.
SIARI
Breaching Security
Near Falkreath
"I could have sworn I heard something," Veezara said quietly to Siari after she'd given him a questioning look at his skittish behaviour. "And it's not the first time."
Siari put her hands on her forehead, making her index and middle fingers protrude upwards.
"No, not a deer," Veezara said quietly, still looking out at the foliage behind them. "Deer don't follow people."
They remained still for a few minutes, listening intently, but everything remained silent.
"Hm," Veezara said at length. "Must have been my imagination."
Siari felt like telling him those words almost always came before a silent takedown, but she couldn't be bothered to write that all down, so she just shrugged, finished her rabbit leg and tossed the bone in the grass. After their brief dinner pause, they set off to finish the walk back to Sanctuary. They'd made the journey back from Solitude together, after Siari had changed back into her leathers and leaving the torn dress with sadness in her heart. Veezara had promised to steal her another one, and he had better make good on that promise. Veezara had been exceptionally jumpy the entire journey back, especially once they'd gotten back to the more wooded part of Skyrim, constantly looking over his shoulder and occasionally stopping to listen. Siari had never travelled with him before, so she didn't know if that was normal for him, but she figured that wasn't likely. Maybe he was just nervous. Everyone was these days.
Her hand throbbed, the knuckle of her little finger now done with bleeding, but still painful, and when she'd changed the bandage a few hours before, the wound had still been an angry cauliflower of red. Perhaps Gabrielle had some kind of ointment to ease the pain.
They reached Sanctuary not long after, Siari's feelings at returning home were mixed, but it was always nice to have a few hours of rest and company after a job, even despite all the tensions.
"Here we are," Veezara announced. "I assume you're eager to jump into one of those hot baths you warm-bloods enjoy so much?"
Siari wanted to make a joke about him lying on a rock in the sun, but it was nowhere near funny enough to bother with the writing for.
"Astrid will definitely be glad to hear – "
The door to Sanctuary flew open, and a rush of garish colours flew out, smacking right into Siari and bowling her over. The next moment, a man with long white hair leapt over her, his bare feet only centimetres from her face. She heard a cry of pain and as she got to her hands and knees, winded from the impact, she saw Arnbjorn tumble to the ground, a dagger in his leg.
"Chicken legs!" he snarled at her, trying to get up, but going down again as his wounded leg buckled underneath him. "Get that damn jester, he murdered Astrid! Get him!"
A cold feeling of terror sunk into her stomach, to her own susprise. Astrid, murdered? She'd always thought she'd see Astrid's death as regrettable but necessary, but she was baffled to find that hearing of it made her feel horrible.
Veezara gave a quick nod, said, "I'll get him," and rushed after the jester, into the woods.
Siari gave Arnbjorn a wild and frightened look and mouthed, Astrid?
"Help me inside," he growled. "I should be with her in her last moments."
The man weighed as much as a mammoth, but thankfully, he could still use his one leg, and she was able to support him enough to take him back inside, her heart pounding from both the exertion and the emotion.
The door to Sanctuary opened, and the anxiety fell off her, its weight almost physically gone. Astrid sat on a chair, her arms crossed on its back, and her upper body stripped to the breast bindings. Gabriella stood behind her, smearing her green ointment on Astrid's shoulder.
"Siari," Astrid breathed, her voice weary and pained. "Good to see you've returned safely."
"She'll be fine, Arnbjorn," Gabriella assured the huge man who still leaned on Siari's small frame. "Cicero couldn't even kill a sleeping paraplegic."
"Although it seems he throws better than he stabs," Astrid pointed out, nudging her chin at her husband's leg.
Arnbjorn's weight came off her, and the man stumbled over to Astrid, clumsily kneeled at her chair, and wrapped his arms around her.
Gabriella noticed Siari's probably very obvious confusion and explained, "Cicero lost his mind. Well, even more of it than before. He just walked up to Astrid's back, without warning, and just… stabbed her, screeching something about not letting her affront the Night Mother any longer."
Siari saw Astrid's mouth move, but she heard nothing, only the Night Mother's voice in her head. Pursue my servant, my Listener. He has committed a terrible crime, but he only did it to serve me. It falls to you to pass judgment on him. Your reptilian brother has seized him, and is returning him here. If brought to face his victims, they will certainly enact a quick sentence on him. They must not, the choice and the judgment must fall to you.
Without another word, Siari turned and ran for the door, leaving three confused faces behind.
"Oh hello my dear," Festus said cheerfully, approaching the door to Sanctuary with a bag of food in his arms, but Siari simply ran past him, into the woods, to intercept Veezara and Cicero. The Night Mother had spoken, so she had to do as she was told.
She slowed her run when she saw the Argonian march back in the funny gait they all had, dragging a screaming and thrashing Cicero by the collar.
"I have him," he announced. "Did he really murder Astrid?"
Siari shook her head, and made a stabbing motion at her own shoulder.
"Oh, thank Sithis," Veezara breathed in relief. "Now, let's take this little rat back to face, as they say, the music."
Siari remained where she was and shook her head.
"What?" the Argonian said in surprise. "We're not taking him back?" Cicero struggled silently, but Veezara held him without effort.
Siari shook her head again and pointed at herself. Then she tapped the dagger at her belt.
"Yes but surely… Astrid will – "
Siari pointed at herself again, then at her ear. Then she pointed her thumb over her shoulder, back to Sanctuary and shook her head again. I am the Listener, not Astrid.
"Certainly, Siari, and I praise you for it, but – "
She swept her hand in front of her. No discussion.
"Oh, sweet Listener," Cicero pleaded, "Have mercy on your poor, misguided – "
Siari held up a finger at him, shutting him up instantly.
"Very well," Veezara simply said. "I understand, Listener. You kill him, nobody else does. Nevermind that he didn't attack you, but Astrid." He shoved Cicero to the ground. "Go ahead and feel important."
She didn't just feel important. She was important.
The Argonian stomped past her and returned to Sanctuary. She'd hurt his feelings, but it was his own fault for questioning her. When she was certain he was gone, she turned to the jester, who sat in front of her, on his knees, his hands held up at her, the fingers laced together. "Oh Listener, I only acted to serve the Night Mother. Foul Astrid and her egomania will bring the Brotherhood to ruin. She had to be stopped, and it fell to weak, poor Cicero to do it. All I did was serve the Night Mother."
Siari drew her dagger, turning his pleading into a whimper. A voice spoke in her head.
Cicero was a fool to attack Astrid, but he truly believed he would serve me best by doing so. You are my Listener, and free to dispense justice as you see fit. I will not fault you for exacting the ultimate price for his transgression, but know that Cicero is a valuable servant, and I would be grateful if you spared his life.
A brief moment of silence.
But the choice, my dear Listener, is entirely yours.
He deserved to have his throat cut for attacking one of Siari's family, in fact, he deserved it just for giving Siari that scare alone, because that feeling, the feeling of… maybe caring about someone?... had been extremely uncomfortable.
On the other hand, if the Night Mother considered him a valuable servant and worthy of a stay of execution…
"Have mercy on poor Cicero, sweet, beautiful Listener?" the jester whined.
She exhaled hard through her nose, then grabbed the pathetic little man by the red-and-black cap, pulling until it tore free, bells and all, and threw it to the ground. Then she snatched his wrist, pushed his hand on top of the fallen cap, palm upward, and made her dagger come down, impaling his hand as the blade slid neatly between the metacarpals. Blood spurted out, drenching the cap, and she let go.
Cicero hadn't made a sound during the bloodying of his cap, and now sat there, on his knees, holding his wrist and whimpering so quietly she almost couldn't hear.
Standing up and holding the bloody cap, Siari looked down on him, raised her hand and shooed him away.
"Pr… praise be to you, Listener. Cicero will not forget your cruel mercy. Perhaps some day… we will meet again, and I will be able to repay you for sparing me."
Siari made an impatient face and again flicked her fingers at him to make him go away. He got the hint this time, and scurried away like a frightened animal, scrambling over the leaves and branches until he was out of sight.
You have my gratitude, Listener, even more than before. Perhaps Cicero's role in our little drama has not entirely come to its exit.
Nice to hear, but Siari hoped the bloody cap would be enough to convince her 'family'.
She returned to Sanctuary to find Astrid in her bedroom, lying on her bed, doubtless at Gabriella's insistence. "Veezara told me you insisted on executing Cicero yourself. I'll take the liberty of assuming you did this out of loyalty to me?"
Siari neither confirmed nor denied it, and simply held up the blood-soaked cap.
"So he's dead then?"
Siari only nodded, only feeling a little bit bad about lying.
"Siari…" Astrid asked, looking completely sincere and honest, even vulnerable. "I promise I won't retaliate against you if it's true, but I'm just asking you to please, be honest… You… didn't have anything to do with this attack, did you?"
She felt indignant and insulted at being asked the question, but she realized all too well that showing that would make her look more suspicious than innocent, so she just made her most solemn face and shook her head, then held up two fingers. It was easy to swear when it was the truth.
Astrid breathed a sigh of relief. "I believe you. I'm sorry for asking, I just… I'm not sure of anything anymore, these days."
Siari understood her, a little bit too well, in fact.
"How are you, child?" Astrid asked, sounding dead tired. "With all the confusion, I haven't been able to welcome you back properly."
She was alright, and conveyed that with a half-shrug. Then she held up her injured hand and made a pained face, making a pulsating gesture around it with the fingers of her other hand.
"I can imagine. Get Gabriella to take a look at it, then have yourself a nice bath and some rest. I need some too, and we'll speak more in the morning. You can give me your report then, although since you're back, that means it went off without trouble, no?"
She gave another half-shrug. More or less.
"Well, get some sleep, we'll talk tomorrow."
Sleep was a pretty good idea. She nodded a goodnight to Astrid and trudged to the bath, and after a quick rinse-down, curled up between the blankets. Gabriella wasn't there, probably mixing up some more poisons or potions, and she rather enjoyed the alone-time. She worried surprisingly little about whether or not Astrid had been convinced of Cicero's death by just the cap, and fell asleep without too much trouble.
Astrid's sleep hadn't been as refreshing as Siari's had been, as she could tell by the dark rings under her 'mother's eyes when she came in to listen to her 'daughter' give her report about the last job. Well, listen, more like read, because Siari had quickly jotted down the relevant points, so all she had to do was hand Astrid the sheet and wait until she was done reading.
In the bathroom, with Gabriella taking care of her hand injury, wasn't the most comfortable place to give a report, but it would do. Astrid didn't seem to mind Gabriella being there, so neither did Siari. She was wearing fresh leathers and still enjoying the feel of cleanliness from the bath she'd taken earlier that morning. If she had to report from a stool with her friend smearing ointment on her injury, then fine.
Astrid gave a weary smile when Siari held out the paper and read it. "Thanks, dear." Her eyes went across the paper. "Mhm. Mhm. Mhm." She clicked her tongue. "Got spotted too early, did you?" she asked, sounding mildly amused.
Siari made a sheepish grin.
"Good thing I sent Veezara then. He told me about your… original escape method."
Original, indeed. Siari's bones still hurt. And that dress, damn it, what a waste.
"Ready for your next job?"
Siari nodded, her face confident. Bring it on.
"No big crowds, no congregation of guards this time, just a simple, clean kill. Mark will be defenceless and alone. Probably a welcome break from all the dangerous stunts this little shindig has you pulling, huh?"
She nodded. Had to admit it was.
"Festus has the details, have a chat with him before you go, but basically, it involves killing someone he rather admires, and taking his place."
"His place?" Gabriella echoed, unasked. "Astrid, I don't know about you, but I, for one, can certainly confirm that Siari is very much female."
"I know," Astrid said with a tired grin, but her eyes showed her irritation at Gabriella butting in. "But that won't be a problem, since nobody knows whose place she'll be taking."
"Mm-mm." Gabriella muttered. "Just saying."
"Your concern is… appreciated, Gabriella." It clearly was anything but.
"Oops, sorry," Gabriella said when Siari winced from an overly enthusiastically applied glob of ointment on her still-open knuckle.
"So, anyway," Astrid went on, "Go have a talk with Festus, he's done some preliminary work, getting the mark's identity and location. He'll have more information."
Siari nodded.
With a twist of her shoulder, Astrid muttered, "Daedra-damned jester. Good thing he doesn't even know which side of a dagger is the pointy end."
She had to agree. For a member of an assassin's guild, Cicero had been surprisingly inefficient. True, it wasn't easy to blindside a fellow assassin, but he really had botched that one.
"Speaking of idiots attacking our people," Gabriella said, her eyes still on Siari's hand, "Any news on that crazy bastard whose fault it is that I'm spending my valuable time patching up my quiet friend here?"
Astrid pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes closed. "No, Gabriella. No news on that crazy bastard."
Maybe the son of a bitch had drowned in the shit water, but Siari didn't buy that for a second. It was certainly clear that Astrid did not like to be reminded of that, which only made Siari more suspicious. Something was up with that damned animal that had come after her, and Astrid knew more. Siari was certain of it.
"Siari," Astrid said, her tone low and threatening. "I told you not to give me that look."
She wasn't even aware that she was giving any kind of 'look'.
"You asked me if I had anything to do with it, and I swore I didn't. You better start taking me on my word, same way I've taken you on yours last night."
Except there was a big difference between some crazed fucker who knew exactly where she'd be and when, and some crazed fucker who had just stabbed someone on the spur of the moment.
"I said I didn't know anything about what happened to you," Astrid snapped, her finger pointed at Siari, "And I don't. Now show me some Daedra-damned respect and accept what I say. Because if you can't trust me, then I can't trust you either. And I don't want to spend my time suspecting you of prodding that idiot madcap into stabbing me."
Gabriella snorted at that. "You really think Siari made him do it? Astrid, really, you need to get some more sleep, because you're seeing ghosts."
"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Gabriella," Astrid said, her tone flat, but anger clearly simmering under the surface.
"Yes, well, I'm giving it regardless," Gabriella continued, unperturbed. "Because ever since this whole Listener thing began, everything around here has been suspicion and shifty looks. I don't know why you're acting this way, but it's having the opposite effect."
"I said I didn't recall asking – "
"And I said I'm giving it regardless," Gabriella bit back. "We used to be a family, Astrid, and with all the cramped moves you make to pull us closer, you're only pushing us farther away."
"So it's come to this, has it?" Astrid sighed, her lower lip trembling, but with anger or grief, Siari could not tell. "My own family speaking against me. Disrespecting me in public." Her eyes went straight to Siari. "Repaying my kindness by turning others against me."
One of the rotten things of not being able to speak was not being able to interrupt people.
"Well, looks like it's working," Astrid said. "I'm done talking. Go see Festus, then get the job done."
She turned abruptly and left, slamming the door shut behind her.
After a brief moment of silence, Gabriella simply said, "I love you both, but I'm getting seriously sick of the both of you."
Siari let her jaw drop in amazement. What in Oblivion had she done? She hadn't even said anything.
"Oh come on. You know better than anyone that people don't need words to say nasty things."
Oh that was horse dung.
"I didn't see you making any effort to calm or assure her," Gabriella simply said. "Listen here, if we, as a family, want to get through this, you're going to have to make a bit of effort too."
Indignant, Siari pointed at the door to make sure Gabriella knew that Astrid was the one causing the problems.
"No, Siari," Gabriella said. "Instead of pointing fingers and assigning blame, maybe you should stop for a moment and think what it must be like for her. She brings you into the family, surrounds you with nothing but love, and then you suddenly up and become the Listener, completely hollowing out her position as our foundation and our guidance."
Siari inhaled sharply through her nose, feeling her face contract in anger.
"I know you had no control in becoming the Listener," Gabriella said quickly, cutting off her excuse to get angry. "And I know you never meant to supplant her, but you did. I agree she could have taken it more gracefully, even could have stopped it from happening if she'd been a bit more confident, but 'could have' won't fix this. The two of you need to sit down and talk. Well, 'talk', you know. Communicate."
Siari simply sighed and looked away. As if she was to blame for any of this.
As if she sensed her thoughts, Gabriella added, "It's not about who's to blame. It's not about who's responsible. It's about what you can do to fix this. It's about you being able to tell yourself, 'I've done all I could'. If Astrid still wants to continue this simmering feud you two have, then at least you'll know you've done the right thing."
Except, it was about who was to blame, it was about who was responsible. Astrid was the one acting like a child, Astrid should be the one apologizing and working to solve this.
Gabriella sighed and redid the bandages on Siari's hand. "I haven't gotten this old to still think in terms of whose fault it is or who's got the obligation to take the first step. All I'm telling you is, you can't change what Astrid does wrong, but you can change how you react to it." She rose and simply said, "Think about what I've said. Again, I love both of you to bits, but sometimes I just want to smack the both of you for acting like damn children."
With that, she made the door slam a second time.
Everyone always knew everything better. It was easy to wag fingers and judge from the side-lines, but that was just what people did, wasn't it?
No, it was Astrid's job to fix things, not hers. She wasn't a sucker.
She found Festus having a late breakfast, because of course she did, and sat down opposite him.
"Oh! My lovely. Come for your next job?" he said, his mouth full of food.
Siari nodded patiently and made a turning gesture next to her mouth, indicating he could go ahead and chew-and-swallow before continuing.
He did so, gobbling down the meat pie, then explained. "Now then, the next mark is… well, sad to say, someone you may have heard of."
She motioned for him to continue.
He looked at the wood of the table, his gnarled fingers twisting around each other. "You've heard of the Gourmet, yes?"
The what now?
His incredulous look said enough. "The Gourmet? The Tamriel-wide phenomenon? The greatest chef on Nirn? My dear, have you been living under a rock all these years?"
No, the Orphanage, but it was the same thing.
"The Gourmet is…" he told her, his voice unstable with admiration, "a miracle worker in the kitchen. His books have inspired the kitchens of housewives, tavern owners, fine diners and even the courts of kings and queens."
Must be some guy then.
"And you… you will have to murder him." He seemed genuinely upset at the thought. "The greatest chef this realm has ever known."
She placed her hand on top of his and lowered her face with a curious look so it came back into his vision.
"Right, of course," he sat up straight. "You'll want the details. I went to question the only person who knows the Gourmet's identity. Or I should say 'knew', heh." The memory of setting someone on fire seemed to improve his mood somewhat at least. "Ahem. It turns out, the Gourmet is, would you believe it, an Orc."
Hah. That was rich. An Orc. As if the refinement of their tastes went anywhere beyond 'meat raw cook meat rhaargh'.
"I know," Krex laughed, his mirth returned at seeing her sceptical face, though probably only briefly. "I didn't believe it at first either, but let me tell you, my source was very… convincing. It's hard to lie when your toe hair is on fire, believe me."
She didn't doubt it for a second.
His mood plunged again when he thought of what he'd have to inform her about. "Anyway, the Gourmet, he… he's an Orc named Balagog gro-Nolob, bless his soul. He is currently working on a book on the integration of fruits and ales in meat dishes. You will have to… dispatch him before he finishes it."
He looked genuinely heartbroken.
"He is staying at the Nightgate Inn, in the mountains to the North, I've marked the location on your map. After he is… dealt with, you will have to take something from him. You see… the Gourmet is to be the head chef at the next banquet in the honour of the Emperor. Only, he will not be attending. You will be."
Siari snorted in laughter, then stood up, placed her fist on her pubis and extended one finger, making a 'know what I mean'-face."
"I know, I know," Festus said with a grin. "But that's the thing. No one knows who the Gourmet is. No one but us, and a handful of other people, who will be nowhere near the banquet. The Gourmet's identity is so secret even his gender is unknown. Believe me, if you have his writ of passage, they will believe you."
If he said so.
"Siari," Astrid stuck her head inside. "More for you to do. See Babette."
And the head was gone again.
"I swear," Festus said irritably, "Astrid needs to lighten up. Maybe Arnbjorn needs to put in a little more effort between the sheets, I don't know, but this is getting ridiculous."
No need to tell Siari that.
"Anyway, go ahead and see Babette, she was scouting the Empire's security, last I heard. We may be able to kill two birds with one stone."
Siari ticked her fingers against the edge of an imaginary hood as a gesture of thanks and went to see Babette, with Festus giving her the parting words, "Siari, dear… make sure a man as exemplary as the Gourmet is not put through any undue suffering."
Oh, you big softie.
"Well hello little girl," Babette said with a smile when she spotted Siari in the atrium. "Astrid let you know I had something for you?"
She nodded.
"Alright, see, this whole kill-the-Emperor plan? There's still some more preparation to it. This whole Gourmet thing? I'll take care of that. Don't worry," she added with a giggle, "I won't upset Festus by making the poor guy suffer."
Alright, so?
"Right, what Astrid wants you to do, is to assassinate a slightly more difficult target, one I've been spotting for."
Well there was a surprise, her job just got a lot harder and more dangerous, and she had Astrid to thank for it. Perhaps the Night Mother would beg to differ. She'd check later. So who was the target then?
"We can't just walk up to the Emperor and kill him. It'd get messy, and well… painful for us," Babette explained. "His personal guard, the Penitus Oculatus, won't let anyone get close to him. Protecting the Emperor is all they do, and they're damn good at it. Or at least," Babette said with a twinkle in her eye, "as long as they're focused."
Right, so who did she have to kill to make them lose focus?
"I'll get to it, I'll get to it," Babette said, peeved at Siari's impatient look. "So, the leader of the Penitus Oculatus is some big-head named Maro. Now, he's not going to be here just yet, but, but, but… his son, whom he loves more than anything, will be."
Aha. That would probably work. Kill the son, and the father will be grief-stricken, make bad decisions and generally not have his head in the game. Made sense. Still, though, it was the son of the leader of the Emperor's personal guard, and Siari knew better than to hope he wouldn't be trained to take over his father's position in due time.
Not exactly the same as an old, fat Orc chef. Thanks, Astrid.
"Yes, I know", Babette said. "He'll be one tough cookie. But, silver linings, silver linings!"
There had better be some.
"He'll be scouting the places the Emperor will visit, you know, assessing security, gaining intelligence, all that boring stuff? And he'll be doing so accompanied by only a handful of guards."
Oh good, that meant there would only be a handful of swords biting into her if she got spotted.
"Oh come on, don't look at me like that. You'll be fine. I'd go with you, but… the sun does no wonders for my skin."
What in Oblivion was that for an excuse? Anyway, Astrid could change her assignment all she liked, but the Night Mother would have the final say.
"Here's his itinerary, stole that while those bucketheads weren't looking. Trust me, they probably wouldn't even recognize an assassin if one stabbed them in the back. Which," she giggled, "is not entirely unlikely to happen." She handed Siari a paper that said which locations the mark, apparently called Gaius Maro, would visit and when. He'd start at Dragon Bridge and go from there.
"Oh, and there's one more thing you can do," Babette said.
Siari raised an eyebrow.
"Killing him is nice, but even nicer would be to kill him and make everyone think he's a traitor. Imagine how ineffective the Penitus Oculatus would be if their leader was not only broken with grief, but hunting his own people in a paranoid craze as well."
She had to admit, not very effective.
"Soooo…" Babette sing-songed, "if you plant this letter on him, which Nazir had made by an excellent forger, then, well, Gaius Maro will go into history not as the soldier who died for his Emperor, but the traitor who sold out his Empire."
Another piece of paper made its way into Siari's hand.
"Don't plant the wrong paper, that'd just make them scratch their heads. Good luck!"
Babette pattered off, leaving Siari alone with the itinerary. Morndas, Solitude, the Emperor's Tower. Not the best place to commit murder. Tirdas, Windhelm, the Palace of the Kings. Yeah, no. Middas, Riften, Mistveil Keep. No, no, definitely no. Turdas, Whiterun, Dragonsreach.
Now that she could work with. She knew Whiterun a bit, but wait, no. That was where the Companions had their hall. No, they'd stick pointy things in places that really didn't like pointy things stuck into them.
Fredas then. Aha, Markarth. Markarth was doable. She knew the place from the job she'd done for the rather rancorous apothecary girl, and there were relatively few people who wanted her dead. Which was always a plus. She inspected the entry in more detail. Maro would be presenting himself at Understone Keep during the day, and from there, travel to the guard tower for dinner and sleep. Murdering him in his sleep was perhaps easiest, but there was the matter of him being inside a guard tower, and those had the tendency to actually have guards in them. The Keep itself also wasn't a prime location. Too crowded, with the wrong people. She'd have to either get him before he got to the Keep, as he moved to the guard tower, or when he left the city. In transit.
That was, if she was going to do this. Astrid could try and boss her around all she wanted, but she only listened to the Night Mother. There was no Cicero to grovel at her feet this time, just her and the cold sarcophagus. She stood in front of it for a minute, and then the Night Mother spoke.
Astrid'd change of heart puts you at risk, Listener, but the Mark must be eliminated regardless. I am confident you will be cautious, and will succeed.
Well, that was that, then. If the Night Mother agreed, she had no choice but to complete the contract. She hoped it wouldn't go as woefully wrong as the one she'd fulfilled at Jorrvaskr. She probably wouldn't get so lucky a second time, and these would be trained bodyguards, not young hopefuls. She wouldn't stand a chance against them.
As she turned to leave, she heard the Night Mother again.
My Listener, one more thing. I am not at liberty to give you a direct warning, but know that if an agent of one of my Brothers or Sisters should seek to take your life, then neither I, nor the other's protector will be permitted to intervene directly or lend you our power.
What was that about? She'd mentioned a similar thing before…
This is all I can say. Go now, Listener, and be safe.
Still puzzled by the Night Mother's last words, Siari filled her saddle bags, loaded them onto Shadowmere, and kicked the steed sharply in the flanks. Shadowmere took her to Markarth faster than any horse, and she arrived on Turdas evening, in time for a quick dinner and a few hours of sleep, after which she spent some time scouting the city, marking the path between the Keep and the guard tower especially, and then the path from the tower back to the walls. There was a suitable overhang leading to the Temple of Dibella, but dropping down from there would be impossible, since it was too high. She could probably snipe the mark with a bow, but then how would she plant the note? Tying the paper to the arrow had a considerable chance to not convince bystanders of its authenticity.
Unless she got the note on him or his possessions before killing him. There might be times when his personal effects were unattended. It would mean improvising, but dividing the contract in two steps seemed like a much more feasible method. Even better, of course, would be to make the killing look like an accident, so the legitimacy of the note would be even less in question. She'd already made a gargoyle fall on people's heads, why not try that again? Markarth was, after all, a city of dizzying heights, treacherous walkways, and dangerous depths.
Siari wondered if the people who'd designed this city had had even basic safety standards in mind.
Oh, but there it was. Between the guard tower and the entrance to the Keep, and in the middle of a path of stairs and angles, lay a wooden bridge over a rapidly running stream. Anyone falling off the bridge would land on the smoothly-worn stones below and only have a wet pair of pants and bruised backside to show for it, but only a metre farther, the stream turned into a waterfall, cascading downwards more than fifteen metres. Which meant that if someone were to fall and then slide a metre further, a wet outfit would be the least of their concerns. And for that slide to happen on the slick, wet stones, all it took was someone hitting the ground of the stream in the right direction. Say, if by some strange accident, only one side of the bridge were to collapse and act as a big slide, depositing the unfortunate bridge-crosser into the stream so he was propelled over the edge.
Oh, how elegant that would be. Now all she had to do was strategically weaken the bridge and make sure it fell exactly when it needed to, and think of a way to get the note in Maro's pack.
She'd have to worry about the note later. First, the preparatory work. It was just before dawn, the best hour for stalking, and after a few furtive looks, she lowered herself over the edge of the bridge, her boots making no sound as they found their footing in the rapidly-moving stream. It was only ten centimetres deep, not exactly the Ilinalta.
No one saw her, the gloom of the pre-dawn sky making her invisible, and after that, the shadow of the bridge hiding her from the sun as she cut a few ropes, sawed through some supports, and secured the waterfall-side of the bridge with a single strut with a rope tied around it. The support firmly in place and mostly invisible, she cut a few more ropes and weakened the bridge's support structures to such a degree that pulling the strut away would bring several planks of it down like a hatch, striking the bottom of the stream at such an angle that the body on top would slide down, and hopefully, be thrown over the edge.
She was done just in time to see several men in red uniform walk to the Keep, the man in the centre adorned by a crown of laurels on his head. Just in case it wasn't clear who the dignitary was. Siari didn't mind, it only made her job easier.
From her concealed spot under the bridge, Siari tracked them from one opening between buildings to the next, until they disappeared through the doors of the Keep.
Now then, to plant the note. This would be the best time, in fact, the only time, to do it, since Maro was not supposed to survive his trip to the guard tower. Planting it after his demise would be impossible, so there was only one right moment.
She found herself in the Keep atrium, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, a single female guard walking towards her.
"Hey, little girl," the guardswoman said. "The Keep is only for soldiers and nobles. Has the Jarl granted you an audience?"
No. No he hadn't. Or she hadn't.
"Then I'm sorry, dear, I'll have to ask you to leave." But when the guardswoman noticed the dark leather clothing, she began, "Wait… I know you," her hand going to her weapon.
There were no witnesses, no one around. The woman was only a bit taller than she was, and female. It was too good to pass up. With one quick move, Siari drew her dagger and rammed it upwards, up into the guardswoman's helmet. Blood drenched her hand and the woman gurgled, her arms flailing weakly before she collapsed to the ground, the handle of Siari's knife still sticking out the bottom of her helmet.
She dragged the corpse to a dark corner, stripped it, and put on the scale mail, breeches and helmet on top of her leathers. Easy, they were a few sizes too big. She tore the underclothes off the dead body and used them to wipe the blood off the front of the chain mail. The gear she wore smelled like sweat and metal.
That done, she quickly covered the naked dead body with the loose rocks she found in the atrium. She lay behind several stalactites, invisible to anyone who wasn't explicitly looking. She'd probably be there until people finally came to investigate the smell.
Siari felt an odd but brief discomfort in her heart at the guard's fate.
At least she'd be able to walk around without arousing suspicion. How these guard idiots still hadn't realised those closed visors made for excellent infiltration potential, she didn't know. Now she could just stroll around in the Keep and nobody would mind, as long as she didn't make it too clear that she was away from her post.
"Hey Lanaris," one of her 'colleagues' said, coming to walk next to her. "You got a minute to talk after the shift? I feel… uncomfortable with how we left things yesterday. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."
Siari hoped the late Lanaris was a quiet type, and just put her hand on the other guard's shoulder and nodded.
"Thanks, I'm glad you're willing to listen, at least. I have market shift, but we'll speak later, right?"
She nodded again and he walked off. Ugh, she hated it when her marks turned out to be human beings.
Through the door, she could hear talking voices, all male, but couldn't make out the words. It was probably the mark talking to the Jarl, about all kinds of security-related matters.
"Guardswoman," one of the Imperial soldiers next to the door scolded, in a weary voice, "I know you bucketheads normally run the show here, but not today, today we're the ones calling the shots. And didn't we specifically say the Jarl's throne room was off limits to everyone except the Jarl, his housecarl and the Penitus Oculatus? Didn't we say that? Because I really do remember us saying that."
The arrogant bastard deserved to get kicked right in the balls, but she couldn't arouse suspicion, so she just raised her hands and backed off. This rectal fistula had been posted outside the door, to keep people out, while the rest had accompanied the mark into the Jarl's chamber. And well, well, well, they'd all left their packs outside, with this idiot watching over them.
"Go on, get your worthless ass out of here."
She did as she was told, ignoring the insult of, "I swear, god damn yokels trying to gawk all the time," muttered under the Imperial soldier's breath, but she didn't go far. Once she'd rounded the corner, she turned around and slowly creeped back, spying on the soldier between two stalactites. Now all she had to hope for was that the parley took long enough for this shit eater to get bored and leave his post, no matter how briefly.
"Another one of you simpletons?" the Imperial suddenly exclaimed, his eyes on the other side of the antechamber. Briskly, he began marching up to another guard who had come in to sneak a peek at the apparently famous Gaius Maro. "I told you, no bucketheads here today. You stand here all year long when nothing happens, we secure this place when it actually matters. How is that not clear? Are you people mentally deficient?"
He marched up to the guardsman and slapped him across the helmet. "Huh? I'm talking to you, farm boy!" He gave the guard a shove and kept railing. "You idiots think you're part of the big boys, do you? Think we're the same? Your friends? You're just nobodies watching a damned door. That's all you are! Don't soil this audience with your presence!"
On he went, expounding on the insignificance of the city guard. Siari hoped he was enjoying it, because he'd have to keep doing it for just a while longer, until she'd had the time to creep over to the packs and shove the letter inside the one that was clearly the customized and most expensive one. With a quick hand motion, she pushed the crumpled letter into a side pocket, and cleared off, chuckling as she heard the Penitus Oculatus big-head hurl insult after insult at the face of the unfortunate guardsman.
She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Guardswoman, what are you doing here?" She turned and found herself helmet-to-helmet with another guard who, judging from the gold trim on his helmet, was the late Lanaris' commanding officer. "Get back to your guard post!" Two more guards were at his side.
She raised her hands again, but before she could do anything more, the officer shouted again, "Were you about to call me 'sir'? I am not a 'sir', I work for a living, you moron! You will call me sergeant. And if I like you, you get to call me 'sarge'. But guess what? I don't like you! Proceed on the double to the atrium where you will stand guard duty for six hours! You will do a fine job! Do I make myself clear, maggot?" A short pause, and then immediately, "And don't you dare open your pie-hole! Move it!"
Well, good thing he didn't want her to say anything. She quickly hurried back to 'her' station, feeling more and more like she'd done the unfortunate guard a favour by stabbing her through the chin.
The letter securely planted, she threw out the guard clothes and stashed them in a dark corner. She hoped the guard's absence wouldn't be detected too quickly, but there was nothing she could do to change that.
There was one last thing to do to make her bridge-trap certain to work, and she knew where to get her last bit of paraphernalia.
The pretty, though mentally slightly unstable girl behind the counter of the apothecary shop went instantly pale when she saw her, her face turning so white the tattooed stripe over her nose looked jet black by comparison. Of course, she probably thought Siari was here out of a 'leave no witnesses' policy, but no. That wasn't the case.
Silently (how else?), Siari slid a note over the counter. The girl picked it up with trembling hands and read out loud, "Tr… troll fat?" She looked up at Siari, her jaw slack. "You want to b… to buy troll fat?"
Siari only nodded.
"I… uh… of course. Of course, we… always have a… a steady supply," the girl stammered. "How… how much do you need?"
"Muiri," the old woman at the mixing table scolded. "Get your foot out of your mouth and serve the young lady."
"Uh… yes, yes, of course." The girl, still not overcome the surprise of seeing Siari replied, stumbling towards a rack on the other side of the shop, taking a medium-sized jar of troll fat from the shelf. "Will… will that do?"
Siari smiled and made a ring with her thumb and forefinger, enjoying the girl's terrified bumbling.
"Th… that will be... ah…" The poor thing didn't even dare charge for it. Siari raised an eyebrow, telling her to go on. "… Twenty-five septims… please?"
Taking care to look extra casual, Siari counted the required pieces of gold, and laid them into the apothecary assistant's hand, noticing how the other girl winced when their skins briefly touched. Funny how she was terrified and disgusted by her former hireling, after all, they were both murderers, Siari with a knife, and Muiri with gold.
Siari left the store, smiling at the old woman chastising the young assistant, and helped herself to a bucket and sponge left unattended by a window cleaner out for a snack. She went to the bridge, set foot on it (it felt just rickety enough to support someone, and yet collapse when the support was pulled away), then went to her knees and started to wipe the fat-slathered sponge over the wood. Everyone who saw her would think she was just cleaning the wood and would probably not even take notice, even with the leathers on. The sun burned hard now, but she just kept smearing the fat over the wood, but had to break off before she was done when she saw the four Imperials walking back out. She scurried away, lowered herself under the bridge after making sure nobody saw, and sat there, concealed in the shadows, the wet string in her hand.
The voices came closer, and the shadows of the men on the bridge were clearly defined – so clearly that she could make out the laurels on one of them. She waited, waited as they came closer, talking amongst themselves.
The sound of the first boot bonking on the wooden bridge was the signal to send her muscles taut. Another boot, and another. They were on the bridge now, all four of them, and Siari saw the strut bend under their weight. She hoped it wouldn't be under too much pressure for her to pull it away, but from the looks of things, it'd probably just snap on its own.
They were in the middle of the bridge, right near the troll fat smears.
"Huh," she heard one remark. "Wood's in bad shape, starting to rot. See?" She heard the sound of a boot being kick-scraped across the planks.
Sure, he could keep right on thinking that was the reason the bridge was so slick.
"Not our problem," another voice said.
The shadows lined up, it was time.
Setting her teeth, Siari pulled with all her might. The strut bent, cracked, and finally snapped.
"Whoa, the bridge, it's collapsing!"
Damn straight it was.
Above Siari, the wooden planks cracked and snapped with deafening noise, and just as she'd predicted, they came down, their ends banging into the rocks in front of her feet, and down went the Imperials.
She heard confused curses, splashes and finally one, two, three death cries as the soldiers and their leader went over the side, falling to their deaths. One of them still clung to the railing the others had slid under, she could see from the shadow, and he pulled himself to safety. He ran off, shouting his leader's name, while Siari sat in the shadows, waiting for the chance to slip away. There were quite a few gawkers who'd come running, but they all ran after the soldier, taking the stairs down to see if they could still help anyone. Fat chance.
When all the footsteps had run down the mountainside, Siari got to her feet, sneaked to the edge of the stream, and hoisted herself up.
She permitted a short glance over the side, and saw three bodies, one still moving, the others still. Gaius Maro was one of the motionless ones. The water downstream was coloured red.
Mission accomplished. She darted away from the scene, scooting from building to building, until she was certain she was in the clear.
She sighed in contentment, put her hands in her sides and arched her back to relieve the painful, fatigued muscles. All she had to do was go and find Shadowmere, and return for what would probably be the final nail to hammer into the Emperor's coffin.
"I knew you had something to do with that bridge mysteriously collapsing."
The man walking up to her made her heart briefly stop. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, though he looked older since his hair had gone grey prematurely. The heavy axe in his hand made it clear he wasn't here to talk.
He'd found her. She didn't know how, but the bastard had found her.
"Your killing ends here."
He strode towards her, and Siari did the only thing she could.
She started running.
