It was dusk when Issana reached the edge of Lake Honrich outside the city. By the light of the setting sun, she could see her target: three islands about a hundred and fifty yards offshore. On the nearest sat a large manor house. Adjacent to it and connected by a wooden bridge was the island upon which sat the estate's many beehives, and on the other side of both islands sat the third, connected to the mainland by a stone bridge.
And the whole place was crawling with mercenaries.
It was like Aringoth was just daring the Guild to come after him.
Issana shrugged inwardly. Just makes it more fun. She waited until the sun had set fully before wading out into the lake. The water was viciously cold. She held her bag of supplies out of the water with one hand as she swam towards the island. It was slow going. Swimming had never been one of her strengths; she and the other orphans had only been able to practice when they snuck out at night, and that was rare. It hadn't been worth the beatings.
She reached the island, hidden from sight by a ring of cliffs. She waded silently onto the shore and set her pack down. Opening it up, she withdrew soft shoes and a set of fitted, warm clothing. She stripped off her wet clothes quickly, hiding them under a bush.
A rustle behind her caused her to reach for the long knife tied to her bag. She turned slowly.
A large, ugly crab stared back at her, pincers raised defensively.
Sorry, she thought. Am I in your way? I just need the spot for a second. She hastily dressed, then realized that she'd had an internal conversation with a mudcrab in nothing but her undergarments. She shrugged. Stranger things have happened. She belted on her tools, then the knife, then stuffed the empty bag under the same bush as she'd hid her clothes. She tied a covering over her face, pulled her hood up, and gave the mudcrab one last look. Bet you enjoyed that. Creep.
A silent jump let her grab onto the clifftop. She hauled herself up, peering over the lip before rolling into the grass. Two mercenaries stood by a campfire, talking.
"Why are we still here?" one said. "We haven't seen anybody since that one snoop Skel shot at."
"Who cares? We're still gettin' paid, an' gettin' paid to stan' aroun' is fine by me."
Issana circled them, edging around the back of the house. She stopped once she was out of sight and examined the building. The walls were formed of two layers; the main floor was made of well-cut stone pieces and the upper level was of logs. It wouldn't be hard to climb. Issana jumped for the highest hold she could reach and hung on tightly. The stones were sturdy and provided good footholds as she moved upwards like a spider.
More voices reached her ears from the other side of the house. "I hope that spy comes crawlin' 'round 'ere again," someone said. "My aim could use some more practice."
"Damn right," retorted a second voice. "How could you miss that shot?"
"Not easy shootin' in the dark. You try it."
The voices were growing louder and Issana realized they were circling the house's perimeter. She figured she had maybe thirty seconds before they came around the corner. She reached up for a log and was relieved that the wood was in good enough condition that it didn't give way beneath her grip. She hauled herself up.
Twenty seconds.
She climbed higher.
Ten seconds.
The logs, though better than smooth planks, weren't nearly as easy as the cut stone below. She reached for a grip but there was nothing to hook her fingers onto.
Five seconds.
Damn it. Issana took a deep breath and heaved herself as high as she could. Her fingers wrapped around the manor's eaves and with a grunt of triumph she pulled herself onto the roof.
Three mercenaries came around the corner, torches held high to light the way. Issana lay flat, out of sight as the mercenaries went by. Once they'd passed, she rolled onto her stomach and began to crawl, lizard-like, up the shingled roof.
A shuttered window greeted her about halfway up. She gave one shutter an experimental pull but it held firm. Locked, of course. Issana chuckled inwardly and drew her knife. Sliding it in between the shutters, she raised it until it hit the latch. A gentle flick was all it needed. Issana held one shutter closed and inched the other one open.
It creaked, but not enough to be heard from down below. Issana slipped in through the window and found herself in the rafters of the upper floor. There was no one around. She closed the window and set the latch again before swinging down and landing cat-like on the floor. The stairs were around the next corner and she crept down them without a sound.
She peered around the doorframe at the bottom. To the left, at the end of the hall a mercenary sat, head bowed in slumber. To the right, a set of stone steps led into the basement. Straight ahead was the dining room, judging by the table and chairs. Issana gave the sleeping man another look to confirm his state, then vanished into the basement.
This time when she looked around the corner she found herself nose-to-back with a burly, iron-clad man. She froze, holding her breath.
This is a problem.
The man shifted his weight and Issana shrank back a bit. He was helmetless, his bald head a shimmering target for something heavy, but Issana had learned about that the hard way. Whatever people said, there was no easy way to knock somebody out and have them wake up later with nothing more than a bad headache. You either stunned them for an all-too-brief moment or killed them.
Issana felt lucky she'd only done the former. Killing wasn't something on her to-do list.
An idea started forming itself in her mind. Creeping back up the stairs, she looked at the sleeping man at the far end of the hall. If he was sleeping deep enough, this would work without problem. If he wasn't…
She didn't waste time thinking about it. With a quick glance into the dining room to confirm that it was empty, she grabbed a wooden platter from a shelf beside her and tossed it in. It hit the floor with a clatter.
Issana was on the upper staircase again when the big man reached the main floor. He looked around in confusion and walked slowly into the dining room.
By the time he turned around again, curiosity sated, Issana was already in the basement.
It wasn't a very complex layout. A single, stone-walled room held an assortment of storage containers, and there were two smaller rooms leading off of it. One of the doors was already ajar, and through it Issana saw the safe. At a silent run she crossed the room and closed the door behind her before the mercenary had returned to his post. Issana pulled out her lockpicking tools.
The safe was tough, and Issana couldn't help but smile at the lock's complexity. It was nice to have a challenge these days. She worked the pins quickly and quietly with her pick and was eventually rewarded with a satisfying click. The safe swung open.
She was disappointed. There was only a single leaf of parchment and a few stacks of Septims, not even enough to bother bringing back. She tucked the parchment into a waterproof pouch and turned around, pressing an eye to the door's keyhole. The mercenary was still there.
You, my friend, are turning into a big problem.
Before she could begin thinking of a plan, she heard a voice call from upstairs, "Oi, Varn! Skel's target shooting again and can't hit a thing! Come place some bets!"
The man gave a final look around the room before turning and heading up the steps again. Issana felt her breath ease out. She inched the door open, slipped out and headed back to the main floor. It was abandoned.
Within minutes Issana was back on the roof. She jumped silently onto the ground, rolled to break her fall, and vanished into the water.
The beehives were so easy it was almost insulting. Issana reached the island without incident and scrambled up the sloped bank. A quick glance told her everything she needed to know. The place was lit with torches, but without anyone keeping an eye on things they were nothing more than ammunition.
One, two, three tosses; three beehives went up like bonfires. Issana didn't wait to examine her handiwork. She slid down the slope and into the water, heading straight for the mainland. Even the icy cold did nothing to dampen her sense of triumph as cries of shock erupted from across the estate.
Another job done. Maybe this'll finally put that smile on Mercer's face we've been waiting for.
She doubted it.