Author's note: This is the last real chapter of Broken Vows; there's a short epilogue that I'll post next week. Again, a big thank you to all my readers/reviewers (especially reviewers)! Anticipating your feedback is one of the few good things about my Mondays!

Broken Vows

Chapter 21

For many long days, which I judged by the frequency of the meals that were brought to me, I was left unaware of what was happening. The Inquisition acolyte who brought me my food and water would only say that an investigation was being held. Occasionally, through the wooden door of my cell, I could hear faint screams, and I knew that someone else was being interrogated at the mercy of the Grand Inquisitor.

Since I had nothing else to do, I spent most of my time in prayer. The lack of Mephala's tainted touch under my skin still seemed too good to be true, and I prayed fervently to the Tribunal that it would not return. The Three did not deign to speak to me, or grace me with a sense of their divine presence, but I found peace in the meditative trance, and emerged from it only when food or sleep called to me.

Perhaps two weeks after the hearing, my door opened to admit Elam Andas and an Inquisitor I didn't recognize. I stood slowly, wondering what was coming.

Andas came halfway into the cell and stopped, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm to inform you that you've been sentenced," he said flatly. "Endryn Llethan, the new Archcanon, has reviewed your confession, and the evidence given at your hearing. Taking your... attempt to save Tholer Saryoni's life into consideration--" his mouth twisted unhappily, "-- He has sentenced you to life imprisonment in the Ministry of Truth, and spared you from execution."

I nodded, almost disappointed. I had been hoping, with a grim sort of resolution, for a quick end to my time here, by one way or another. Execution would have been as good a method as any. "What has been happening?" I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

Andas' eyes narrowed. "A Writ for Saryoni was found on Hlaalu's body. A search of the Morag Tong headquarters that you told us about revealed nothing; it's been abandoned. But we found evidence in Saryoni's quarters that..." he grimaced, as if the words tasted unpleasant. "That he had approached the Guild about a Writ for Aroa Nethalen."

I rocked back a step as if he'd struck me. A coughing rasp echoed off the walls of the cell, and I almost didn't recognize it as my own laughter. "All that searching, for weeks, because she had killed Nethalen at the Archcanon's request..." My laughter died, and suddenly I wanted to weep. Amurah had died, ultimately, because she had taken that Writ. And I, foolishly, had tried to save Saryoni's life. "Who requested the Archcanon's death?"

Elam Andas scowled. "Someone who was aware of his corruption, no doubt, but we have no way of knowing. No one can find any of the Morag Tong who were known to be in Vivec. The Temples in Balmora, Ald-ruhn and Sadrith Mora report the same thing. They've all gone into hiding."

I had no reply to that; I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I was rid of Mephala's touch at last, and I bore no love for the Morag Tong... But I wasn't a part of the Tribunal Temple any longer, either, and a little spark of satisfaction flared within me, knowing that they had lost the trail they followed.

The Temple Curate took a step closer. "Is there any information you'd like to volunteer on their whereabouts, Sul?" He asked in a low voice. The light of my single candle glinted in his eyes. "Or shall I call for the Grand Inquisitor and have him force it from you?"

Nonononono! My mind screamed frantically. My body suddenly throbbed with remembered agony in a dozen places. I swallowed roughly, forcing down the panic that threatened to rise up and overwhelm me. "I've told you all I know of the Morag Tong," I told him, struggling to keep my voice calm. "I was simply their pawn, even more so than I was the Temple's, and they never entrusted me with any information that you might find useful."

Andas eyed me for a long, long moment. "I will determine that for myself," he said eventually. "Tomorrow." He glanced at the chains that still dangled from the ceiling, and smiled at me, a slow threat stretching his lips. "Sleep well."

He departed, the Inquisitor closing the door behind the two of them, and left me trembling where I stood. I cannot, I thought, despairing, dropping to my knees and burying my face in my damaged hands. Blessed Poet, please, after I have done everything to atone for my sins, after I have completed the task you set before me, have I not suffered enough? The Grand Inquisitor's cool, impassive face swam blurrily in my vision, and I shuddered uncontrollably. I cannot survive another visit from him. Please...

There was no reply from Vivec, or the others of the Tribunal. I hadn't truly expected one. My panic ebbed away, slowly, to be replaced by a bleak calm. I raised my head and looked around my cell, knowing what I would see: my thin, stained bedroll, the pitcher and mug and empty plate, the chamber pot, and the chains in the ceiling. Nothing that I could use against myself, to spare myself the unending misery at the Grand Inquisitor's hands.

I let out a long, slow breath, thinking. I had no way to kill myself, but perhaps I could force them to kill me, instead...

Too weak, I reminded myself. You'll never pose enough of a threat to make them resort to killing you. I scowled at the ceramic pitcher, rejecting the half-formed idea. It was too fragile, would only shatter against their armor. The chain between my wrists rattled as I clenched my fists, and I stared down at it. A sudden vision flooded my mind, of looping the chain around Elam Andas' neck and twisting it, clinging with all my strength until the Inquisitor was forced to kill me or let Andas choke to death.

It might work, I thought. I wouldn't need much strength to do it properly; once the chain was in place, I needed only to hold it there long enough.

If nothing else, it gave me a sense of purpose, allowed me to take back a measure of control. It was something to try, something I could do to affect my own fate. I rose to my feet and went to the door, settling myself in a crouch against the wall beside it. Andas would likely be the first to come through the door, and he was no fool. He would see the entire cell in one glance, and know there was only one place I could be hiding. I would have to move quickly.

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. I knew, with the calm certainty of a man awaiting his own death, that I would need to rest and hoard my strength for this last act of violence.

I jerked awake some hours later, my heart pounding in the darkness, unsure what had awakened me. I pressed my ear to the door, listening, and thought I heard a far-off shout. I frowned, then tensed at the sound of boots on the stone outside..

"Here," said a low, deathly-cold voice, one I recognized with a spasm of dread. I scrambled back from the door, rising into a crouch, hands raised and ready before me. The door swung open, and I leapt at the first glint of armor that entered. I had a moment to see that it was the Inquisitor himself, not Andas, who began to turn toward me in surprise, but my arms were already outstretched. I flung the short length of chain over his head and hauled back with all my strength, crossing my wrists to twist it and squeezing as hard as I could. The chain sank into his throat with a crackling sound, and he coughed, immediately flinging himself to the side. I was crushed between his armor and the wall, forcing the air from my lungs in a wheeze, but I held on desperately, waiting for someone to come to his aid with a killing blow to my skull.

Nothing happened, except that the Grand Inquisitor's struggles grew weaker, slowly. He beat at me ineffectually with his fists, unable to reach me. The old, familiar battle-elation surged over me, the rush of power that meant I held his life in my hands. I let my knees buckle, putting my full weight behind the makeshift garrote. The Inquisitor went down, nearly pitching me over his head, but I rammed a knee into his armored back. The force of the blow knocked him forward, and he fell face-first onto the ground, taking me with him. I had forgotten about trying to get myself killed, forgotten that I was still awaiting that fatal, unseen blow. The only thing that mattered was ensuring that the Grand Inquisitor's evils would never be repeated.

"No more," I snarled, while he clawed frantically at the chain, fingernails drawing bloody furrows in his own skin. I remembered every torment he'd inflicted on me, every finger he'd mutilated, every burn he'd seared into my skin. I remembered all of them, even the ones that lay buried in the nightmare depths of my memory, and I poured all of the helpless pain and fury they'd induced into a last, furious jerk of the chain. "Never again."

He struck one hand against the floor in a hopeless attempt to roll over and break free, then went limp. I didn't relax, not trusting him; a few seconds later he gave a final, desperately weakened struggle, and then I felt him die beneath me.

Someone was watching me. Waiting for me to stand so they could execute me, no doubt. At least I've taken the Inquisitor with me. Slowly, I released my grip on the body and stood to meet my fate.

A Dunmer woman stood in the shaft of light that spilled through the doorway, with unruly brown curls and a scar that tracked a pale line across one cheek. Our eyes met with an old, familiar jolt, and I staggered back in shock. "Amurah...?"

She smiled and nodded, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. I shook my head, afraid to believe it. "You... I thought you were dead." I was trembling.

She walked forward, slowly. "I know," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Sul... I should have come sooner, but we weren't ready." She paused, just within reach, and I reached with unsteady hands to touch her. After the weeks of agony, her skin was like a cool stream of water under my battered fingers, washing away every torment that I had endured. She filled my senses as she always had, vibrant and real, not the hallucination I'd feared her to be. A knot of grief that had been tightened in my chest since Khuul suddenly loosened, and vanished altogether.

Amurah reached up to gently take my maimed fingers in her hand. "Gods, what have they done to you?"

I had never seen her cry before; it hadn't occurred to me that she could. But a tear slipped from one eye and left a glittering path down her cheek. "It doesn't matter," I told her. "You're alive." I kissed her, feeling a little like crying myself. She flung her arms around me; I caught her face in my hands, my chain dangling between us, and we stood like that for a long moment, content.

Someone cleared his throat from the doorway, startling us apart. Amurah glanced over her shoulder to the shadow in the door, and pulled away from me reluctantly. "We don't have much time," she said, kneeling beside the fallen Inquisitor. "Can you walk, if we get those off you?" She nodded at the chains that still hobbled my ankles.

"Well enough," I said, glancing at the door. "Amurah... I don't understand. How...?" I trailed off helplessly; there were too many questions to ask.

"The scroll of Recall," she said softly, rifling through the Inquisitor's armor. "I used it while they were busy loading you onto the ship. The Guild in Balmora healed me as well as they could, kept me hidden until I was recovered fully."

Understanding dawned, finally. "That's why Andas wouldn't reply when I asked about you," I realized. "I'd thought it meant you were dead, but... They didn't know where you were. And they didn't want me to know it." Anger followed the thought, blazing and furious.

Amurah pulled a ring of keys from the Grand Inquisitor's body and stood up. "The Guild has been divided since... since the Grandmaster's death," she continued, unlocking my manacles. "A few of us were able to break in, and get him to show us where you were being held." She nodded toward the body as she knelt to free my ankles. "We weren't exactly expecting that sort of a welcome from you."

I glanced at the dead Inquisitor and shuddered. "He was coming back for more," I murmured. "I... I couldn't let him do it again. If you had come any later than you did..."

"Not much time, Sister," said a rough voice from the doorway. Amurah tossed my chains aside and stood up, a short steel dagger in her grip.

She pressed it into my hand, closing my stiffened fingers around the hilt. "We're here now," she said, pressing a brief, fierce kiss on my lips. "And we're getting you out of here. Stay between me and Rogdul; we might run into some more guards on the way out. We've got to hurry; they'll be changing watch shifts soon." She strode toward the door, and I followed more slowly, still not entirely convinced that I wasn't dreaming. She's alive...

A tall Orc that I recognized from the Morag Tong hall in the Arena was guarding the door, a huge axe slung against his shoulder. He nodded politely at me, opening his mouth to speak, and then a shout burst out from deeper in the prison. His head whipped around toward the sound, and Amurah tensed. "Let's go," she said in a low voice. "Rogdul, get moving."

The Orc grunted and moved out from my cell, his weapon ready in his hands. I followed, and Amurah was a silent shadow behind me.

The knife was an unfamiliar shape in my hand, and I wish I could say that I made good use of it against the Inquisitors who had welcomed me in my early days at the prison… But when a group of four or five blocked our exit from the prison keep, I was of little help to the assassins, who darted ahead soundlessly to meet the Ordinators. Amurah fought with her short sword flashing in a fluid ease that I recognized, though she seemed a bit slower on her left side. Rogdul's axe swung with a heavier, more brutal strength, and the battle was over before I could do more than hurry a few steps closer.

Rogdul eased open the door to the outer tunnels of the Ministry and peered out, then nodded at Amurah. She motioned me through, and the three of us hurried on. We passed the bodies of several more Inquisitors, and each one sent a greater thrill of satisfaction through me. We saw no one else alive until we came to the exterior door through which I'd passed only three times.

Another assassin was waiting for us, a masked Dunmer with a bow in one hand and several tiny bottles in the other. "They're on their way up," he warned as we approached. "Someone escaped out the lower exit and sounded the alarm before Ulmesi could catch him. Grandmaster," he added, with a polite nod to me.

I stared at him. "What?"

"No time," Amurah reminded me tersely. Shooting the masked assassin a warning glance, she took one of the bottles and handed it to me. "Drink."

The slowfall potion tasted horrible, burning a fiery trail down my throat. I choked it down, eyes watering, while the others did the same. Grimacing, Amurah tossed her emptied bottle aside. "Go," she ordered, and the other two assassins slipped out the door. Shouts drifted in from below.

I caught her arm before she could follow them. "Amurah... Be careful. I can't lose you again."

An emotion shifted in her eyes, one I couldn't name. "You won't," she promised in a whisper. "Stay close."

I nodded, and we stepped out into a moonlight night. We were on the upper end of the catwalk that wrapped around the Ministry of Truth. Farther down the balcony, around the curve of the prison's surface, I could hear sounds of fighting, shouts and clashes of weapons. Rogdul's rough voice was raised in a fierce roar. From the Temple below, little flares of torches and flickers of levitation spells were rising in the darkness toward the prison. The surface of the canton was boiling with the dark shapes of Ordinators pouring out of the Halls of Justice and Wisdom.

Amurah went to the edge of the balcony and peered over the railing. "There goes our quiet escape into the night," she muttered, and turned back to me. "Sul, we have to--"

Behind her, Elam Andas reared up from the darkness, his upraised mace glinting in the moonlight. I seized Amurah's shoulder and shoved her aside, ducking under the swing of his weapon. He leapt over the railing, not bothering with a counterstroke of the mace, simply driving his shoulder into my chest and smashing me back against the wall. My head hit stone, sending fiery spears of pain down my neck. Stunned, I fumbled weakly against Andas as he fisted his left hand in my shirt and drew back his mace.

Amurah recovered her balance and lunged at him, catching the blow on her sword, a handsbreadth from my face. Snarling, Andas shoved me towards her, making her stumble back to avoid slicing into me. Still dazed from my blow to the head, I lost my balance and pitched over the rope that railed the edge of the catwalk. I had an instant's panic before I realized that the slowfall potion had taken effect. I had time to twist and make a desperate grab for the edge of the balcony with my empty left hand, struggling for a good grip with my shortened fingers while the rest of my body swung slowly down to dangle from the edge.

Elam Andas had pressed his advantage when Amurah stumbled. I looked up in time to see him land a solid blow on her left shoulder, making her wince. Grimacing, I managed to haul myself up high enough to hook my elbow over the edge. Reversing my grip on the knife, I made a backhanded swing and buried the blade in the back of his knee between the edges of his armor. He fell with a shout, the movement wrenching him off the knife and nearly forcing me off the edge of the catwalk. Amurah unleashed a powerful kick to the side of his head, strong enough to send him over the railing.

She began to crouch, holding out a hand to help me up, and then her eyes widened, looking past me. Andas' hand clamped around my ankle, and the sudden addition of his weight jerked me free of the balcony. Amurah spat a curse as the two of us fell away, then shouted for the other assassins who were still fighting on the catwalk. I caught a glimpse of her as she dove over the railing after us, before I twisted around, trying to shake Andas off my leg. Instead, I felt his other hand grip me just under my knee as he attempted to pull himself, hand over hand, up the length of my body. We fell, impossibly slowly, while I bent my knees, drawing him closer, and smashed my bare heel into his face.

If I'd been less weakened by my time as a prisoner, it might have been enough to dislodge him; as it was, I only angered him.

"I will not let you escape justice, Sul!" He snarled, and then a gauntleted fist drove into my midsection. The pain made me double over, gasping, and put me almost face-to-face with him, close enough to see the sudden comprehension in his eyes as my knife flashed towards him in the moonlight. I plunged the blade hilt-deep into his temple, and he went limp, dropping away from me without a sound.

The slowfall potion chose that moment to wear out, and the wind suddenly rushed at me as I fell in the darkness. Instinctively, I curled myself into a ball, holding my breath and hoping desperately that I would land in water instead of on the Temple canton.

I hit the waves hard, hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. The water closed over my head and pressed around me, fluid, frigid darkness. I flailed about in a panic, not even knowing if I was upright in the water. Something bumped against my arm; Andas' lifeless body, perhaps. My lungs were burning for air by the time I surfaced, gasping and sputtering.

I was facing away from the Temple, and I struggled to turn myself around so I could see it. Torches still bobbed through the air, more Ordinators hurrying up to the Ministry; they didn't seem to have noticed my fall. Their shouted orders still drifted over the waves.

"Sul!" Amurah was calling me, her voice breathless with effort and worry. I tried to respond, and choked on a sudden inhalation of seawater instead.

"Here," I managed to croak, after coughing up a flood of water. "Over here." I picked out her silhouette, a low, dark shape against the reflection of the moons on the water.

"Can you swim?" She asked tersely. "We're to meet a ship at Ebonheart. It isn't far."

"I'll make it," I said determinedly, and glanced back at the Ministry. "What about the others?" My teeth were beginning to chatter in the aftermath of the struggle, and the near-freezing water.

"They'll be alright. They have their own means of escape planned. This way," she added, beginning to swim westward with long, even strokes. I followed as well as I could, refusing to acknowledge the exhaustion that was beginning to settle into my limbs. The cold and the exertion were taking their toll, however. By the time the lighted walls of the fortress at Ebonheart came into view, I could no longer feel my hands and feet, and my breath was coming in labored gasps.

"We're close," Amurah said, her voice shaky. She wasn't much better off than I, but she shot me a worried glance. I shook my head at her and kept going, gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering.

We reached the edge of the boat-landing, and Amurah clambered out of the water. I was too exhausted to do more than cling to the edge with nerveless fingers, and she had to help me up. A passing Imperial guard looked at us suspiciously; two Dunmer, one ragged and scarred, climbing out of the sea in the middle of the night, was doubtlessly an uncommon sight. Amurah ignored him, helping me stagger across the landing to the ship that waited on the far side.

My knees failed me once I set foot on the vessel, and Amurah stumbled under my weight, shouting for the shipmaster. I let her lower me to the deck, and sat shaking with cold, my knees drawn up against my chest, while several figures began bustling around the ship, making ready to sail.

Amurah returned with two mugs of steaming liquid, and crouched at my side. "Here," she said. "Hot brandy. You need the heat." I took it gratefully, my hands shaking so badly that the drink slopped over the side of the mug. It was scaldingly hot, and I felt better instantly.

A shadow fell over me as the ship began to ease away from the dock, its sails billowing with wind. I looked up to see the scarlet-robed priest of Mephala standing beside me.

"It is finished," he said, with a quiet smile. "You've done well, Sul Daerys."

I stared at him. "This... everything... it was all about Hlaalu? Killing him?"

The priest glanced at Amurah. "Not everything. But that was the general intent of Mephala's plans, yes. He had become corrupted by his work, taking Writs for money rather than to honor the Daedra. He was a knot in the Spider's web, one that the god wanted removed."

"Why? Why me? Couldn't any of the Guild have...?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Mephala wanted you to succeed Hlaalu, Sul. For that to take place, the Grandmaster had to die at your hand."

Stunned, I looked from him to Amurah, the mug of brandy forgotten. Amurah nodded gently. "You took his position for yourself when you killed him," she said. "That's the way it works. Not everyone in the Guild will accept you; a Grandmaster has never been succeeded by one so low-ranking, and a lot of assassins don't think you truly deserve it. We've been divided against each other since it happened. But those of us who adhere to tradition will follow you, Sul."

I shook my head in disbelief. "That's..."

"You need not keep the position," the priest said. "You can step down, and bestow it to whomever you deem fit. But the Webspinner and the Poet have seen something in you that pleases them, and they chose you with good reason." He nodded at Amurah. "The Sister has told me somewhat of your... disagreements with the Guild's methods. This is an opportunity for you to bring changes to the Morag Tong."

A realization fell into place, and understanding was a sudden flash of clarity behind my vision. It was a guess, but I could see the truth of it in his eyes even as I spoke. "You requested the Writ for Saryoni's death."

The priest nodded once, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yes. I told Hlaalu that it was the Spider's wish."

Something in his voice made my mind fill in what he didn't say. "But it was Vivec who spoke to you? Not Mephala?"

His expression hardened, though he spoke as calmly as before. "I do not abuse my position as the Webspinner's servant," he said. "I did her bidding. But I did not tell Hlaalu that it was also Vivec's wish."

"Mephala and Vivec? How can you--?"

The priest raised his eyebrows. "Is Mephala not the Anticipation of Vivec? It is not so hard to believe that their purposes could overlap. You are proof of that yourself."

Overwhelmed, I sat wordlessly for a long moment. Amurah found my hand and squeezed it, and I took comfort in the knowledge that she was at my side. "Why?" I asked finally.

The priest gave a minute shrug, his enigmatic smile widening. "Vivec took pity on you. Perhaps he could see that you were unsuited to life in his service, no matter how you desired it. You remained devoted to the Tribunal, even when Mephala chose to weave you into her web, and he wanted the best for you."

I stared down at my hands, scarred and disfigured, one wrapped in Amurah's fingers and one clenching the mug of brandy. I wondered how my time in the Ministry of Truth, at the mercy of his own servants, was the best Vivec could provide for me. I began to tremble again, overcome by the cold and a storm of emotions I could not name. I slumped sideways, my vision darkening, and felt Amurah catch me before exhaustion claimed me.

----

I awoke later, almost uncomfortably warm, buried beneath a pile of blankets with my arms wrapped around Amurah. Afraid to move and destroy the illusion, find myself back in my cell, I simply lay there listening to her breathe. We were in the tiny cabin on the upper deck of the ship, crowded together into a narrow hammock that rocked gently with the vessel's motion. A single lantern was lit, glinting off a pile of Amurah's weapons against one wall. I had been stripped of my wet clothing, and Amurah and I were both nude beneath the blankets, warming each other through the contact of skin against skin.

She stirred in my arms, and I held my breath, waiting for this dream to evaporate into the pained reality of my prison cell. She opened her eyes, gazing at me wordlessly, and slowly I began to believe that I truly wasn't dreaming.

"Feeling better?" She murmured with a smile.

I raised a hand to stroke her cheek. "Amurah...I thought you'd died. I..." My voice broke as the memory of that vast grief filled me, finally diminishing by the realization that she was alive. "Tell me what happened."

She did, explaining in a low voice how the Ordinators had been occupied with the care of their own wounded, leaving her for dead; how it had given her the chance to use the Recall scroll she'd brought with her to Khuul. She'd arrived at the Morag Tong in Balmora nearly unconscious, but they'd recognized her and healed her, kept her hidden in the boarded-up home of a deceased Guildmember until she'd recovered fully. She'd arrived in Vivec just a day after my hearing, when the city was buzzing with the news and the Guild was reeling from the death of their leader. When she managed to make contact with the assassins who'd gone into hiding, she had convinced some of them, those who believed I was indeed the rightful Grandmaster, to help rescue me from the Ministry.

I couldn't stop myself from touching her while she told her story, as if my hands needed the tactile reassurance of her presence. I needed to know that every inch of her was alive and well. I found the two scars on her stomach: fierce, puckered patches of skin where the crossbow bolts had sunk into her flesh. They were healed, though, and didn't seem to pain her. She did the same to me while she spoke, graceful fingertips tracing all my accumulated scars. When she fell silent, I leaned forward to kiss her gently.

"Do you want to talk about..." She moved a hand to a circular burn on my chest, not quite touching it.

I closed my eyes and drew a shallow breath. Memories of anguish intruded sharply, and I shoved them away. They didn't belong here. The only thing that mattered now was that Amurah was in my arms, alive, and we were free. I wouldn't mar this moment by giving the memories a voice.

"No," I whispered hoarsely. "Not yet."

Amurah nodded. Tears were a faint glimmer under her lashes. "I'll be here. When you're ready."

"I know you will." I kissed her again, long and slow. "And it's more than I dared to hope for."