the floor, beside her, and Mara stared at him, wide-eyed…
"He's dead…" she mumbled.
Manic, almost psychotic laughter escaped her aching chest and tears rolled down her face. She found humor in the fact that she still felt empty, still felt the nothingness that had filled her when she found Ansen in the lower level, the same feeling she experienced when she found Sindell lying in the dirt beside Renn's farm, the same feeling as when she could do nothing but sit back and watch as Talia attempted to breathe life back into Reli. The emptiness persisted, and so did her laughter.
She couldn't help but find it funny. His death brought her nothing but the feeling of loneliness. A loneliness only amplified by the growing storm of power in her chest, a storm that was reaching its peak. Mara knew if she had to leave immediately, people were going to die.
The rune on her chest began to glow dimly through the fabric of her shirt and she reached over to her right arm, staining her fingers in her own blood. She traced a cicle with of red on the floor around her body, which then began to glow. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she wondered if A'mber and Avery had gotten out, or if they were cut down by the Inspector's that called the keep home. Mara's ability to peer through walls, see what she wanted, was no longer present as her instability increased.
She recalled the dream she had, the one where she stood over the Emperor, having taken his life, with the Imperial City below her, burning. She was glad that never happened. She would die happily knowing that she had not caused anyone harm due to powers she could not control, but was saddened by the fact that so many others gave their lives as well, just so she could live on. Here she was, prepared to die, after the sacrifices they had made.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered, shutting her weary eyes.
The Imperial woman sunk into the portal that had formed beneath her body, leaving the man that had been her adversary, her tormentor, the source of her nightmares, to lie in the intermixing pools of their collective blood, face down. After passing through the portal, Mara was met by the kiss of the sun's warmth on her skin as gravity dragged her down, and then felt the cool water that enveloped her body. Lacking the strength to even attempt to float, she was pulled down into the blackness, staring up at the distorted light of the sun and the sea creatures that coasted about around her. It was much more beautiful than she had originally anticipated; a mix of colors and passing oddities, strange things she had never seen before. She wished she could just capture it all in her sketch book.
Nothing could ward off the sorrow in Talia's heart as she saught some form of comfort in the scenery of the mountains and trees. The unforgiving Skyrim air greeted her as she stepped out onto the balcony of the Black-Heart manor. She almost considered turning around and going back inside when she saw that the balcony was already occupied. Warren stood, leaning against the iron railing, looking down at the graveyard below, the burial place of both his son and daughter, Felsi at his side, running her hand along the length his back. Talia did not feel like company, she wanteed solitude, and turned around to head back to her room, but perhaps she would stop to get a jug of mead first.
She was spotted, though, and Warren called her name. "Talia, wait."
The witch sighed and turned to meet his eyes. "I'm just going back to my room, Warren," she told him.
There was silence for a moment. "You never drink alone when you're in this manor..." Felsi told her, shaking a half-empty bottle of snowberry ale in her hand. "Come and join us."
"I'd rather not..."
"Talia..." Warren looked to her, his eyes pleading. "Come on."
"Would it convince you if I said that we had the last bottle of snowberry ale?" Felsi inquired.
The middle-aged witch thought for a moment, and replied, "Damn you." She stepped out into the cold and took the bottle of pink liquid that was handed to her, and drank the rest of the sweet and sour liqour within just a few seconds.
"How you holding up?" Warren asked, though it was mostly a formality. He knew they were both feeling equally as shitty. He silently corrected himseld; she was beating herself up in addition to mourning.
"I think I'm okay..." she replied. Her lie was obvious.
Felsi reached down, snatching up three of the bottles that sat beside her foot, what Warren had carried up from the cellar. "More liqour will help, I believe." She handed one of those to the mourning mother, knowing all too well what it was like to lose a child. "Drink up." Both women knew that was about as friendly as they would get.
The trio looked out onto the sparse winter trees and rocky landscapes before them. Warren's mind wandered, and he couldn't help but smile at the memories that came to him. Memories that he now could not escape. Memories of his children.
"What's got you smiling?"
He turned to Felsi, his smile growing wider. "Do you remember when Ansen and Reli were younger, and they both were upset with you because you put them on punishment for not finishing their chores?"
"Which time?" the red-headed Nord responded with a chuckle.
"Oh, you know the time I'm talking about..."
Felsi grinned as well.
Talia looked between the pair, wondering what they were speaking of. "What happened?"
Looking up to the sky above, clouds coasting through it peacefully, Felsi started, "Well, you see, Reli was always the rebellious one, so when I told them they could not leave the house until they completed all the tasks I'd given them, she suggested to Ansen that they sneak out and get into trouble with some friends."
"And?"
"Felsi hunted them down like a pair of dogs!" Warren said. "I swear I've never seen a pair of teengars run faster in their lives. I actually heard Reli praying to Talos, telling him she would become an alter-maiden if he struck Felsi down."
Both Warren and Felsi laughed as the memory vividly came to their minds. Talia only watched, clutching the bottle of alcohol close to her chest and seeming to shrink into herself. Guilt ran through her chest for what was probably the thousandth time that morning, knowing that she had no memories of Ansen like the two mercenaries. No memories of her own son besides the few she acquired when he was a babe and the ones gathered during the last few months, with a series of observations from afar in between, check-ins and the like. She hated herself for it. Hated herself for not being a mother. The woman quickly excused herself, turning as well as a person who had comsumed as much liqour as she had could without tipping over, and stumbled back into the manor. She yearned for the cold, dark seclusion once agian.
A'mber awoke from her broken sleep, eyes still weary as the orange light of late evening beamed in through the glass pane that was the window to the bedroom. She didn't have to look very hard to see the woman sitting in the growing darkness in a wood chair, legs crossed at the knees, bitting down on her thumbnail gently in thought. The vampire turned over, burying her face in her pillow, wishing she could get a solid chunk of rest, but knowing she would not.
"You can't sleep either?" Grace asked form the shadows.
"I keep think about them..."
"So do I. I've been up for a while now," the witch said, leaning back into her chair. "I don't think being here is helping any, either."
"So, let's leave. That solves the problem..."
"It's not that easy, remember, darling?"
"Oh, yes. I forgot. We don't have a home to go to," the vampire sighed.
"I've got to build us a new one. Where would you like to live?"
"You've always fancied yourself a carpenter. I dunno', and frankly, don't really care..."
"How about High Rock? A little more comfortable climate."
The Breton was sitting up in bed, staring at her Imperial companion. "You know I don't want to go back there."
"You have to some day..."
"I'm immortal. Does that day have to be so soon?"
"Yes. I'm not immortal, and I won't live forever, A'mber. No one's after you... There's nothing keeping you from returning."
Falling back into the bed, the vampire groaned. "Fine... We'll go."
"Good girl. Try to get some sleep. We'll leave tomorrow..."
"Alright. Wake me when you see the sun..."
Grace watched as A'mber attempted to drift back off to an uncomfortable sleep. Building another home would not be an easy task, but it was one she was not afraid to undertake. She needed something to busy herself with, something to put her mind to, so she wouldn't think of how they had failed their mother. Hopefully, she would be able to convince Talia to come along as well; Grace did not wish for her sister to be alone in such a time. She almost had no idea what to do now that they did not have an objective. The two witch's had clear goals for so long that not having one was almost overwhelming. Witch hunters were far and few in between, meaning they were mostly free to go and do what they pleased. For the first time in a long time, the woman had to decide what to do.
She watched the setting sun, awaiting the arrival of the next day...