Sabjorn was an ugly, corpulent man with a bald head and beady eyes that seemed to narrow at everything around him. He spoke with a slow, almost sly cadence as if he was trying to keep his thick jowls from quivering with each word. "What are you gawking at?" he demanded as Issana surveyed the room.

She crossed her arms and gave him an arrogant stare. "I heard you're looking for some help."

Sabjorn leaned his bulging gut onto Honningbrew Meadery's front counter. "Oh, really?" He glared at her. "And I don't suppose you're thinking of doing it out of the kindness of your heart, are you?"

"You want your skeevers dealt with or not?" Issana dropped one hand to the battered sword she'd... obtained... from a merchant.

Sabjorn pressed a fat finger to his lips. "Hush! Not so loud. If you want to get paid, you'll keep your mouth shut, you hear? Those vermin have my reputation held in their filthy little claws."

Issana leaned against the doorframe. "How much are you offering?"

"Fifty Septims."

Issana snorted. "There might be a beggar who'd work for that little. Two hundred."

Sabjorn's eyes widened. "Two-two hundred?" he spluttered.

Issana reached for the door handle. Sabjorn made a strangled noise of exasperation. "One-fifty." He took a large bottle off the counter. "And I'll even supply the poison. Here. Use this on the nests. It'll stop them from coming back."

Issana reached out and took it from him. "Where's the warren?"

Sabjorn pointed through an adjacent doorway. "They've been coming up from a tunnel in the storage room. Watch you don't step in the traps."

Issana said nothing and drew her sword. It felt uncomfortably heavy in her grip; she'd rarely ever held a sword let alone used one. The tapered blade was nicked and jagged, not something she would trust in a fight, but for dealing with skeevers it was enough.

I hope.

She'd also relieved the merchant of a set of leather bracers and thick gloves. She didn't want the giant rats scratching at her skin with those filth-ridden claws. Damn, damn, damn you, Maven. This is not what my skills are for.

But it was a test. It had to be. Maven wouldn't waste resources sending the Guild all the way out here, not unless she was trying to prove a point. See? Maven seemed to say. I can take your best thief and use her as a beat-stick, because I'm Maven Black-Briar. I own you.

Issana rolled her eyes and stepped into the next room. It was mostly empty except for a large door on the far end. She went to it and opened it.

The smell hit her first. Musty straw, spilled mead, rat dung, even blood was permeating the air with its stench. She peered around the door and nearly gagged. Mangy rats the size of dogs lay dead, trapped in metal-jawed traps, while all around them were piled makeshift attempts at straw nests. Across the room was a large hole in the wall that led down into complete darkness.

Issana readied the blade and closed the door behind her. She stepped carefully, grimacing as her boot sank into something soft, and reached the tunnel. There was a torch on the wall, unlit, so she tugged it out of its holder and started it with a flint. The glow was warm and cast dancing shadows down the tunnel.

By the Divines, how did I end up doing this?

Issana pointed the sword straight ahead and stepped into the tunnel. It was just low enough that she had to stoop. She heard nothing except the echo of her footsteps and the crackle of the torch as it sent shadows skittering up the stony walls like a thousand tiny spiders. The smell lessened slightly as the tunnel took her deeper into the ground and away from the dead skeevers.

Ahead of her, something moved. She heard its footsteps and saw the shadows shift; she raised the sword-

The skeever launched itself out of the darkness. Issana stumbled as it hit her; its claws hooked into her clothing and its pointed muzzle snapped at her throat with jagged teeth. Issana cried out and struck it with the hilt of her sword, but it hung on and caused her to stagger forwards under its weight.

She pressed the point of the blade to its ribs and shoved. The rat gave a squeal and released its grip, nearly yanking the weapon from her grasp as it fell. Issana stumbled back against the wall and sank to the floor. Her chest heaved with deep, panicked breaths.

It's all right. It's all right. It's over now. It's dead.

She stared at the dead animal, blood pouring from the hole in its side. It smelled awful. She gripped the sword tightly in trembling hands and stared down the dark tunnel. They're just rats. I can deal with rats. She rose slowly.

The tunnel descended deeper into the earth. She could see nothing except what her torch illuminated directly in front of her and every sound was magnified sharply off the rocky walls. She could feel cold sweat dripping down her back as she clenched the sword with nervous strength.

When the next skeever pounced from the gloom, she was ready. The creature sprang three feet up and four feet forwards, claws extended and teeth bared, and spitted itself on the end of her blade. It slid towards the hilt with a gurgle. Hot, sticky blood dripped onto Issana's hand and she wanted to vomit.

No. I'm the best damn thief there is. I can get into anywhere, steal anything from anyone-I won't let a couple of bloody rodents make me feel weak. I'm better than this.

Issana tugged the sword free. I can do this. She prodded the dead skeever with one foot. It was just a rat. A diseased and aggressive rat the size of a dog, but a rat. An animal. All it had were a few cracked claws and teeth. She had a sword. She shook blood from the blade and readied it again.

The tunnel got damper the deeper she went. There were drips of water running down the wall and into little streams on the ground. Mushrooms were visible on the rock, odd little things that glowed an eerie green-blue when she drew near. She met two more skeevers, one after the other, and skewered them both. With each one she felt stronger, more sure of herself.

The tunnel opened up ahead into a large room lit with the same blue-green fungi. Issana stopped about twenty feet back. The tunnel was cramped, but at least nothing could get around behind her. Out there, if there were more skeevers…

Squeaking from the cave confirmed her suspicions. Judging by the sounds there were at least three or four scattered about. That wasn't a fight she wanted to try. Carefully, quietly, she dipped her torch into a pool at her feet and extinguished it, leaving only the light of the mushrooms.

Then a man spoke.

"Patience, my children. Food will be ready soon enough."

The squealing intensified. There were definitely more than four of the things. And who was the speaker? "There you are, my children. Eat up."

Issana crept to the edge of the tunnel and leaned out. The cave was maybe fifty feet long and ran perpendicular to the tunnel, supported by large, natural pillars of stone carved out by the small river running through the centre. At the far end was a table set with bottles and little bowls of things Issana couldn't make out. A man stood beside it, clad in nothing more than a fur kilt, and around him writhed a pile of at least six skeevers.

"Yes," he said. "Eat. You will need your strength."

Beside the skeevers was a huge pile of straw, probably six feet high and twice that across. Another skeever jumped out of it and joined its brethren.

That's the nest. It has to be.

Issana felt for the bottle of poison hanging on the back of her belt. It seemed a bit small now. And with seven skeevers and a lunatic in the way, she might not even get a chance to use it. She leaned out to get a better view.

With a crack, the part of the stone wall she was holding gave way and clattered onto the ground. Issana swore and crept swiftly back up the tunnel. From the cave she heard the man hiss, "Go, my children! Find out what's out there."

Issana readied the sword as she backed away. She could hear the scratching of dozens of claws on the rock and the hungry squeaking of the vermin. She was just about to turn and run when two of them rounded the corner and saw her.

"All right, you bastards, come here." Issana swung the sword in front of her. "Come and get me."

The two skeevers charged. Three more appeared behind them, scrabbling over one another to get ahead, and behind them were two more. Issana backed away, keeping the sword ready, and when the first skeever pounced, she lunged. Her sword went through its gut and out the other side, but she hardly had time to notice as the second skeever went for her legs. She gave it a vicious kick to the face as she struggled to shake her sword free and then sprinted back up the passage. A heavy swing of her sword caught the next skeever out of the air to where it fell, mewling, to the ground, and two more met their end as they tried to climb over each other to get to her.

Three to go.

Thrust.

Two.

She swung.

One.

The last skeever was in the air, leaping from the corpses of its fallen brethren, when Issana half-turned and let it impale itself on her blade. Its claws scrabbled feebly at her from where it hung. Issana tipped the weapon towards the ground and it slid off, whimpering until it lay completely still. Issana wiped blood from her hands onto her trousers.

"Children?"

Issana swore. She'd completely forgotten about the man.

"Children? Where did you go? Did you find who it was? Was it that cruel, cruel meadery man who sets traps for us?"

Issana didn't see him coming around the corner until it was too late. His pale, withered face wrinkled into an expression of horror. "My children!" he shrieked. "You-you-you murderer!"

Issana whirled the blade menacingly. "Back off. Now."

Flames sprang to life in his palm.

Her eyes widened.

As the fire leaped from his hands, she turned and ran. The heat washed over her, boiling water from the walls and making her gasp in pain, but she kept going. Behind her she could hear the man wailing and screaming in pursuit; fire splashed across the wall just behind her and turned the rocks black. In its light she could see the body of one of the first skeevers she'd killed and she leaped over it. Behind her she heard the man stumble over the corpse. The flames ceased for a moment as he recovered.

She reached the storage room and vaulted the traps. Fire spurted across the wooden wall beside her and the man screeched in rage as she threw the door open and dodged into the meadery.

Sabjorn looked stunned. "You're-"

"No time, run!" She flew past him as a stream of flame boiled out from the storage room. Sabjorn froze with terror.

"RUN!" Issana screamed, and seized him by the shirt. She kicked the door of the meadery open and hurled him onto the road before diving after him. Fire exploded from the windows. "Murderers!" came the shriek behind them. "I'll kill you a-AH!"

His scream was cut short as a section of the meadery's roof fell inwards. Fire leaped up through the hole and within seconds the whole building was an inferno. Sabjorn fell to his knees, watching in horror as the meadery was consumed.

The heat forced Issana to back away as she tried to regain her breath. Glancing down, she realized she'd dropped the sword somewhere, but she didn't care. There were worse things to be concerned about. As she stared at the flames, there was only one thing she knew for sure.

Maven was going to be furious.