Author's notes: Oblivion and all its characters, places, events, etcetera are property of Bethesda Softworks. I want to cover myself: the comment about the squirrel is a commonly held supposition about Shadowmere, and not intended to infringe on anyone's intellectual property. I always figured she was to weird/evil to adhere to a herbivorous diet.

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Chapter Fifty-Four: Affairs of a Wizard

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I knew it was going to be a bad day when I woke up, halfway to Leafrot Cave – where my next target was laying low. To be truthful, this was a good contract for me to start out on – the mark is a wizard, and he's trying to become a lich. And with the obvious exceptions of…of the dark guardians and…

Well, we all know how I feel about the undead, by and large. And liches are always trouble – sooner or later. So it's best to nip this in the bud before he gets to the point where he can slam me around like a ragdoll and laugh about it.

Anyway – bad morning.

I woke up stiff and sore from being all yesterday in the saddle – ah, metaphorically, of course – and quite unused to it.

Shadowmere was up already, grazing…no, no, I do believe that's a squirrel she just wolfed down. Lucien! Your horse is crazy! She might have behaved yesterday, but I get the very nasty feeling that she's not going to be half so accommodating today, out from under your watchful eyes…

I got up and Shadowmere whickered and shook her head. I yawned and found her bridle. It's not spelled, in fact, I'm a little surprised: it's just mundane leather, with silver rings and fittings – all matte finished so as not to reflect light.

Bridle dangling from my hand I started towards Shadowmere who immediately half-reared and whinnied at me. I stopped, and she returned to all fours, giving me the most baleful look I've ever seen on a horse. We played this game for an hour and a half – and during that time I only managed to get the bridle on over her nose before she bolted – but not out of sight, just out of reach and stayed that way.

I swore loudly and turned my back on her, trying to pull myself together. My composure was slipping.

"I'm obviously doing this wrong!" I said, almost shouting in frustration at the horse.

Shadowmere stomped the ground and tossed her mane.

"I know I'm not Lucien, okay! I just don't know!" I sat down hard and drew up my knees, fighting the insane urge to cry. It's unlike me to cry out of frustration or temper, but it was all I felt like doing now.

I looked up at the horse, the bridle hanging from her nose, and she kept twitching her head as if trying to shake it off. I sighed and got up. "If I take that off…can we start over?" I asked and held my hands up so she could see they were empty. Thinking back, Lucien's always very careful when he walks up to her…

Following his example, I took a few slow steps forward, and changed my tone. "Hey…let me take that bridle off…I've obviously got it on your wrong…and that's got to be uncomfortable, right?" I swallowed as Shadowmere stomped about, but didn't try to bolt.

She let me undo the bridle, and didn't try to push away – as she'd done previously – or kick me –which she hasn't tried at all. I looked at the bridle. "Look…I'm not fond of this arrangement either…" Shadowmere turned to look past her shoulder at me. "...I'd rather he'd kept you too…but what was I supposed to do?"

Shadowmere whickered sharply.

I didn't flinch or step back. "That would have been petty," I answered. "You're not the only one who cares about him," Shadowmere did not like this, but I stepped forward, reached up and gripped a handful of her mane to keep her from stomping off. "But it's not like I'm any competition either," I added forcefully, and the horse stopped trying to show her attitude.

Shadowmere tried to circle, so we were facing each other and I let her mane go. She whickered at me.

I swallowed and shook my head. "Look, I'm not much of a horsewoman. I'm not –so if you want it done right, you're going to have to teach me, or you can go home, it's that way but I think you already know," I pointed back towards Cheydinhal.

Shadowmere shook her head and pranced slightly. It was obvious she was saying she couldn't just 'go back'.

"I know, he's like that," I said dryly. "It's just not worth the crap you'd get…is it?"

Shadowmere whickered and curled her lips.

"Yeah – I know what that's like too." I can't believe I'm having this talk with a horse. I reached up hesitantly and stopped halfway to Shadowmere's jaw. "Can I…" I stopped. It doesn't seem wise to ask 'can I pet you?'. She's not a dog.

Shadowmere lowered her head cautiously and I reached up and scratched behind her ear, as I'd seen Lucien do. Shadowmere whinnied softly.

"You're a beautiful creature," I said quietly and Shadowmere nodded in agreement. "I…" I stopped. Shadowmere was smiling horse-fashion and making a show of teeth. Slightly fanged teeth, but still good for eating plants.

Or fuzzy little woodland critters, as I've already seen.

I smiled and hesitantly reached up and ran a hand through the silky mane. "You're beautiful," I repeated. It's true: Shadowmere may be a demon-horse or something similar, but you have to admire the silky coat, and the feathers on hocks and knees. An emperor could ride Shadowmere, and she'd still make him look like a peasant – so you can imagine how I feel by comparison. I think the only one who really looks good on Shadowmere is Lucien, but that's just me.

Shadowmere turned and cast a red eye at me, gleaming from the sea of her dark face. She gave a sort of whiffling noise and lowered her head slightly, which shifted my hand up to her ear, which twitched as I gently scratched behind it. She tossed her head exactly like a vain woman who's been complimented. "You worry about him, don't you?" I asked. "Now that you're not there to keep an eye on him – watch his back."

The horse gave a funny jerk of the head –which looked like a nod and makes me think that she understands more of the human language than a normal horse should.

"So do I," I sighed. "But, he's a big boy, right? He can take care of himself…when it comes to life and death situations, I mean," I said with a chuckle.

Shadowmere whickered – or rather 'snickered' – and began to graze placidly. I moved my hand to rub her shoulder, feeling her coat slide under my hand. Beautiful horse.

"So – does this mean you'll tolerate me?" I asked quietly.

Shadowmere whickered and gave me a baleful look, which spoke plainly that she had been tolerating me. I simply hadn't been paying attention.

"Right…I'll keep that in mind," is it so odd to talk to your horse? Particularly when you come to suspect that she understands every word you say. I sat down. "We're hunting a lich – you know anything about them?"

Shadowmere looked up, sneezed, and went back to grazing.

"Me too – nasty things. Hey…do you want some of this?" I had produced an apple and sliced it up, and now held two slices towards Shadowmere, wedged between my fingers. She strolled over and gobbled them delicately – avoiding my fingers and then knelt behind me.

I cautiously settled back against her silky flank and we shared the apple. "So, let's see about this hunk of junk – I need it, even if you don't…" I managed to get the bridle all the way on, without starting another ruckus. "It's not uncomfortable, is it?"

Shadowmere chomped at the bit as if to say that it was, but she was used to it.

"Okay," I swung up onto her back and gave her a gentle kick. She took off at a prance, and I sighed and began to hum, but without too much enthusiasm. I was amazed I could make musical sound at all, the way this last week has been.

--S--

I wish, now, that Archmage Traven was a little more reasonable in his stance on Necromancy – how the hell do you fight what you don't understand? I'm not saying that the temptation for power could be resisted by all (it's not a problem for me, I like having a pulse) I'm simply saying that it's bad policy to jump into something you don't understand.

That used to get me into a lot of trouble with the guild:

Necromancy is evil – a perversion of the order of the world! It should not be taught in any form – I agree with Archmage Traven.

So what happens when you've got to fight a lich, or something really gross…or worse! Something new – something, you don't know what it is, or how it even exists?

You hit hard, strike first, obviously.

Yeah, well, how do you know you're not gonna make it stronger...in your admirable haste and...

Dagmar! Resume your seat!

And the conversation was over. Yeah –they're pretty pinheaded over there.

Fortunately for me – as Lucien points– mages like to keep notes. I consider myself more of an alchemist than a mage and only keep notes when I'm working on a new project. We may not write down everything…but we write down a good bit – so we can go back to where the project fizzled without having to start from scratch.

I slipped off Shadowmere's back and she whickered uneasily, snorting and blowing her lips as if she smelled something unpleasant on the air. She probably did.

"Don't worry," I patted her cheek, which she lets me do, even less than a day after our little heart-to-heart. "I'll be careful…we wouldn't want to disappoint the boss-man, now would we?" Shadowmere snickered at me and I grinned. "Yeah, well, what can you do?" I chuckled. "I don't know how long I'll be…I'll come find you when I'm through, okay?"

Shadowmere gave me a nudge with her nose, as if to say 'get on with you', and I rubbed her ears before slipping up to the mouth of the cave, and vanishing beneath a chameleon spell.

I slithered into Leafrot cave to find what looked like a cross between a hedge-wizard's lair, a rough, crudely formed tomb, and a laboratory. Lucien was right: prolific – Celedaen, the necromancer, had projects all over the place. The man – or 'mer, as the case may be - has no sense of methodology.

That means sloppy magic.

I've noticed that about necromancers: they are sloppy. They strong-arm things, and just generally have no appreciation for finesse.

I slipped forward, hand straying to Sufferthorn every so often…

How did…I didn't leave Sufferthorn here, did I?

You were very upset, it's understandable.

Yeah…but that's not like me…usually I…never mind…

No, it's not like me – and since leaving Sufferthorn out in the open, I obsessively check to make sure it's in its sheath. Like checking to make sure my boots are laced…only not.

Focus.

I cast detect life – Celedaen will still show up…ahhh, there he is. I see you…

Regardless, I don't like the idea of trying to kill a lich by myself. I'm an assassin, I'd prefer a less Fighters' Guild method, if you know what I mean. And that, unfortunately, means poking about for answers, with a half-dead - let's say – necromancer shuffling around. Right under his nose…

Oh well – unless he's using detect life, then it doesn't really matter, I've already been spotted. And although I don't want to pin too much hope on it, I'm pretty sure he's not expecting guests…

Which makes me wonder: you don't think the mage's guild would contact the Dark Brotherhood to remove a pest…do you? Ooh, think of the blackmail! Unless they owe us a favor – and everyone knows that favors are almost as useful as gold.

I looked around again – Celedaen is still poking about…blissfully ignorant…

Project after project littered workbench after workbench. Finally, though, on a cleared space on a workbench that looked like it hadn't been touched for a week, I found one of Celedaen's books of notes, and opened it, flipping through.

Better than a book of notes…a journal…a journal cataloguing his failures –continual and very frustrating – and how he…how he found out how to make the shift…daedra shit on rye…he's not just becoming a true lich, he's becoming a Worm Eremite...and for those who don't know…that's bad.

There are whispers, have always been whispers in the guild of these…undead horrors. More than liches, they're almost like…undead priests of Mannimarco – the King of Worms…his favored acolytes.

I felt my blood chill, and looked at the shining life force that was Celedaen.

He's working for Mannimarco…but that's not possible, Mannimarco is supposed to be dead…you know, properly...

Now. I may have bones and a beef with the Guild…but I'm not so far down that path that I'm going to let this go unnoticed. It could be nothing…it could be something, and with the Oblivion Crisis in full swing, Traitors in the Family, and who know what the hell else…I'm not going to let anything else just sneak up on us, if you know what I mean.

I clutched the journal to my chest for a moment. I'll send it to the University – they can't help but open up any book that comes under their collective noses. They won't even care who it's from. And I'll send them a finger or something of Celedaen's as proof of the reality of the situation…

Or maybe I'll send something less obvious…I looked back to the journal, and flipped to the end, hoping that this, at least, would give me an idea about how to stop Celedaen.

--S--

Through the sacrifice of many innocents, the resurrection of many servants to aid me in my tasks, and the tireless performance of a nearly week-long ritual, I have completed construction of the Sands of Resolve. The transcendence to full lichdom will not be immediate, however. The vessel has been crafted, but my energy force, my soul, must be fully transferred into it. Not even our Sovereign was quite certain how long this process would take, at it varies from one Necromancer to the next, based on many factors both physical and spiritual. One thing, however, is certain. This hourglass must never leave my possession until the transference is complete! I grow more powerful every day, but in truth am more vulnerable than I've ever been. If something were to happen to the Sands of Resolve, if the hourglass should somehow leave my person, the connection between soul and vessel would be severed. To think that my work, my life, could be eradicated so easily after I've come so close to success is almost more than I can bear.

--S--

I shut the book and set it back on the table. I'll come back for it.

I turned.

"Well, hello. Enjoying ourselves?"

I jumped to the left, rolling and narrowly avoided the spell that would have snuffed my life out. I blocked the next spell with a hasty shield and felt my palms grow hot with magicka-on-magicka. Celedaen is way more powerful than I am…

"So, the mage's guild got wind of me, eh? Sent you, did they?" the Altmer creaked slightly as he moved. Celedaen might have been very handsome once, but he wasn't now – his face was rotting off, and he had already lost one eye to it. An eye now replaced by a glowing light in a corroded socket. And he smells bad – not like rotten meat, but…like swamp gas and blood, and filth…yes, generally like every filthy thing you can imagine, all rolled into a seaweed handbag. "They really shouldn't send children."

"That's what I'm told," I answered back, my eyes raking his robes for a sign of the Sands of Resolve. All I have to do is separate them from him – that's it.

Celedaen launched another spell at me and I ducked – I don't even recognize some of this stuff he's throwing…and you never block what you don't think you recognize. That's a good way to get your face melted off.

I jumped over one table and darted behind a rocky stalagmite – or stalactite - it went goes clear from floor to ceiling, I can't tell the difference! "That's not going to save you! If you give up now, it might be better for you. I can always use a little help around the house…" he cackled.

"Sorry shuffles, I'm taken," I answered back sassily. Mindless servitude was what he had kin mind, I'm sure, and that doesn't appeal to me. I like having mental capability and free will.

Celedaen was silent and I threw myself forward just as his next spell hit the rocky pillar. "You can't hide! I can see your life!"

"Then see this!" I returned and as I launched the volley of icicles. In the moment during which he waved the attack aside as if it was a hail of marshmallows, I saw it.

"Child's play!"

Glittering at his belt, full of light and sand…

I was a moment too slow to dodge, but not to block the spell that would have bound me to my shadow, locked me in place as surely as I had missed Midyear. I screamed at the magical backlash ripping through me, as my magical shield shattered. Breathing hard from trying to negate the backlash – which is almost as dangerous as the spell blocked, I went sprawling back, hitting the ground with a bone-jarring thud that rattled my back teeth. I rolled onto my side and force myself to my feet. I wasn't hurt, past the shock of having my shield shattered, but I also knew I'd not be able to block another spell.

Celedaen advanced.

I shouted the sign for a fireball and Celedaen lazily moved to block it…

And didn't realize I meant him to. With my off hand I pointed towards the Sands in their glass, and called them. The artifact – being powerfully magical – was hard to 'hold'. But it was also very small, and very light in weight, so the telekinesis spell I bought of M'raaj not so long ago worked. I had the force of will and enough magicka to wrest the Sands of Resolve free of their golden chain.

The golden chain on the hourglass snapped, sending golden links underfoot. The shimmering article flew through the air in a graceful arc and towards my outstretched hands. It was warm and buzzed faintly, shining and glowing…But only for a second. I looked up just as the glass reached my hands.

Celedaen's half-corroded face was a mask of utter shock, and horror at the realization of what I'd done. "Assassin," I said just as the glass touched my hands.

It went black and the sands turned deep red.

"Oh shit!" I threw it as hard as I could to the left and flung myself right, hands over my head.

Celedaen shrieked and the Sands of Resolve exploded, sending glass and sand and fragments of the housing everywhere. Glancing up I saw a piece of glass, no larger than the top of my forefinger slice into Celedaen and shoot though him. The effect was like having a broadsword punched through him. I winced as hot glass and hot metal rained down on me.

Celedaen thrashed and spun, his robes flaring out about him.

Then he crashed to the ground.

I got up slowly, and was knocked back as a latent burst of power, like a wave, slammed into me full force, sending me reeling back, landing hard and flat against the ground.