Mercer spoke little. He sat in the cart opposite Issana, gaze flitting from place to place as the cart rolled north. The soldiers they'd bartered passage with were just as quiet.
It was a caravan of sorts. Three horse-drawn carts, each with about half a dozen soldiers and a sizeable pile of provisions, crawled northwards on the long road to Windhelm. What strings Mercer had had to pull, Issana didn't know, but she appreciated not having to worry about the dangers of Skyrim's wilderness.
Still, after Ivarstead she didn't exactly feel comfortable around them.
At least Mercer seemed as unhappy as she was to be making this journey. His permanent frown grew deeper as the days drew on. At first his silence was welcome - Issana was still bitter about being dragged into this and anything he said might've only made her angrier - but as the days grew into weeks she knew she needed answers.
They pitched their shelter that night about twenty yards away from the soldiers, enough that they could whisper without being overheard. Not that the guards showed any interest in them - they held their own hushed conversations and were more watchful of the surrounding trees than their companions.
"Who's Karliah?" Issana said. Her teeth were clenched as she pulled the shelter's main rope taught.
Mercer threw the canvas over. "I've already told you. She murdered Gallus and tried to destroy the Guild. I don't know why she's resurfaced now, but she won't stop until she succeeds."
"If that message was meant for you, don't you think this is a trap?"
"Of course it is," growled Mercer. "Her mistake."
Issana tied the canvas' corners tightly. "How are you so sure you can kill her? You already know I won't be much help."
"Yes, I know."
"You want to tell me what your plan is?" Issana said, throwing her bedroll under the shelter. "Or am I just going in blind?"
"You just worry about the locks, I'll worry about Karliah."
"That would be easier if I had more confidence in y ou."
"Excuse me?" said Mercer. At the sound of his voice several soldiers glanced their way.
"You heard me. You want me to help you take down someone who's had gods know how long to prepare, and right now I don't have any idea if you can handle her or if you're just overconfident. So help me out a little, Mercer. Otherwise I'm going home."
"You leave and Maven'll want your head too," Mercer replied. "Or have you forgotten already that you set this off?"
Issana grunted in frustration and ducked under the low canvas. She set her boots down beside her bedroll and lay down. Mercer didn't join her, instead seating himself several yards away with his back to her. He drew a short knife and began carving absentmindedly into a stick.
Issana felt her eyes beginning to close. Mercer broke the stick over his knee with a snap and picked up another one. Sleep crept up on her, embracing her in its soft coils, and then it took her.