Chapter 3

Tirdas, the 5th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

The city of Markarth was as impressive from the streets as it had been from the rooftop garden of the Temple of Dibella. It was the cleanest city she'd ever visited. The rivers were contained in canals, but they flowed pure and swift through the city. The buildings still showed the stamp of their Dwemer origins. While the Dwemer people had vanished long ago never to return, in Markarth their craftsmanship lived on.

The people of Markarth did not live up to the beauty of their city. From the moment she left the Temple of Dibella, she could feel people watching her. Most of them stared at her with hostility, but a few men leered at her while clearly undressing her with their eyes. Status was both social armor and weapon. When you had status, you didn't need to bluster. Because she was the Dragonborn, she had been able to just ignore Hemming Black-Briar's empty threats. In Markarth everyone else was armed and she was vulnerable. She felt judgment in almost every stare. Senna had warned her that Bretons were under suspicion, but she had underestimated how bad it was. Her clothing only made it worse. When people looked at her, they saw a beggar, more likely a whore, and also a potential thief and spy. Because she was short and female, they didn't see a Forsworn assassin, but she was not a Nord, and she was not welcome in Markarth.

As she approached the city gates, the streets widened and opened out into a plaza. However, the foot traffic also increased as many merchants were doing business out of small carts in addition to the people going in and out of the buildings surrounding the plaza. She felt safer and less noticeable in the crowd, so naturally that was when she was stopped by the Markarth Guard.

"You! What are you doing here?"

Daenerys turned slowly to face the shout and saw two of the Markarth Guards. They were dressed identically in chainmail with round shields bearing the ram's head of Markarth in white on a green field. They wore full helmets which made them look intimidating. In Riften she had been able to make the city guards step aside just by her reputation. She couldn't do that here. She dipped her head low, even going as far as to press her knuckles to her forehead. "I'm looking for work, sir."

"You're looking for work here? The only work for you would be on your knees or on your back."

She kept her head down so he wouldn't see her glare. She wanted to hit him, or Shout at him, or verbally flay him. As the Dragonborn she could cut a man like this down with a few well-placed words. However, she looked like a Breton beggar or whore while he was a soldier with the entire Markarth Guard to back him. She stared at the ground and took a breath before she replied meekly. "Yes, sir. On my knees. I heard they need someone to scrub floors at the Silver-Blood Inn."

One of the guards found that funny and laughed. "Scrubbing floors is it? Dressed like that? Show me your hands."

Daenerys complied even though she knew that her hands would make it obvious that she was lying. She didn't have the cracked and chapped hands of a woman who scrubbed floors. Her hands had toughened some from weapons training, but only on her palms and not that obviously. She knew what they saw. A liar and a whore.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You can go 'work' at the Silver Blood Inn."

Daenerys kept her eyes down, but she saw the shadow of his arm point off to the left. "Thank you, sir." She lowered her hands to her sides and kept them loose and open despite her desire to clench them into fists. These men would be all too likely to try to make her pay for even the smallest act of defiance.

"Wait," said the other. "You're new here." He reached out and took hold of her chin and forced her to look up at him. "Well there, you're quite pretty."

Quite pretty? That's all? Perhaps it was vain, but beauty was one of her weapons and she knew how to wield it. At least she knew how to wield it in most situations. However, she had no intent to seduce this man, and haughty airs would either get her smacked down or make these guards suspicious.

"Except for the mer eyes. I bet you had a mer father didn't you, girl?"

She looked down as if ashamed and muttered, "I don't know who my father is sir."

The guard laughed. "Of course, you don't. I'm sure you'll be a good earner anyway, even with the eyes. Since you're new, let me explain the rules. No lollygagging around the plaza. You keep your work in the inn. No working in the alleys either. Not even at night. If we catch you with a hand in anyone's pocket, we'll cut it off. Oh, and we'll stop by the Silver-Blood Inn when our watch is done so you can thank us properly."

She could kill him with just three Words. No, it would only take one Word. She had Shouted the head off Thaena during their duel in Winterhold, and this guard was standing even closer. However, she kept her gaze down. She could kill him, but not the entire Markarth Guard. She forced the words out, "Yes, sir."

He laughed. "You have some pride left, don't you? You'll get used to swallowing it and other things." He released her chin. "Go on, run along little whore."

She had walked to her wedding to Khal Drogo knowing he was a savage. She had walked into his funeral fire. She had walked up to Drogon when she'd found him, even though he had grown wild. She could walk away from this man and not kill him. It was difficult, but she stared at her feet and walked in the direction he pointed. It was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to shout curses at him, Dibella, and her priestesses. She included Senna in that. The priestess had tried to warn her, but her warning hadn't been near strong enough. As her anger cooled, Daenerys realized she was being unfair. Senna was a priestess of Dibella and until recently been the Sybil. While Senna had known Bretons were mistreated in Markarth, Senna had lived a sheltered life. Even the other priestesses were just following Dibella's will. No, she would save her curses for the guards.

Daenerys reached the building and looked up at the sign. From up close she could just make out the sign: a hammer crossed with a pick both of them dripping blood. This had to be the Silver-Blood Inn. She opened the door and walked inside.

The Silver-Blood Inn was huge as inns go and built more like a temple with a large main room and a high arched ceiling. The walls were carved with Dwemer markings so it was doubtful that it had been originally intended to be used as an inn. The place had a seedy look to it. Perhaps because the narrow windows admitted little light. The tables scattered around the room were all in shadows. Only the bar at the center of the room was well-lit because there was a chandelier above it with six candles burning even though the sun was still up.

A bored man tending the bar looked up at her as she entered. His head was bald on top, but long grey hair grew from the sides of his head and fell down about his shoulders. He looked at her with a frown. "We don't need a tavern wench. I already have a wife. I don't need to pay someone else to yell at me to pour the drinks and the mend the roof."

"About that," came the voice of a woman from the darkness. "When are you going to fix that leak, Kleppr?"

"Woman, what you getting onto me about? The roof's not leaking."

"It's not leaking now, but it will the next time it rains." A woman stomped out of the darkness, she looked to be the same age as the man tending bar by her grey hair. From the tired familiarity of their bickering they had to be husband and wife. The woman shook her head in exaggerated dismay.

"Well, I can't fix it while it's raining, now can I?" He rolled his eyes and shrugged. He winked at her. "Don't worry, it's nothing, just a little leak. We can put down a bucket to catch the drip."

"Kleppir, it's a little leak now, but it will get worse come winter. Do you want to be up there fixing it when there is ice on the roof?"

"Well, Frabbi, I can't fix it now, we have a customer," said the man now identified as Kleppir.

Daenerys smiled at that, even as she got the feeling that underneath the bickering there was a lot of love between the two of them. Maybe she was wrong, but it felt like this bickering was an act. They were speaking far louder than necessary unless they were both hard of hearing. Perhaps it was a deliberate show to entertain their guests. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that there were indeed guests in the room, drinking at the tables in the shadows.

"A customer?" Frabbi looked Daenerys up and down. "You don't look like she could afford water."

"We don't charge for water, Frabbi. It's on the house."

"I know." Frabbi rolled her eyes. "Men." Then she sighed loudly and dramatically before lowering her voice. "Now, what can I do for you, dearie? I have a guess, but are you here for a room, a drink, or a meal?"

Daenerys shook her head. "No, I'm not. I'm looking for honest work. I'm not a whore." It shamed her that she even had to say that. "I've heard there is a Vigilant of Stendarr staying here and he was looking for some help."

"Oh dearie, he is looking for some help confronting what he thinks is a daedra manifestation. He needs dangerous men."

Daenerys was tired of being judged by her looks. "I can hold my own in a fight." She stretched out her hand and channeled a little bit of magic so that fire danced in her palm.

"Put that out!" snapped Frabbi.

Daenerys put out the fire with a showy and unnecessary clench of her first.

"So, you're a mage." Frabbi made mage sound like it was a contagious disease. "Well, you're in luck. He's over at that table eating his lunch. He's a priest. Not sure he'll want anything to do with one of your kind, but you can ask."

"Thank you." She gave the woman a slight nod and walked off in the indicated direction. She wondered at the odd lighting. Why keep the bar well-lit, but leave the rest shadowed? Was this the hangout of thieves like the Ragged Flagon? She pushed those thoughts aside to consider the man sitting at the table.

He was wearing robes and halfway through eating some kind of meat pie. He was also watching her carefully. "Well, are you just going to stare at me? Or are you going to sit down?"

Daenerys hurriedly sat in the other chair. She had expected that Vigilants of Stendarr were armor-wearing knights and not priests. Maybe he simply didn't wear his armor when he wasn't expecting a fight? He did have a mace hanging from his belt, but his robes would be poor protection against a daedra or a vampire. As her eyes adjusted she noticed something else that gave her hope. He was clean-shaven, head and face both, and he looked to be an Imperial. That was a good sign. Imperials were much more accepting of magic and mages than Nords. "I've been told you're looking for some help to root out daedric influences. I need work, and I can handle myself in a fight."

"Can you?" he asked. "I saw your little flame trick. What can you do?"

"Destruction mostly: Firebolt, Ice Spike, and Lightning Bolt. I can heal as well."

Hmm. He took a bite of meat pie and chewed it. "What's your story? I don't recognize your accent."

"Because I grew up all over," lied Daenerys. "My father was a traveling merchant. He wanted me to take over the business someday, but I wanted to learn magic."

"So, why didn't you? You seem to have a bit of talent. You're a little old, but the College of Winterhold would still take you."

Daenerys didn't like lying to him, so she opted for a half-truth. "Can I just say there was a man involved and I made a fool of myself with him? He left me with nothing. I mean that literally. This dress is all I have left."

"Ah." He shook his head and chuckled. "Love makes fools of us all. I shouldn't laugh. Couldn't you at least complain to the guard?"

"No, because he grew up in Markarth and I'm a Breton." So much for half-truths. "Who am I going to complain to?"

"Who indeed?" agreed the man. "You ever fought a daedra before?"

"No, but I've been helping guard caravans for years. I've fought wolves, spiders, and bandits. Never by myself, but I know my way around a fight."

"Hmm." He ate a bit of his pie. "Hmm," he repeated. He took another bite and chewed it slowly. Then he washed it down with some ale. "I'd have you demonstrate, but there isn't any place in the city that would be happy with you flinging spells around. I saw you do fire. Show me cold and electricity. Keep it small."

Daenerys smiled. She had him. "Very well." She held a hand and channeled a bit of frost. She clenched her fist, opened it, and then made sparks dance in her hand.

"Hmm, I suppose you'll do. There is a house in town. It has an evil aura to it. I believe it might have been used for Daedra worship. Evil rites and so forth. Nobody goes in. Nobody goes out. I've tried talking to people. Pleasant conversation, friendly as can be. I ask about that house, and they clam up. They don't know anything, and suddenly they have somewhere else they need to be."

Daenerys wondered if there was simply nothing wrong with the house and the vigilant was frightening everyone away with his questions. However, he was a Vigilant of Stendarr. Presumably, he knew what he was talking about. If nothing else, she would learn the location of an abandoned house. She might need to use it as a place to sleep until she could afford a room in an inn. "How much does it pay?"

"Hmm." He took the last bite of his pie. "If it turns out to be nothing, I'll buy you a proper dress, a meal, and a room for the night. If we have to fight daedra, twenty septims."

That was actually a generous offer for one day of mercenary work, but it wouldn't even buy her a decent weapon. "Thirty septims, an equal share of the spoils, and you have to tell me your name."

He laughed. "My name is Tyranus."

Daenerys blinked. "You're joking." Even though she wasn't a native speaker of Tamrielic, she knew that his name shared the same root as tyrant and tyranny.

"I'm not. My father thought it sounded impressive. Just call me Vigilant. Vigilant Tyr if you must. I'll give you twenty-five septims, a share of the spoils, and you have to tell me your name."

"Danyen," said Daenerys making up a name on the spot. "Buy me lunch and loan me a weapon so I'm not going in hungry and totally unarmed, and we have a deal."

"Agreed," said Vigilant Tyr.

The meat pie he bought her was actually quite good. She turned down the ale he offered and drank water instead. She had absolutely no desire for any form of drink, even something as tame as ale. While she ate, she asked him a little about what he had seen and killed as a Vigilant of Stendarr. She had been expecting tales of fighting dremora, vampires, and Daedra worshipers. However, Vigilant Tyr claimed most daedric incursions were actually minor daedra like scamps, daedrats, atronachs, and skeletons. The worst that he'd ever faced personally had been a vampire and he'd had two fellow vigilants with him at the time.

She also learned that very few of the Vigilants of Stendarr were knights. Most were priests like Tyr who fought with spell and faith, not armor and weapons. That made her question their sanity. Faith in the gods was all well and good. Her own faith in Talos kept growing stronger, but if you were in the business of killing monsters it made sense to at least wear armor. When the weapon he offered her turned out to be a simple dagger, she seriously considered backing out of this deal. However, she had already eaten the food he provided and given her word. They could both cast spells and heal, so they should be able to manage a minor daedra. It wasn't like she had a lot of other options.

They passed another pair of Markarth guards on their way to the house that Tyr wanted to investigate. She was pretty sure that the guards would have stopped her had she been alone. For all she knew they were the same two guards as before. However, they just looked at her and Tyr and walked on past.

The house was on the lower level of Markarth by the canal. Like every other house she had seen, it had been originally carved from the rock by the Dwemer. As they grew closer, she felt something. She wasn't as sensitive to magic as a mer, but something about the place was off. "I see why you're suspicious of this place. The feel of it reminds me a little of a Nord barrow."

Vigilant Tyr frowned. "You've been inside a Nord barrow?"

"No, but I've seen a barrow from the outside. There's one inside the town of Ivarstead in the Rift." Another lie. "Are you sure no one is home?"

"I've watched the house for some time. No one enters. No one leaves. I've asked questions. They say it's abandoned and has always been abandoned, but you can just feel the evil here. It's good to have someone watch my back. Follow me, and keep your eyes open. Even lesser Daedra are powerful creatures and tricksters. Never know what you'll find." He opened the door and walked inside.

The door opened into a large room. The home was obviously not abandoned. There was a fire burning in the hearth. There were no windows, but multiple candles were lit and provided more than enough light to see clearly. There were herbs drying over the fire, cheese wedges stacked up, and two freshly caught rabbits sitting out. The room was larger than the home of many Nord families, but seemed to be set up as a kitchen. A table was set up for the preparation of food, and something was cooking in the kettle.

"Fresh food and a fire burning in the hearth," observed Vigilant Tyr. "Someone has been here recently."

"Someone? Or something?" asked Daenerys. The feeling of something wrong was even stronger and there was some kind of smoke or fog in the room. Except it didn't smell like smoke or feel damp like fog. There was also something else off about the room, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Wait! Did you hear that? I think it came from this way." He took off through a door at the other end of the room.

Daenerys followed after him into what was a sitting room, maybe. It was hard to tell. Only a few candles were lit in this room and the miasma was thicker and darker. The entire room appeared indistinct as if seen through a fog at night. She could hear the sound that the vigilant mentioned and it didn't sound natural. It reminded her of the sound of metal on a grindstone, but it went on and on. Like the wind or the babble of a river the sound waxed and waned in strength. The vigilant was right about one thing. The sound clearly came from deeper inside the house. More importantly, the sense of wrongness was stronger.

Vigilant Tyr scowled at the room. "That's it. Something's inside the house. Come on. We're getting to the bottom of this!" He immediately rushed through another door that led deeper inside.

She followed him down a dark hallway and down some stairs into another room that might be a cellar, but it was large enough to house a family or two of Nords. Only two candles burned in this room, and the little light they gave off was consumed by the thickening clouds. She heard a rattling noise and swung about.

A pot floated into the air and then it sailed at her as if thrown by an unseen hand.

Daenerys cast her Shove spell at the pot and it shattered into pieces that fell to the ground. "What's happening?!"

"Stendarr's Mercy!" cried Vigilant Tyr. "This is no ordinary Daedra! We have to get help." He took off and ran back the way they came.

Daenerys followed after him. The entire house seemed to be possessed. Books, pots, barrels, and other objects were moving through the air as if gripped by unseen hands. Some of them were moving about randomly. Others attacked them. Daenerys wished she had her armor and a stout shield. The small objects weren't that dangerous or hard to dodge, but furniture was being tossed about as well. She dodged the small things and used Shove to deflect the large ones.

They reached the first room, but it looked much different now. The dark clouds smothered the lights and made it hard to see. She dodged a flying block of cheese and then felt a sharp pain in her leg. She reached behind her and pulled a fork out of her thigh. It was stained with her blood.

"WEAK. HE'S WEAK. YOU'RE STRONG. CRUSH HIM." The voice was that of a man, but it reeked of cruelty and power and boomed like thunder.

That voice was the final clue that explained the dark mystery of this house. She felt foolish for not realizing what this was sooner. Tyr was right. This was no ordinary daedra. She had been near power like that before. This was like being in the presence of Clavicus Vile or Nocturnal. Except, the sense of cruelty was much stronger than that of detached amusement. Daedric Princes were cruel and capricious by nature, but which one? He wanted her to crush the weak. That meant this was Molag Bal: the Daedric Prince of Domination and Enslavement, the Tormentor of Men, the King of Rape, and many other disgusting titles.

"We're getting out of here! Now!" He tried the door and it didn't budge. "We're trapped. I don't want to die. I can't die here!"

The room rang with the sound of the Daedric Prince's laughter. "NO. KILL HIM. CRUSH HIS BONES. TEAR AT HIS FLESH."

"Get out of my head, Daedra!" yelled the vigilant with his hands held over his ears.

"Step aside," commanded Daenerys. When Tyr didn't move, she pushed him aside. She gathered her magicka and released it as a Shout. "Fus! Ro!" She tried to add Dah, the Word that completed the triple but she had spent too much of her magicka blocking flying objects with her Shove spell. The third Word died unspoken. The Shout still impacted the door and even two Words of power should have blasted it open, but the door stood untouched.

"You can Shout!" exclaimed the vigilant. "But… we're still trapped, like rats! Keep Shouting."

"Stay strong," encouraged Daenerys. "Give me just a bit to recover my magicka, and I'll Shout the door down."

"YOU WILL KILL, OR YOU WILL DIE!" commanded the echoing voice of Molag Bal.

"You used all your magicka?" asked the vigiliant. He looked her up and down. "I'm sorry!" He grabbed his mace and attacked her.

Daenerys hastily stepped aside from the blow. "What are you doing? If we stay together, we can escape together."

He laughed the brittle laugh of madness. "The Daedra has us. It's you or me!" He came at her again with a wide sweeping horizontal blow.

Daenerys scampered back. The mace was her preferred weapon. It was a crude and blunt weapon for those with more strength than skill. As the mace passed she tried to dash in and slash at the vigilant's arm. However, the vigilant held out his hand and sparks of electricity shot forth.

She recognized the spell even as she screamed in pain. Sparks, the simplest of the electric spells. Useful against mages because the pain of seared nerves made it hard to recover magicka. She pushed through the pain and slashed at his outstretched hand drawing first blood.

Tyr fell back and clenched his hand to him. In doing so he left himself wide open.

Daenerys followed through with her dagger striking once, twice, three times in quick session. She pulled back leaving the vigilant with slashes on both his arms and two deep wounds in his belly.

He looked at her still standing, and then looked down at the wounds on his belly. His face was white. "I'm sorry." He collapsed to the floor. "Forgive me."

Daenerys rushed forward and kicked his mace aside. Her nerves were still screaming from the Shock spell and she couldn't pull any magicka up from inside. Maybe she could have found a little magicka, if she had really wanted to heal him, but she didn't feel in a forgiving mood. "May Stendarr forgive you, for I cannot."

The loud sound of Molag Bal clapping sounded through the room. "KILL HIM. BE DONE WITH IT."

Molag Bal's voice was enough to break through to Daenerys. She had bargained with Nocturnal and Clavicus Vile, but there was nothing remotely good in the presence that filled this house. It was pure cruelty and evil. Molag Bal was their enemy, and he had them fighting each other. She went down on her knees and tried to pull up some magicka. Her hand went to her throat to grab her amulet, but there was no amulet there. It didn't matter anyway. Most belly wounds could be survived with prompt healing, but she must have struck something vital. His robes were drenched in blood and the light was gone from his eyes. The priest of Stendarr was dead.

"YES! GOOD!" gloated Molag Bal. "YOUR REWARD IS WAITING FOR YOU, DOV. FURTHER DOWN. COME TO ME."