34

.~~~.

Ysadette swallowed a pained yelp as yet another person unknowingly elbowed her in the ribs. Rather, she hoped it was done unknowingly. By the end of the day, she figured she would be counting more bruises on her body than she had fingers on her hands. Thumbs included. With her arms around Ulpo to keep him as close to her side as possible, she barely had a means of defending herself against such careless actions. Had she been anywhere else, she would have cast Ironflesh and pardoned herself from any further accidents. But her duel with the Gilded Sentry in the sewers stopped her thoughts just short of becoming actions. She had already watched one Sentry as he bounded from the rooftops, sailing high above the rolling crowd with what was surely magically enhanced abilities. Another had followed him soon after. If she didn't know any better, she would've believed them to have been searching for her. But they had lost her trail by now, surely. And with a city so large, she doubted she was the only mage they had to track.

Seeing an opportunity to break away from the marching crowd for some breathing room, Ysadette maneuvered her way out and proceeded down an alleyway. As she stepped over murky puddles left to seethe in places sunlight never reached, she welcomed the cool, shaded breeze as it brushed against her face. Safely away from the mob, she slumped against the wall, looking skyward as she rested her arm across her forehead. The crisp air and the sudden freedom to move as she pleased made her head feel as if it were wobbling loosely on top of her neck. For much too long, she had been up close to sweaty, agitated strangers, and had become much the same as them before long, her body aching from going so long without rest.

Just before sunrise, she had emerged from the sewers and into the Memorial District. It had taken her quite some time to get her bearings while surrounded on all sides by buildings much larger than any she knew of in Anvil, the Chapel of Dibella included. But by working down back alleys, slipping in and out of homes that had already been broken into and through open shops wherever possible to avoid blocked streets, and by using the crowd to hide when in the open, she had slowly but surely crossed the district.

She had also fumbled directly into the heart of the ongoing riot as it swept across the city. Fires burned to cloud the morning with tarry smoke. Cries of bystanders and shouts of participants mixed with each other, creating nothing intelligible. Guards and soldiers alike, pushed to the brink and fearing their human limitations against a wrathful mob, had begun reacting to any sign of danger with an iron fist. Steel, to be more precise. And more often with a blade or an arrow rather than a fist. Even the Thalmor had been forced to act, it seemed, as she had spotted several agents among the crowd. The gleaming gold of their armor was rather telling, and she didn't need any spells to keep track of them. While their involvement would only exacerbate the issues causing the city to react so violently, she would not deny such a large distraction had made it far easier to avoid them.

Ysadette reached into her belt pouch and removed the vial of jelly-potions. There probably wouldn't be a better time to eat one. She wedged a green jelly-potion between her teeth and started chewing.

A crash from above drew her attention, almost causing her to choke. An expensive-looking chair smashed through a window, glass bursting outward. Ysa flattened herself against the wall and forced Ulpo to follow suit. Shards rained down in front of them, and the chair landed in the alleyway with a dull thud. A moment later, a rope flopped lazily out from the building, and a man came sliding down. Upon reaching the ground, he barely acknowledged Ysadette before he dashed away, the bag slung over his shoulder jingling and looking fit to burst.

That made yet another grand estate she had witnessed firsthand being sacked and hollowed out by the mob. But she didn't care for the lost riches. She only wished she could understand why the inhabitants had been chosen to be punished in a rebellion they had likely done nothing to incite. Uprisings – civil or national, just or unjust – never seemed to pick their targets with reasons apparent to every watching eye. They didn't need to, she supposed. They had the strength of numbers.

"Grandfather," she said as they started away from the mansion, "has the city always been like this? So close to unraveling? When you were here last, I mean."

He shook his head grievously but still smiled. "Full of life, yes! But, er, it wasn't so cantankerous! The magic was there, too. It always has been, yes. But that young man who turned into a dragon changed it somehow. And it changed him, too! It was younger in those days. Waxing. Not waning."

Ysa sighed and squeezed his arm. "I'm sure it was."

For once, she didn't need to pretend she knew what he meant. The boundless magic emanating from the White-Gold Tower had grown intoxicating now that she was so near to it. Temptation bloomed in the depths of her mind, and she would have toyed with it just to get a taste of such power. And yet she feared even the tiniest of dabbling would result in an enormous disaster. When it called out to her again, this time not like a whisper but as a shouting voice, she finally understood why magic was so heavily restricted in the city. "Do you happen to remember anything more about your time here? Anything that might help us right now?"

Ulpo's nose scrunched up, gaining a vague resemblance to a raisin. Voice throaty and hoarse, he began humming his usual tune at her.

Damn it. That wasn't going to be much help right now. Ysa patted her cheeks, trying to refocus on navigating to the Arcane University, "Stay close to me, Grandfather," she said, snapping her head back and forth as she looked for the best route to take forward. "We're nearly there."

She gripped her necklace, her fingers aching as they curled, and marched onward with grim determination. And then we'll find a way to get out of this mess.

.~~~.

Dawn had crested over the skyline of the Imperial City when Mytho approached the cliff-side overlooking the Nibenay Valley. If he squinted hard, he could make out the plodding movement of the masses, of carriages and of horses, all combining into what looked like a nest of squirming insects from far away. It was busy outside the city. Congested, even. Too much for there to be any semblance of order. As far as he could remember, it was always like that. But something was different. The land, for one reason or another, seemed disturbed. The people were reacting in turn, probably unaware they were doing so. Mytho took note of the smoke trails rising high above the city and he thought of Halora, guessing that she had already arrived, and with terrible timing only she could have been capable of. Whatever it was the Guild had kicked up that demanded her presence in the city, the aftermath had greater consequences than Mytho had expected. Oh, Halora would have her work cut out for her. He would, too. For as much as he loathed to ask for her aid again, it would be best to track her down. However, he figured the more likely scenario was that she would find him first. Those vampiric senses of hers had given her no small number of advantages over him, and more still when in a bustling city.

Mytho rolled his shoulders. His joints made sure he knew they were all but ready to quit in protest of his apparent ignorance of their limits. His muscles fared even worse, taking the brunt of both his abuse and his fermenting tension at the sight before him. If only the roads weren't so rough, his rear may have been spared the discomfort. Perhaps he may have been spared the trouble of hastily plotting an entry, too, had he not arrived far quicker than he'd anticipated. Alas, he knew there was little reason to dwell on what could never be.

In his hand, he held the black book he'd found buried underneath the ashes of the Gray Forest. Wondering why he expected anything to change this time, he raised it in front of himself to examine the rough texture of the cover. Heat radiated from it. As if it were breathing. Alive. Waiting to be opened but not wanting to yield to him no matter how harshly he pried. His current theory was that if it truly belonged to Ysadette, it may have been enchanted. Thus, the difficulty he had trying to open it. Mages were a peculiar sort. They preferred binding magic to the most mundane of objects, particularly clothing, jewelry, and in one case he'd encountered, a sweet-roll to keep it eternally fresh. A book wasn't out of the question. Scholars, of course, loved to spend a baffling amount of time with their noses stuck deep in the folded middles of lengthy texts and doing little else in the way of making themselves useful. And mages were in large part scholars. According to Aressia's knowledge, the girl was very much a student of whatever piqued her interest on a given day. What better place was there for her to hide her secrets? And what better way to protect them than to overlay the damned things with a magical lock no thief could pick?

If it wasn't pissing him off, Mytho would have admired Ysadette's ingenuity. Actually, if he didn't hold out hope that the book would crack open at just the right moment in a fantastical way – complete with fireworks and a blaring horn – he would have tossed it over the cliff and been on his way. As best he could tell, it had no intention of doing so. With all leads coming to an end at the city gates, he could only imagine he would be searching the place from top to bottom until he found her. Tucking the book back underneath his arm, Mytho returned his attention to the task at hand. Behind him, the sound of heavily armored footsteps approached. Steel banged against steel, a sound that many years ago would have set him on edge. He spun around and sized up the man behind him in full Imperial Legion uniform. The gaudy red of the trim and the Empire's insignia – that of a serpentine dragon – were as gallant as he remembered from the last time he had caused a stir on the Emperor's doorstep. Only that time, he had been seen them from over his shoulder as he fled. "You need to work on your marching, lad," he said, crossing his arms. "Stern is the demeanor you're looking to project. You're supposed to have the look of a man carrying the law on his back. Not a baby who just learned to walk upright two days ago."

Toren pushed up the flat visor on the front of his helmet. "How on Nirn do they walk around in this junk all day?" he asked, fanning himself with his hand. "By the Eight, I can only imagine how miserable it is being a guard during the hottest time of year. Couldn't they have made this out of a lightweight metal? So much for carrying the law on my back. It feels more like a fat mule!"

"Aye, they could, but that'd be far more expensive," Mytho said, waggling his finger as he walked past Toren. "The only materials that could offer the same protection are rare, though. Blacksmiths that know how to work them are even rarer."

Toren placed one hand on the base of his neck and craned it back and forth. "Well, couldn't we have waited for a Forester or two instead?"

"We don't have that kind of time, lad. Foresters spend weeks, sometimes even months out in the wilds, surviving off the land. It would be harder to come up with a reason for us needing to get back into the city this very minute. And I'm in no mood for hunting one of them down right now, either. We've got more than enough of that kind of work ahead already."

"Still, I'd rather march in leather and furs than in all the same and with heavy metal on top. What if one of us passes out before we reach the gates?"

Mytho snickered as he strolled toward the roadside. "Just try not to think much about it, lad. Besides, we're going to be riding into the city and not walking all the way down there."

Toren stood still for a moment before he shook his head. "I don't know about all this, sir. It looks like they've got things locked tight at the moment. I don't see much of anyone crossing that big bridge there. Do you think something is going on in the city? Maybe something related to what the Doyen traveled here for?"

"I do, in fact," Mytho said, approaching the pieces of armor strewn across the ground on the other side of the path. He unbuckled his swords, then removed his coat and all else until he was standing in his underclothes. He then put on the armor, took up his swords and coat, but kept his helmet off in favor of carrying it. Having donned the uniform of the Legion, Mytho was sure he was going to need to avoid any sort of fight if he could manage it. The weight of the steel on his body was pressing enough that he didn't doubt his movement would be severely impaired. He could still cut down most in his way, but he'd rather have it be all of them.

"That's precisely why this plan is going to work," he continued. "The last time they blocked off the city was when the Dominion came to burn it down. That was before you were born, I'd wager. This isn't just any small upstart, lad. This is big enough that they'll be itching for any loose soldiers still roaming the countryside to come and lend a hand. Locking the city down means they've got faith that this is their chance to land a death blow on the Guild. Or they aim to trap them long enough for the Imperial Battlemage to track them down and finish what he started. Which he won't. Everybody knows that, so the only ones being imprisoned right now are innocent people, and in their own homes, no less. I imagine they aren't very pleased with the concept of him having the right to enforce this lockdown, either. One poorly handled problem creates another, and so on."

"I suppose the Battlemage really has upset the city with his antics, then, hasn't he? What was his name again?"

"Marceau," Mytho said. "And he seems to be good at that, aye. I've been hearing stories about the man for the past ten years, and none of them have painted him in a very flattering light. Tales like him stealing the souls of anybody caught breaking the law in regards to magic are fairly common. Almost as common as him preferring their crispy hides for a midnight snack, actually."

"Any of that true?"

Mytho shrugged. "I doubt it. He only answers to the Emperor, and most people these days aren't keen on mages having the authority to act so freely. Hasn't ended well, historically speaking. It doesn't help that Titus Mede actually seems to value the man's opinion on matters unrelated to magic. In some instances, he's gone against the rest of the Elder Council's advice. Not a single day has passed since Marceau took office and started rooting out crooked mages in the city that people haven't voiced how much they hate him. But it's not like anyone with that much power gives a damn what commoners have to say about them, whether it's the truth or not. He spends most of his time at the very top of the White-Gold Tower anyway. Most people have only seen his Gilded Sentries abducting people in the middle of the night for being found guilty of unauthorized spell-casting and not him."

"And you?"

"I've never run afoul of their kind myself," Mytho said. "As a rule, Sentries typically avoid getting caught up in dealing with criminals who aren't magically inclined. That's what the Legion is for. Although, Hallie has come to blows with them once before. She was running a job with the current Guildmaster, Ra'hur, when it happened. Said killing is against the Sentries' code unless specific circumstances call for it, but I imagine that didn't make dealing with them any less problematic seeing as the Guild shares that approach. Never has been fond of talking about how she gave them the slip." He sighed. "Then again, there's not much she is fond of talking about."

"Not with you, apparently."

Mytho shot him a look.

Toren cleared his throat nervously. "But, er, more importantly, riding straight up to the gates while wearing the outfits of the two men we offed? Don't you think that's a bit risky?"

"That's the only way to get important things done in this life, lad. A man who won't take risks is also a man who will never see a return worth acknowledging. Take one that's big enough, and if it goes wrong..." He trailed off. "Well, I suppose in our sort of work, you won't need to worry much about payoffs anymore, will you?"

"That's not very encouraging."

"It wasn't meant to be. Not positively, that is." Mytho headed for the wagon that was waiting just beyond the trees, gesturing for Toren to come along. "Listen, at this point in our travels together, I won't have time to answer your every question. Not like I have been. I can only let you examine the situations we find ourselves in and respond in whatever way you think is best. Think quick. React quicker. Understand?"

Toren trudged along behind Mytho wordlessly, but his gait sounded like an overzealous chef with a penchant for smashing his cookware together in place of musical instruments. Before he gave him any more combat lessons, Mytho would first have to teach the boy how to stride properly. "You mean you wouldn't take issue with me throwing you to the wolves to save my own hide?"

"Lad, the only way I'm going to be on the chopping block before you do is if they've taken my arms off first," Mytho said. "And my legs, too. But no, I wouldn't take issue in the way you might be thinking."

"How's that?"

"For starters, I would at least be able to die with the comfort of knowing there's something worthwhile flopping around in your head. Running back to help someone from their own trouble is a fool's errand more than it is an act of heroism. Let them figure it out themselves, I say."

Toren huffed. "And that night in Skingrad you spent running after the Doyen? What was that?"

Mytho rolled his eyes. That's what Toren was really after, then. "A perfect example of my point," he said. "Getting myself involved with her Guild's conflict only happened because our interests aligned. We were both chasing the same man and we both wanted answers out of him. In the end, neither of us got what we wanted. My point stands."

"And meeting her at the West Weald Inn?" Toren asked. "Was that also because your interests lined up?"

"In a way, aye." Mytho would have left it at that had he been given the choice. However, during the time he spent with Toren on the road to the Imperial City, he had become keenly aware when the silence between them was charged.

"Sir, I really don't know what to make of you sometimes," Toren said. "You spend so much time telling me how I shouldn't care much about anybody besides myself, but then you go and act so strangely when you could show me what that would look like in practice."

"Give me an example."

"Of you acting strangely?"

"What else, lad?"

"Well, how about everything that happened in Skingrad?"

Mytho wanted to groan. "Another one."

Toren paused for a second. "That night in Chorrol," he said confidently. "You were seconds away from killing that guard and the alchemist after we got what we wanted from them, but you stopped. I don't object to you sparing them. I'm a bit glad you did, actually. They seemed like they would be friendly enough. Er, under the right circumstances, I assume. I only want to know what changed your mind."

Mytho shrugged, doing his best to stop the distracting thoughts creeping into the edges of his mind. He still hadn't worked that question out himself. "It seemed like the right thing to do."

"That's it?"

"Aye."

"No attempts at poetically calling me dumb?" he asked. "No long-winded explanations about how the only important choices in life being the ones you alone make?"

"None that I see any reason to delve into at this moment."

"Not even a good reason?"

"I already gave you one, didn't I?"

Toren, yet again, allowed their conversation to linger in the sour morning air. But Mytho knew he was not done. "When exactly did you start caring about doing the right thing?"

Mytho shook his head. He could feel the dam breaking inside. It didn't need to. He didn't need to spend another second burdened by thoughts of Aressia, and absolutely not any extra ones about Halora. Toren, however, remained silent after that last question. Silent as he could be while making a raucous noise with his sloppy movements, that is. If there were any further questions he had, he didn't bother to voice them as they entered the woods.

Mytho fought through the bushes, and at the sight of the stolen cart in front of him, he smirked. It was a large, sturdy beast of a vehicle, far more than he had ever driven before. But he figured that by the time he was in full view of actual soldiers, he would have no trouble making it appear as if he was born on Cyrodiil's roadways and had been touring them ever since. He'd been able to bring it to a stop without doing any damage that couldn't be believably blamed on wear and tear of routine travel. So long as nobody noticed the small blood splatter on the front left wheel, he couldn't imagine anyone being wise to their scheme.

He tossed the book into his pack, folded his coat, then set them and his swords in the driver's seat. When Toren finally joined him in the woods, still clank-walking, Mytho shot a glance at him. With not a word further exchanged between them, Mytho strode around to the back of the wagon where a large prisoner cage waited. The two men inside – both covered in dirt and wearing ragged, faded robes that were stitched together out of sackcloth – looked up at him.

"It's your lucky day, gents," Mytho said, putting on his helmet. "There's been a slight change of plans. Keep your mouths shut, play along, and you might find yourselves free again before the sun sets." With that warning given, he dropped the visor on his helmet. He made his way to the front of the wagon and climbed into the driver's seat next to Toren. "You have the papers, don't you?"

Toren waved the stack of pages around, fanning his face. "Signatures and all," he paused to read one, "Legate Otius."

"Good," Mytho said, whipping the reigns. Both Empress and Toren's horse – which the boy had already changed the name of three times, leaving Mytho unsure what to actually call the poor thing – trotted along, heading out of the woods and toward the open road. "Now, let's get down there and find out where dear Miss Ence has scampered off to."