Chapter 19: The Hunt

As usual, Nim awoke alone.

She briefly contemplated never getting up from her bed again before a familiar scratching at the balcony door alerted her to the arrival of the morning strays. They meowed and hissed at the door, irked and impatient for their breakfast being trapped behind it. Nim walked to her study and retrieved the stash of dry kibble that she picked up from the general store on the docks. Although it was made for dogs, the neighborhood cats didn't seem to mind one bit.

Afterwards, she wandered down to her kitchen with a slinky black cat at her heels. They had come to be fast friends over the few months she spent feeding her on the balcony. Nim had named her Bok-Xul. Amusei had taught her that word from his mother-tongue. He said that in Jel, it roughly translated to 'Bowl of Death,' which made sense considering he had shouted that out with a string of expletives after stumbling into a pothole on one drunk night. Nim had always liked the way the word sounded and Bok-Xul seemed to respond to it when called. The name stuck.

After breakfast, Nim headed outside to work on her garden and paused in her foyer when she saw a folded letter sitting on the floor right in front of the front door. Her heart skipped, wondering if it was a message from the Council once again requesting her services. Stepping closer, she wondered if it was perhaps a note from Mathieu but quickly discarded the idea. The poor man had lost the love of his life and he wasn't ready to move on. There was nothing more for him to explain.

Then she spied the dark splotches dried onto the parchment, and when she picked it up she knew it could only be one thing. Blood.

Nim slowly opened the letter and drew a sharp breath when she read her name in unfamiliar hand-writing.

Nimileth,

I have watched you from afar and feel it is time to make myself known. I am Greywyn Blenwyth, the last of the Crimson Scars. Once a powerful force rivaling the Dark Brotherhood itself, the Scars were the true followers of Sithis and the masters of deception.

I will be departing this world soon, as the cold embrace of the Night Lord calls to me. In life, I served Sithis alongside your grandfather Vero, and now all I have I leave as a legacy to you and the last of our family. My home, Deepscorn Hollow, will be your new haven. Use the map on the reverse of this note to find it. All that lay within is yours to do with as you please. I have but one request in return... further the ways of shadow and honor Sithis with the darkest of deeds. Make the virtuous pay for their blasphemy with their lifeblood staining your blade. May Sithis guide you.

Greywyn

"What the bloody fuck?"

Standing before the door, she re-read the letter one and then twice and then five more times for good measure. The map directed her to a small peninsula south west of Leyawiin. She didn't know anyone named Greywyn. She didn't know anyone named Vero. She was an orphan. Nothing existed of her outside of the flesh on her skeleton. No family. No legacy. And here was someone claiming that he knew her and hailing Sithis in the same sentence.

If this was true, if this was the only evidence of blood-kin she had in the world, Nim wasn't sure she wanted to learn more. But if this was true, someone in the Dark Brotherhood must have known them. She thought of Vicente. He had been with the Dark Brotherhood for nearly two-hundred years. He must know something. She folded up the letter and fled upstairs to retrieve her pack.

Nim sighed beneath the weight of the new information. None of it made sense, and her stomach lurched at what she might find in this Deepscorn Hollow should she choose to seek it out. Could she really be descended from an assassin that walked the path of the void? Before leaving, she dressed herself and combed her hair in the small cracked mirror on her dresser. A weary reflection peered back. Nim took a hard look at the purple skin beneath her eyes and she was certain that the fatigue was not the only thing that looked different about her today.

Hours later, Nim found herself on the Red Ring Road just north of the Imperial City. The sky was dark gray above her and there was a crispness in the air that spoke of the nearing autumn. To her left was the Silver Road. If she continued ahead, she'd reach Cheydinhal by midnight. Nim dug her heels into the dirt and wrapped her cloak tighter around her body as she stared at the signs marking the crossroad.

She should be on her way to Bruma right now, investigating necromancer activity in the north of Cyrodiil. It was the most pressing issue at hand without a doubt, but she felt herself tugged toward Cheydinhal and cursed herself for it. She had never taken an interest in learning about her blood-family before. In fact, she had always assumed that what the headmistress at the Kvatch orphanage told her to be true. Her mother was a whore who had dumped her their one spring morning. What more could be said?

But the letter in her pack argued a richer story. Nim continued ahead.

It was nightfall when she reached the Blue Road, and as she walked the fragmented cobblestone path enclosed by the dense oak forests of the Heartlands, her head swam with guilt and uncertainty. The upland ahead seemed to go on forever, higher and higher until they reached the base of the Valus mountains in the far distance. With the canopy shielding the light of the moons above, Nim grew distracted by the darkness finding nothing in sight to occupy her eyes. She focused on the continuous incline of the road, and for a brief stretch, her mind quieted.

However, she was not so distracted that she missed the sudden footfall and cracking of twigs in the brush behind her. Her ears perked, alerted to a new presence stalking in the shadows and in a matter of seconds, Nim's adrenaline coursed heavily throughout her body as she readied herself for an attack. She didn't peer back, not at first. Instead, she cast two spells, invisibility and detect life, before darting off the road and disappearing into the dark forest.

Lucien returned from Bravil in good spirits after receiving so many new and promising contracts from the Listener. Walking north along the Yellow Road, he fingered the envelopes in his pocket absentmindedly as he thought of how to assign them to the members of his Sanctuary. The hit on the roving trade caravan would be best suited for Gogron and all his lack of subtlety since few would be around to see them slaughtered out on the road. He'd give the contract for the Blackwood company mercenary to Telaendril. She would be in Leyawiin later that week anyway. The contract from jilted lovers were all to plenty in this batch. Those bored M'raaj-Dar to no end, but excited Antoinetta with a feverish delight. He'd let his executioners decide how to split what remained.

The most interesting one by far was the party down in Skingrad. Lucien was tempted to take it for himself, but he thought of Nim, her reservations for any contract that threatened her anonymity, anything that required her to be remotely personal. She wouldn't like this next job, but he needed to know that she could kill someone after looking into their eyes and convincing them she was no threat. He needed to know that she would not be squeamish while murdering five people under the same roof after she had gained their trust. The opportunity to test her fortitude could not have been any more perfect. How she fulfilled her duties would change her trajectory within the Dark Brotherhood. It would change her life irrevocably. He envied her, really. It was the contract that promised the most entertainment by far.

Making his way to Fort Farragut, it was just Lucien's good luck that he saw her there skirting the edge of the road toward Cheydinhal. She must have completed her mark at Fort Sutch, he thought, and adoration bloomed like warm honey thick in his mouth, to know that she walked the same path as he did. The path of Sithis and into the Void.

He stalked through the dark brush with his chameleon shroud fading his form into darkness. Her face was calm, eyes fixed on the next step in front of her as the wind swept her hair over her shoulders. He followed alongside her, his breath quickening as he imagined reaching out toward her, touching her. With a stifled smile, he envisioned the ashen shock spreading across her ochre skin if he made himself known.

How easy it would be for him if only she were a contract.

But something in his step must have alerted her, because he had looked down at the fallen branch beneath his foot for one moment, no more, and then she was gone.

Lucien scanned the dark forest, searching for a sign of her among the trees. The sound of her muted footsteps crunching in the litter faded into the shrill wind calls blowing down off the mountains. The hair at the nape of his neck prickled in the silence, and Lucien no longer felt alone in the hunt.

A zip broke through the air, piercing the surrounding leaves and causing him to jump aside. Though he dodged the arrow's intended aim, Lucien was knocked to the ground by the sharp impact as metal embedded into the left side of his chest, just below his clavicle. He looked down to see the shaft of splintered wood sticking skyward and touched the flesh beside his wound, pulling back his fingers to find them stained dark red.

Intoxicated and strengthened by the sudden burst of adrenaline, he stood to his feet steadying himself against the trunk of the nearby tree. Lucien snapped the shaft of the arrow a few inches from his chest and cast a detect life spell.

Perhaps he had underestimated her, he smirked to himself. He drew his dagger from its sheath before he advanced into the forest. And if his blood wasn't red and boiling before, it was now.

The figure had found her. Was he Morag Tong? Was he a simple marauder? She should have stayed on the defensive, but when she thought she had a clear shot, she took it. The assailant was dexterous and moved around her attacks as though he had foreseen them. She ran, but he was faster.

Nim tumbled to the ground, clutching the side of her abdomen where the man had struck her with his blade. She winced through the searing pain and called forth her flames only to find the dreaded sensation of concrete in her blood. She gasped and tried again. Not even a flicker escaped, and there was no doubt in her mind now that she had been silenced.

She drew the Blade of Woe from her boot and rolled onto her back as the shrouded figure lunged for her. She plunged her dagger forward, but the figure acted fast and pushed her arm away from his body. Her dagger missed, piercing the man just under the ribs, and his hands flew to her throat. Nim, unable to call upon any spell, pushed her palm into the broken shaft of the arrow protruding from his chest. With a strained cry, he loosened his grip momentarily, only to grab hold of her bleeding side and flip her onto her stomach. She felt his knee pressing into her back as he pinned her beneath him.

Without her magic, Nim was helpless against the oppressive weight. The man pulled on a fistful of her hair, exposing her throat to the blade he pressed against it. Nim felt its sharp edge pierce into her skin and sunk her hands into the soil, grasping at the loam as though if she dug her hands deep enough she might find an escape. Nim quivered beneath him, a whimpered cry escaping her lips as she wondered if the Gods above would now hear her prayers.

"There it is," the man murmured into her ear. "True, unadulterated fear."

She knew that voice, and its name trembled on her lips.

"Lucien?"

The man lifted his knee off her back and slowly rolled her to face him. She looked up, eyes brimmed with tears, wide and shining like the twin moons in full.

"Ah," he whispered, tempted to reach out and swipe the blood-soaked hair away to see her clearly. "That's the most expression I've ever seen on your face before."

Nim sat up slowly and with a loud, drawn out groan. As she caught her breath, she met Lucien's eyes. They were lifeless, empty pits, and she watched a small smile creep to the corner of his mouth. The lurid pleasure on his features left her bilious, and Nim tried again to call on a burst of fire, releasing a choked sob when none of her magicka stirred awake. She lunged forward and slapped Lucien across the face. Her hand-print glowed red on his cheek.

"Finish me then," she hissed, wincing again as every movement of her diaphragm stretched the wound at her side. "What's keeping you?"

"You struck me first, dear Sister. I was only acting in self-defense." Lucien's smugness could be read even if her eyes were closed. Now that the action had calmed, he began to notice an overwhelming fatigue take hold in his body. His vision blurred at the periphery and a heaviness grew in his legs as though they were filling with rocks.

"You're a lunatic," Nim spat. "And you were following me."

"We were headed in the same direction. So jumpy, Nimileth. Eager for a fight, were you? And here I thought you found unnecessary blood shed distasteful."

Nim drew a rattled breath as she wiped her bloodied hands across her face and thought deeply about what had just transpired. It was true. She had attacked him, but he had played the part of a lurking highwayman. Regardless, he was her Speaker, and though prowling in the darkness was highly suspect, it wasn't assault. He wouldn't have come for her unprovoked, at least she wanted to believe so.

"You could have just told me it was you," she sighed, no energy for fiercer argument. Neither of them were dead, but they were losing blood quickly. Lucien was struggling to keep his eyes open as he chuckled to himself.

"Where is the fun in that?"

Ignoring the macabre humor, Nim began to rise to her feet. "I can't cast anything," she said. She stood too swiftly and closed her eyes against her fading vision. "Did you silence me?"

"I thought you preferred silence, dear Sister," Lucien released a gurgled chortle, choking back on a mouthful of blood.

"This isn't funny, you bastard. You're poisoned."

He raised his brows as though in disbelief. "I'm what?"

"The arrow in your chest. It's tipped with a poison of drain fatigue. I use them for hunting deer, to keep them from running off when I hit them. Any minute now, you're going to pass out."

Lucien slumped backward onto his haunches and took note that drawing steady breaths was growing increasingly difficult for him. "That sounds like cheating. Doesn't it spoil the spirit of the hunt?"

"Don't you know a healing spell? You're going to bleed out if you don't. How long will this silence last?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "It's an enchanted blade, and I cut you pretty deeply." His lazy eyes wandered to the bloody gash on her side. He stared, admiring the flow of red as it bled through her clothing.

"We have to get to Cheydinhal," she groaned, testing her wounds with a new step. "My restoration is useless like this."

"You're an alchemist, right? Don't you carry any potions?"

"You bastard!" Nim cried out, picking up her pack and throwing it at the patch of grass just beside him. "You smashed me into the ground! Everything is shattered."

Lucien pushed himself back to his knees, readying himself to stand again. "I have a place nearby. Just north of here. I have an infirmary set up there. If we leave now we can make it."

Shakily, Nim stepped forward using her longbow to steady herself as she approached Lucien. With her foot, she pushed him down onto his back.

"I should leave you here," she spit, pressing the sole of her boot across his throat. Lucien's eyes grew wide and Nim knew the glimmer that shined back at her was not fear. He looked up with a bloodied grin.

"Do it then," he smirked darkly. "I dare you."