Author's notes: Oblivion and all its characters, places, events, etcetera are property of Bethesda Softworks.

Special thanks to L'Ankou, tsp159, and Fire Kunai for feedback and encouragement!

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Chapter Thirty-Six: Dispatching the Tong

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"So - what exactly do you know about the Morag Tong?" Lucien asked, once we were both on horseback, and well outside of Cheydinhal. I had rented a mount for the trip, and Lucien had Shadowmere – who did not like my borrowed mount anywhere near her.

"They're public enemy number two," I answered comfortably.

"Only two?"

"Well, they don't live in Cyrodiil, do they?" I smirked. I was, of course, referring to Adamus Phillida.

He looked for a moment like he was going to ask 'whose number one' then stopped and smiled. "Very good. I assume you know our…history?"

I nodded. "You assume correctly."

"Good – because that's who we're after today. Normally I'd..." he stopped.

I kicked my horse to walk a little faster, but said nothing. I could hear Elrick's name in the offing. Then I made a snap decision. "Tell me about him," I looked over at Lucien.

"Who?" it was a warning question – that this was not a topic he wanted to get into with me.

"Elrick. You knew him better than I did. He seemed…a very likable sort. He used to call me Little Sister – do you know that?" I smiled brightly.

"He would," Lucien's smirk indicated he knew something I didn't, about that.

"Why's that?" I asked with polite interest. I can't believe he's going to fall for this…unless some part of him wants to. Still…I'm this close to doing to Lucien what he's always doing to me: subtle manipulation.

Lucien smirked slightly. "Elrick has a thing for girls with green eyes."

"Ah," I chuckled at this. "That explains it."

--S--

Lucien led the way – and we talked. Well, I probably talked more, because guys are not exactly the chattiest creatures. But when Lucien talks, he's generally got something to say. He seemed almost...happy to be out and on his way to deeds nefarious. We talked about Elrick. We bashed the Listener, just a little bit – an idiot Bosmer, apparently.

It was getting on past noon when I started humming –we'd both been quiet for a stretch and it was finally getting to me. I don't mind quiet when I'm studying, or on a job…but when there's no strict need for it, it grates on my nerves. It surprised me a little that at no point was I commanded to silence. I had thought that he'd tell me to shut up within fifteen minutes.

That was when I started to sing – albeit quietly. I like to sing, as I've said, and it's been awhile since I was able to do it on the road. My horse persisted in prancing about as I did so, so I really had my hands full – literally. But it was an enjoyable trip.

--S--

I had no idea where we were, once were stopped to have a planning session. With my horse tethered to a tree and Shadowmere grazing silently on her own, Lucien and I had lunch and planned. Apparently, there were two Morag Tong agents, who had crossed into Cyrodiil. They'd been lurking for several days, and with any luck, would still be there. He wouldn't tell me what questions he wanted to ask them, but I figured that if all I was was a lookout, he hardly needed to tell me. I wasn't exactly a participant, and therefore did not need to know.

Apparently, this is how it is: you don't just cross into the other factions' territory and think you get in unnoticed – they're just as dogmatic about killing us – and I was told without Lucien actually saying it, that my suspicions of extra agents or lookouts was probably quite accurate. I didn't grin at this, merely nodded and considered what I'd need to do to make sure we both walked away –because apparently we were going to be operating very close to the Morrowind-Cyrodiil border, and that required care.

--S--

We came upon them as they were sleeping. There were two – though I was to remain vigilant, in case there were more. Well, I say 'they' were sleeping. One was half-awake, an apprentice, or so it seemed to me, to the Dunmer who was resting. It was the apprentice that Lucien got rid of first – the one least likely to know anything.

Actually, I was the one who lured him out. It's amazing what a few well-placed illusions can do in getting a person to come to you. Once he was sufficiently distanced from his master – knife drawn in case I turned out to be more of flesh and less of fantasy after all, it was an easy matter of Lucien to come up behind him, gag him with one hand and snuff his life with a dagger in the other.

Very efficient, though I didn't say so. I cast detect life and looked around – still nothing, and the radius was fairly good. I had an uncomfortable prickle, a tingle in my guts that had nothing to do with death, or nerves, or anything like that. It was a hunch, a nasty, creeping suspicion that I was right to be vigilant, and no matter how much I wanted to eavesdrop on and watch the interrogation…I had to keep my eyes peeled.

The moons cast a ghostly dusting over the landscape, as I found a rock upon which I could stand, and keep the watch. I could see Lucien and the Dunmer, I could see the mountainous terrain to the north, jutting up against the sky: black behind blackest. It was here that I noticed that there were no small-sounds - no crickets, no birds, none of the night-noises one generally associated with out-of-the-way campsites, which only served to heighten my sense of unease.

I cast nighteye over myself as well, hoping to see whatever might be out there, before it came into the radius of my detect-life spell, but still, nothing.

Lucien's work was exacting, I noticed as I took a few minutes to watch. I couldn't even hear the questions, but I did realize very quickly that he was using a silence spell, on and off, to keep the Dunmer quiet, except when bidden to answer. That's a particularly exacting use of power, by the way. You have to admire his spellcraft.

I smiled as I looked around again, turning in a full circle on my rock to do so.

Back to Lucien and the unlucky Dunmer – whatever answer the latter had given, Lucien didn't like it. His face was a mask of cold indifference that oddly, didn't bother me. Nor did it bother me to watch the play of knife work.

I checked again and this time I saw something move.

I see you there…

I glanced back to Lucien. He had his back to the movement – which was still outside my detect-life spell. No – let the assassin get a little closer. Just a little – they'll want to watch…there's a chance they haven't seen me yet.

I sat down on my rock and willed the shadows to close around me - Lucien would be able to see me just fine…but at a distance, I'd look like nothing more than a hole in the landscape, or even part of the rock. Unless they were using a detect-life spell themselves, which was entirely possible.

I continued to watch the motion, and soon, it came within range of my detect-life spell. "How's it coming?" I asked softly.

"Slowly."

"Yes, I noticed…" I answered blandly. I could tell that we could be here a while, and I continued to watch the little life force shimmering in the distance, whoever they were, they were on their belly, and moving slowly forward, slithering like the snake they were. I glanced over at Lucien, he was asking a question again, I could hear the rumble of his voice, and for a moment the ragged panting of the Dunmer.

I looked back to the other agent. He...or she…had stopped moving, lying in the grass. It must be hard, knowing that his or her master was being tortured, and they were just laying there, unable to intervene…but his back is to you…come a little closer…and I'll remove that burden from your mind.

You'll never have to worry again.

Lucien sighed and clicked his tongue as if in disappointment and there was the start of a whimper of pain that was cut off almost immediately. "How's it look?" Lucien asked, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Dark," I answered, much in the same fashion as he'd answered me. It would arouse less suspicion that way.

"Yes, I had noticed," he retorted, but took this to mean that everything was under control, and as it should be.

Well, that's true, to a certain point of view. The wind shifted and I caught the tang of blood. Or maybe I was just now noticing it – all my concentration as on the Morag Tong agent creeping towards us again. I moved slightly on my rock, and Lucien didn't notice. He was too busy with what he was doing…

I looked back to the life-force. It had stopped again. I could almost see invisible eyes in a faceless head looking around, calculating, trying to see if they could successfully reach the Dark Brotherhood agent…and kill him…before detection, before the Dunmer was dead.

Though whether said Dunmer would be of any use to anyone at this point, I wasn't sure. I had the feeling Lucien might just be playing cat and mouse here. But I understood, at least philosophically, why. Being trapped behind a desk – more or less - and then being released into the wilds? That's a recipe for distraction.

It's good I'm here to keep a discreet eye on things.

There was a nasty sound, a wet squelch and then Lucien rose to his feet. I looked back at my mark, which put my back to Lucien, and I felt a calm settle over me. The agent had stopped moving again.

Shadowmere and my horse were tethered some way away, and I knew Shadowmere didn't like it – though I was reasonably sure that two black horses in the dark might be overlooked. Particularly as Shadowmere is…an unusual creature, to say the least. She had whickered in annoyance at Lucien the whole time he was tying her up, despite his gentle request for understanding.

If he sweet talked people half as well as he does that horse…Valerian, Vicente's friend, would have had it just about right. "Are you quite finished?" I asked quietly, not willing to give myself away just yet.

I don't know what it was. I wasn't smiling, I was simply sitting there, watching Lucien make an enormous mess – it had to be an enormous mess - and I resisted the urge to curl my lip. Not at Lucien though, I just wasn't much for messy killings. I'd sooner charm a person into telling me what I wanted to know – it saves time. But not everyone has a delicate touch –though I don't mean to imply that his knife work was sloppy. Quite the contrary.

If I had ever doubted that Lucien was an artist in the realm of assassination and murder, all doubt would have been removed – he's as exacting as I am during the actual follow-though, whereas my exacting lies in the plans, so everything falls together like shuffled cards.

I rose from my rock and moved so that it was screening me mostly from view, and so I could still see the creeping life-force.

"You don't approve?" Lucien's voice was light, and vaguely sardonic. His eyes glinted slightly in the blue-light that enabled me to see.

I glanced over at him and shook my head. I didn't care about the now-corpse. It didn't even unsettle me that Lucien had just carved a man to ribbons and probably enjoyed himself, if the spatters of blood all over his face and armor were any indication. In fact, I was very sure he had – though not, perhaps, the same was Gogron does.

I now had my attention divided – the creeping agent had stopped again, and I was sure they were trying to figure out if Lucien was monologing to himself, or to an actual person. It would be hard for them to tell, and spellwork might betray their position, if they had the skill.

"You're getting sloppy, Speaker. Damn sloppy. Get cleaned up – I'll take care of the mess," and with that I walked into the darkness and heard Lucien chuckle. I think he's missed the joke, to be honest – but he walked towards Shadowmere to fetch his canteen. It's not a good idea to ride around with blood all over your face.

I slipped into the darkness, as close to invisible as I could ever hope to be. All I had to worry about was a detect life spell – but I don't think my mark had the ability to cast it. Or they would already be aware of me, and would be running away, to bring the tale back it his masters.

Lucien perched on my rock as I doubled back around the agent, so that I could approach from behind. I glanced back – Lucien looked like such a perfect target – well, almost perfect, as he had his profile to us. Even though we had doused the fire before he'd begun his queries, nighteye rendered that immaterial.

The agent was moving faster now as I slipped up closer behind. I knew that this was where they would have revenge in mind – though they'd never get a change to strike.

A moment later I pounced.

Lucien shot to his feet, but it didn't matter. My mark cushioned my fall, the heavy blow of a suddenly falling body impacting stunned…her…and a moment later she was dead, her throat gaping and spewing blood into the grass. The tangy copper smell boiled up on the air and the nasty, niggling sensation I'd been going on was suddenly gone.

I got to my feet and gave Sufferthorn a good shake to send any remaining blood flying into the air. Hopefully, wild animals will scavenge the bodies. Only the Tong would ever know how these people really died. I wondered if I could try summoning a scamp or something – it's a very basic conjuration, but not one I think I've ever used. I despise scamps on principle – more so after my stint in Oblivion. But that doesn't mean I discount their usefulness entirely. This would be a job for scamps…as far as the spell goes, I've seen it done a few times…but well, I lack the confidence.

If Lucien wants clean cleanup, he'll have to do it.

"How long did you know that was out there?" Lucien asked, eyeing me quite calmly, though his hand was still on the knife at his hip. His posture radiated a sort of nervousness, as close to being startled as you'd ever see him.

"Long enough," I shrugged "You missed a spot, just there," I tapped my face to the corresponding spot.

"Mm," came the bemused, but noncommittal answer.

I prowled over to the corpse of the Dunmer and looked: it was a very precise job. It would have made a normal person a little queasy to see, let alone see it in progress, so I shall spare the detail – even I was a little glad that nighteye leeches out all color, rendering things blue and black, nothing in between. But the smell was pretty thick.

It came to me as I stood there, that I simply don't enjoy lengthy killings. I've always believed that efficiency was my strength. Like a hawk flown at a mark: it knows its quarry, it kills it quickly and returns to the master's glove for its reward.

Call it my inner bean counter.

I looked back at Lucien –well, following the allegory, I suppose his is the glove I hail to these days, though it would never do to tell him that. He'd just twist it to his own ends, and I'd lose whatever advantage I have in our little game.

And that wouldn't be fun. I smiled and stepped back from the body.

It also struck me here that Lucien really does need to be walked regularly, just like the rest of us. And when an assassin is walked…properly walked…it generally involved a corpse or two in their wake.

"I thought you were going to handle cleanup," Lucien said from just behind my shoulder.

I flinched but didn't jump or start. I glanced back – six inches of separation, shoulder to shoulder – he was standing catty-corner to me, so he had a clear view of more than just the back of m y head. "If you want a clean cleanup, summon up a couple of scamps," I said mildly. "If you want a charbroiled cleanup…I'll be happy to oblige you," I raised a hand and Lucien chuckled.

I ignored the implication – it didn't bother me in the slightest – for I had realized some time ago, that those sort of jokes only work if the person in my shoes reacts to it. Point to Sarielle.

"Save it – I don't want you burning down half the borderlands."

"What you really mean, is that you don't want sparks to scorch your precious hide," I responded coolly, but still joking.

Lucien reached over and rested a hand on my far shoulder, and leaned over. "Are you getting attached to me, Sarielle?"

I chuckled, and it was a truly dark and sinister sound - I felt his hand twitch in an involuntary way. I plucked his hand delicately off my shoulder and stepped back, out of reach and bowed slightly. "Walk always in the shadow of death, Brother," and turned back to the corpse. "Leave them for the wild beasts, then?"

"Lend me a hand, and I'll see to it," Lucien said simply, but his tone implied that I was being no fun.

Which I took to mean I was actually winning for once.

I held up a hand and he took it and raised the other.

Now, this may seem odd, but in fact, it's not. Magicka can be channeled –what he was actually saying was that to do a thorough job, it required more resources than he had readily available - and that the casting required the loan of mine. It's a mage's thing, but I didn't think that self-taught mages – the ones who are not guild-trained at any point – were very good at it.

I was surprised - he wasn't.

"You're going to drain me dry…" I said a moment later and pulled free, breaking the link, shivering slightly and massaging my cold fingers. "Here…you worry about the summon, I'll handle the resources…" it was true, the clumsy attempt to pull power was like having my arm wrenched, and it made me break out in a cold sweat. I let him have my hand again.

I took a moment to steady myself. I glanced over at Lucien, his expression was impassive. "On three…" I counted down and let magicka flow into my fingertips, as I would for any spell, but rather than stop and become an actual spell, the power flowed out of my hand and into his. It would move up his arm and he would redirect it from there, as if it had been his power the whole time.

I heard the signs uttered and closed my eyes to make sure that the flow of power didn't falter. That's another sign of a badly-trained or self-taught mage: when an uplink like this falters. It can also have bad effects on whoever's drawing the additional magicka – like having something snap back at you.

"There."

I slowed the power flow, and it thinned to a trickle then broke off entirely – carefully withdrawn so as not to cause dizziness or other power-drain symptoms, and then I let go of Lucien's hand. I looked. Already the half-dozen scamps were falling upon the food. "You never trained as a mage, did you?" I asked mildly, watching the little wretches gorge themselves on the meat.

"How did you know?"

I smiled, catlike, and shrugged. "A hunch," he might have the rest of the world fooled, but not me.

"Keep it under your hat, hmm?"

"What are friends for?" I asked benignly.

--Author's notes appended—

The theory of mages 'chained' together to create more expansive spells/effects goes back to the theory that one alone couldn't perform the necessary spells that you'll find on places like the Sanctuary, just as if you put several individuals casting separately, you could wind up with magical 'gaps', easy to exploit. This explains, further, the kind of damage it would take to break the enchantments on the Kvatch Sanctuary, which was warded similarly. It's my explanation for a complex concept – and Sarielle is not skilled in conjuration. Lucien, having been spelling his target, would have had a lowered magicka count – to use the in-game reference – and would have needed to either recharge, or pull magicka from somewhere else.