Author's notes: Oblivion and all its characters, places, events, etcetera are property of Bethesda Softworks. Special thanks to my beta, Pheonicia, who cleans up my grammar errors and typos.

--A--

Chapter Twenty-Nine

--A--

Looking at the glittering blade of the razor in my hand, my mind raced, my heart marking the pace. Amazingly enough, neither Harrow nor Ruma seem to hear it, or to sense any sort of discomfiture on my part. That won't last.

I can't hold a book while I'm fighting…gritting my teeth I braced myself to take action. There's no way this will play out in my favor – I simply have to hit first and hit hardest. "What are you waiting for?" Harrow demanded, his voice cutting across my frantic thoughts like the crack of a whip. "Steel yourself and strike!" he had moved – from the direction and distance of his voice to my ear, I knew he was within strike range.

I only get one change at this. Taking another deep breath I exploded into motion.

Turning sharply on my heel, I grabbed Harrow by the front of his robes with one hand, using the other to dive the knife into his chest, sliding the weapon between his ribs right into his heart. Continuing to drag him around, I used him to block a spell Ruma threw at me, feeling magicka, putrid and foul, slam into Harrow then spill past me like a burst of hot air.

I gave Harrow a shove towards Ruma, who raised her arms to either blast him out of her way, or defend herself from him.

The crowd watching had finally caught on something was wrong, though they seemed unable to react quickly enough.

The ring on my finger burned hot as I concentrated a burst of magicka in my hand – the catalyst which became the grip of Frostreaver. The spell changing my appearance disintegrated as well. Ignoring this I moved forward as Ruma pushed Harrow's corpse away from her, yelping in shock at his sudden fate. She managed to raise her shield as Frostreaver came crashing down, stopping an inch from her forehead. I didn't try to crack her shield – though I was close to doing it, as a silvery gouge appeared around Frostreaver's blade, an icy rime spreading from the mark. The second blow shattered the shield, the off end of the sword sweeping up from the ground.

Ruma yelped as the protective spell broke. The recoil shocked her, disoriented her, so my next strike – from the top down – cleaved her in two, from shoulder to waist. Blood spattered everywhere, surging over the floor as the gathered cultists began to panic.

Well, she and Harrow wanted blood spilled.

Half of the onlookers fled outright as I strode towards the book. Half that moved towards the dais, intending to try to stop me. The remaining quarter stood where they were, either indecisive, too shocked to move, or simply waiting to see whether they could guarantee their side would win.

The Mysterium Xarxes burned my hand slightly as I touched it – though not a damaging burn. Just the sense of heat and irritation. I can't fight with this thing in my hand…

No sooner had I lifted the book from its place then a loud crack, a grinding rumble and a strangled scream behind me made me jump. Turning sharply, looking for the source of the noise I overbalanced, knocking mercilessly into the table upon which the Mysterium Xarxes had lain. I was just in time to see the statue of Mehrunes Dagon wobble, then begin to tip, tip tip…oh no…

I screamed, casting up a hand to cover my eyes, sliding to the floor, back scraping along the table against which I wedged myself. All around me the cultist's shrieks, but the muffled sounds of the Argonian went silent in the sonorous noise of the statue's sudden collapse.

Booby trap. I just killed the hostage...

The statue hit the ground, crushing the Argonian like a bug. A thick cloud of choking dust and dirt filled the air, making me cough as I got to my feet, shoving the Mysterium Xarxes into the safest, most secure place I had: down the front of my robe, held near my torso by the tightly cinched belt. My skin crawled, burned and prickled form the contact – only then I realized the hand with which I'd gripped the book had truly burned – though not to the point of rendering it useless.

I need my hands – I'll just have to cope.

Unable to do anything more for the Argonian - I can't believe I killed…got him killed him - I made for the stairs, summoning my armor, which pulled right as it manifested, the Mysterium Xarxes changing the fit of my chainmail, making it far snugger than it should be. Trying not to breathe in the dust, desperate to see through watering eyes, I struggled to my feet, dodging to the left as one cultist came vaulting up the stairs, apparently under the impression I was hurt.

Well, I had screamed.

Frostreaver slid through him, making him gasp. Pivoting smoothly, I flung him away, momentum sliding off the blade like a sausage from a skewer to land in a crumpled heap onto the other side of the dais.

The Mysterium Xarxes continued to burn, and to jostle me, as if it had a life of its own, a will of its own…and as if it knew I wasn't one of the faithful, that I was an enemy, and it had to stop me.

I wish the Amulet of Kings was so persistent with thieves.

Reaching the bottom of the short flight of stairs, I found more cultists - some whose courage had returned, some who were smart enough to hang back and assess the threat. Panting I raised Frostreaver. I'm in luck – there's only eight or so of them – less than twelve. Less than twenty-four. Thank goodness for small blessings.

"You cannot win." One woman said coldly, glaring icy daggers at me. "Give me the book."

"Can't win, huh? Last I counted…I've got a body count of about five…you guys. None. Where's my math gone wrong?" It's so simply even I can't mess it up. "Have you ever tried to fight something like this," I hefted Frostreaver, "with one of those dinky knives?" I asked, seeking to scare off as many of the weaker members as I could. I'm only one woman, after all, – they're right about that. I can't kill twelve people all at once, or even fight twelve at once –that's ridiculous."I'll give you a hint – it doesn't end well for you…"

Two of the men launched themselves at me. One of them managed to throw himself onto Frostreaver, his momentum carrying us both to the ground, his corpse rendering the weapon ineffective. His colleague a few seconds behind summoned his armor and a weapon as I fell back. As I struggled to my feet, freeing my weapon from the corpse, his mace caught me in the ribs, a glancing blow, because of Frostreaver's position.

But it wasn't fast enough, wasn't enough to stop the attack.

Falling sideways I screamed, in pain and fury as I forced myself back up, blocking his next blow, my side screaming, the book burning. A moment later I turned the off end shedding sparks as it raked across his chest before I jabbed the other end through the gap between his chin and breastplate.

The ribs are cracked, if not broken. I know it, just from how hard it is to move…dammit. Still, I've got one arm, and some mobility left in my hurt side – but not enough to help, I don't think. It'll have to be enough. Sweat dropped into my eyes as I repelled another attack, forced to fight on the defensive, having lost my ability to make unpredictable springs forward.

However, the Mysterium Xarxes benefitted me in that it eventually shifted so it lay across my injured side, the armor pulling tight around the injury, the book bracing it. Not the best way to fix a wound, but it helped a little –and even a little is better than nothing at all.

Unfortunately, blood began to seep through the links in my mail, to the delight of the cultists.

Time ceased to retain meaning. One thing at a time.

--A--

It's cold. And filthy…pain screamed through my torso as I tried to move.

Despite the pain, my fingers clenched around Frostreaver's grip. I'm still in the shrine. But I'm obviously alive…

Sitting up, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light – though less time than I expected. The Mysterium Xarxes now had my skin feeling raw, almost like a sunburn. Blood still oozed through my chainmail, but slowly, as if the wound beneath had finally closed itself, or was sufficiently muffled by the Mysterium Xarxes…can that thing cauterize a wound?

Getting slowly to my knees I resisted the urge to throw up, though nausea and bile rose in my throat. Clamping my hand over my mouth my eyes found bodies. Lots of them. Why am I still alive? If I went down, they should have killed me. Not left me to recover…

Oh wait, no, no they didn't overwhelm me. I must have passed out, once the fight was over.

Details seeped back as I knelt, hanging on Frostreaver, unsure of my ability to get to my feet.

They surrounded me, I couldn't take the offensive, the injuries were too bad. Are too bad. But one of them got stupid – a mage. He…She? No, she. She thought she had a clear shot at me. She even had a clear shot…unfortunately, when I threw myself to the ground, her spell took out half the people standing behind me. Shock and confusion spread amongst the cultists –they wanted to kill me. They had to stop her, lest she kill anyone else, trying to squish me like a bug without regard for her teammates …it all gets sort of confusing after that. Then I was slammed back by a spell's shockwave…and woke up here.

Well, I did say they weren't the smartest bunch of people.

Looking back over my shoulder I found a patch of something dark on the wall behind me. Reaching up gingerly, I found my hair matted with dried blood. Damn. I should have gone back for reinforcements. The spark of irritation blossomed like blood in water as I forced myself to my feet. The haze of anger and pain, coupled with my sudden return to standing was too much. I collapsed back to my knees and vomited.

Collapsing back to a sitting position, I wiped my mouth as best I could, heat creeping through my body. Ugh…I feel like I just got out of an Oblivion Gate.

So now what?

More slowly, I got to my feet, leaning on Frostreaver awkwardly. It'll be easier if I could dismiss my armor – make it easier to move. But it makes me vulnerable, I'm not sure I could summon the magicka needed to call it again.

Leaning on a rock I tried to call power into my fingertips, a magelight, for company if I can managed it…but nothing happened.

Damn. I'm back to a Mundane. Stupid…stupid. My eyes burned with tears, as memory of the dead Argonian, trapped beneath all that rubble swarmed back. The statue collapsed when I took the book…a booby trap.

Why didn't I think of that? If I'd paid more attention…if I hadn't been so eager to get a hold of some kind of collateral for the Amulet of Kings, maybe I could have…could have saved him…

This thought made my throat lock up, and a moment later, I slid off the rock, letting Frostreaver fall to the ground. Drawing my knees up as best I could, ribs screaming, I dropped my head onto my arms and began to cry.

It won't help the situation…but the tears came anyway.

From pain. From fear. From helplessness…

Maybe there's a reason my brothers are the way they are…I mean, a real, valid, really good reason, past the one I've always accepted.

What am I doing here? I don't belong here.

Darkness and the chill of the cavern began to press in on me.

I want to go home. I hurt. I don't think I've ever felt so alone.

--A--

Chapel.

Opening my eyes a little wider, struggling to sit up, I realized I was in a chapel, and dying of thirst.

"Oh, you're awake!" One of the healers bustled over to me, incongruous to the post, I felt, as he was possibly bigger than my brothers – decidedly a Nord – but was beaming almost too pleasantly at me. He also handed me a glass of water, with instructions to drink it down.

I hardly needed encouragement until it came time to swallow the liquid – significantly harder than I expected.

Oooh…just let me die already…

"You mustn't exert yourself," he began firmly when I finally drained the cup, handed it back and began to take stock of how best to get out of here. The Xarxes' theft isn't going to stay secret long – if they come after me to get it back, I'd rather have them come to Cloud Ruler Temple where there's lots of Blades and mages than have tem hit the chapel.

"I have to go." I choked out, my throat feeling raw and sore, like the precursor to a cold.

"Go? My dear child," a massive hand pressed on my shoulder, "look at you! The city watch practically carried you here! You're hurt, you need to rest."

"I need to get back…" I managed to keep something like a snarl out of my voice. Whatever it is, it scratched at my throat, like the claws of a bad cold "I have to go…I can't stay here." And I can't tell you why. You're safer not knowing.

"Oh yes you will stay here," the Nord asserted. "Now, is there someone I can tell that you're here? Do you belong to any of the guilds? Sit."

I gasped in pain as he pushed harder on my shoulder, as well as from sudden fatigue as the priest used a spell to drain my strength, until I flopped helplessly back onto the low bed. A moment later another healer bustled over and between the two of them they returned me to a more comfortable reclining position. I noticed here that while I still had my trousers, my top was no more than several layers of snugly-wrapped linen bandages – and a heavy pad of gauze over my ribs. "Fighters' Guild," I slurred around the effects of the spell. "But don't send for them…"

"Ah, I see. Charity, will you let them know we've got one of their girls?" The priest asked his assistant.

She gave me a pitying look before sweeping off.

"No don't bother…" I tried to protest. I'm not on the greatest terms with the local guildhall. You can't like everyone, and everyone certainly doesn't like me. I shall try to restrain my tears. I'd be better off trying to restrain my sarcasm. "I…what's your name?" I managed to ask, nearly blacking out from dizziness and his damned spell.

"Hil," he answered.

What else? "Hil…I can't stay here…It's important…where's my bag?" A surge of panicked energy, unexpected, terrifying, but welcome allowed me to sit up quickly.

Hil jumped as I tried to scramble out of bed, succeeding only in getting tangled in my sheets, falling over the side and landing with a pained screech and a thump. Bandaged ribs – not healed. "As you have undoubtedly noticed, we haven't healed your ribs just yet – it's not the ribs we're worried about. It's the burns you've sustained…" Hil began.

"Where's my thrice-damned bag?!" I hissed, feeling heat rise to my face. Whoa – my hands are both bandaged too, how did I miss that?

The color drained from Hil's face, his eyes popping as I managed to free myself to kneel on the ground, dragging my knuckles against the stone, wincing as I did so. As if I don't have enough injuries… "It's under your bed…"

Fumbling, my head pounding with pain, I found the bag, lying under my bed. I liberated my pack from the little room in which I'd changed into my Mythic Dawn robes so I wouldn't have to carry the Mysterium Xarxes back to Bruma in my shirt. Thank goodness I did. The book still buzzed inside the bag, malevolent and skin-prickling. Just holding the bag, feeling the shape of the book inside made my burns act up.

With a groan I leaned against the bed, my sweaty brow hot against the cool sheets, glad to let the book and bag lie under the bed for the time being. "Oh…good..." I mumbled. "It's good…" it's safe. I can't even guarantee the remaining members of the Mythic Dawn won't come looking for it…

"What's your name, child?" Hil asked, though he didn't try to help me back up onto the bed.

"Ailirah," I breathed.

"Ailirah – will you tell me what happened to you?"

"Got in a fight," I answered evasively as the amplified feeling of burning began to ease.

"The burns?" Hil pressed.

Lifting my head I smiled sadly at him. "I close Oblivion Gates, Hil – you're going to get burned, if you go into one. The burns are Daedric burns." Technically I suppose this is true. I hate lying to the clergy – I always get the feeling they know when I do.

Martin knows something about Daedric stuff, and he's a priest…he'll know how to fix them.

"You…" Hil blinked in shock.

"Yeah…and…I have three outside this city I need to do…it's still three, right?" I asked blearily. I saw the lights in and out of the travel to the city – ten again, I was in such a bad way towards the end, there could have been nine gates and I couldn't have kept count.

I'll come back once I can fight again.

"Ailirah!" Looking up I saw Ohtimbar shuffling towards me. "What are you doing here...?"

"Go away." I pointed fiercely at him.

Ohtimbar is a slug – I don't like him at all. I think he's a freeloader, a party-boy, and if he didn't have some value, I'd make noise about convincing him to find a place more suitable to his talents. Like the supposed 'thieves' guild'. He left the Arena to begin with, or I'd say go there.

Ohtimbar stopped in his tracks, looking uncomfortable. He knows I don't like him much, even if I usually retain a polite demeanor. "Ah…Ailirah?"

"I said go," I growled, a tremor of harshness seeping into my tone as I suddenly found myself able to stand up - though not without pain, screaming pain in my side, dulled by the boiling anger…why am I so angry? It's not like me at all!

Leaning on the bed frame I glowered. "Unless you've got news from the Guildmaster, Ohtimbar, just go away."

"Now," Hil began.

"Ohtimbar and I don't get along, Hil – I know you meant well sending for one of my guildmates, but I assure you, it's not necessary." Why am I so angry all of a sudden? He's a slug and I don't like him, but he's not worth this amount of energy.

Ohtimbar left, as requested. Turning to Hil I heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry to be such a cantankerous patient, Hil, but I can't stay here. I'm on a job for the Guild, and it is time sensitive." The attempt to remain diplomatic nearly broke my wavering composure.

"You crawl into the city half-killed and you think you can just walk out of here?" Hil asked, arching his eyebrows.

"I can get proper care once I'm in Bruma – I just need to get there," I responded as reasonably as I could, shaking from the effort to reign in my temper, though perhaps as much from the pain. "Please, just patch me up, and I'll be on my way. You know what caused the burns, what's the complication?" The effort to retain reason, when a maelstrom of anger and pain swirled in my head, pounding behind my eyes almost broke something inside of me.

What the hell is wrong with me? It's starting to scare me.

--A--

--Author's notes, appended--

With the amount of fuss Martin makes during game play about 'that evil book', I couldn't understand why transporting it had no ill effects on the character. So we now have ill-effects for the Mysterium Xarxes, based on the theory of "Mehrunes Dagon is the Daedric Prince of Change".