A huge thank you to Sky (aka ScriptrixDraconum) for looking over this chapter and offering feedback. If you haven't read her fantastic "Hero" series, be sure to check it out. She is a wonderful writer that has crafted an amazing tale.
Sorry for the wait on this chapter. It ended up being longer than I thought it would be. I actually ended up moving a bunch of stuff into the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it.
-E.K.
"Wait. What?" Sionis stammered, a look of confused amazement on his face. "How did you find out where it is?
Sable's smile vanished. Blurting out that she knew the location of Boethiah's shrine had been a mistake. What she should have done was to help guide the search and make it appear as though they had happened to stumble upon the Prince of Plots' sacellum. But, having blurted it out, she would have figure out something to tell him. But what could she say that would explain her spontaneous knowledge of Boethiah's whereabouts? Neither of them had known previously. How could she have so suddenly gained that insight? She quickly decided that no lie would hold up under scrutiny. There was nothing to tell him other than the truth; what had actually happened. She had to tell him that she had communicated with a Daedric Lord, but that didn't mean she had to everything him everything.
"Do you remember us speaking about The Pillow Book?" She asked.
"Yes, I do," he replied.
"It somehow ended up under my pillow last night," the assassin explained, "and it actually works."
"What do you mean?" Sionis questioned, "How does it 'actually work'?"
"Well, I don't know how it works," Sable replied, "but last night, in my sleep, I talked to Boethiah."
"Really?" the mage questioned, trying somewhat unsuccessfully, to keep the skepticism from his voice. "What did he say?"
"She knows we're coming," The assassin answered. "And she knows our intent."
"Oh good!" Sionis exclaimed sardonically. "Divines know if we can pull this off, but now he'll be ready for us."
"Really, Sionis," Sable shot back, "Boethiah is a Daedric Prince, if she can't figure out what us little mortals are up to, then she's probably not worth much attention."
Sionis sat back in his chair. For whatever reason, it had never crossed his mind that the Prince of Deception would know what they were up to. Had he really done anything to get the Daedric Lord's attention?
"And why wouldn't you have her attention?" the assassin explained, as if having read his thoughts. "You ended her last attempt to mess with the mortal world when you killed that mage."
Again, he was silent for a moment as he thought about not only what she had just said, but the implications of it. Boethiah knew they were coming, so for sure he wouldn't just sit back and wait for them.
"Yeah," he replied quietly, "I … uh … I suppose you're right."
She let him have a moment in thought. It was if the thought that a Daedric Lord knowing what they were planning had never occurred to him. If she was honest, it hadn't occurred to her either. She had been so focused on just doing the contract that she really hadn't stopped to think about what it was she was actually doing. Could she actually kill a god? Was it even possible? She couldn't imagine it was. So why was she doing this? Sionis spoke up finally before the answer came.
"So what do we do now?" he asked.
The question smacked her in the face. While left unsaid, in her mind his question carried with it another inquiry that asked, "Should we just give up?" And there was only one answer to that. She had never backed down from any challenge no matter how ridiculous, and she certainly wasn't going to let this go. All other thoughts were suddenly excised from her mind. What do they do now? She answered out loud.
"What we do now," she began, her voice full of grim determination and perhaps a hint of irritation as if she was answering the taunts of a bully she had finally had enough of, "is pack up and get going. I have a Daedric Prince to kill."
With that, she stood and trudged off back to their room. Sionis remained seated for a moment, not sure if he felt impressed by her moxie or worried about what they were walking into. Or perhaps it was sheer terror at her bravado in the face of the attempted murder of a god. At any rate, there was nothing to do, but rise and go pack as well. He figured it would be quite the interesting day.
A short time later, they both stepped out of the Braidwood Inn with their packs slung over their shoulders, squinting as the light of dawn quickly gave way to the day.
"Alright, where do we go from here?" Sionis asked.
Sable didn't answer, but rather started walking down the path that led away from Kynesgrove and back toward Windhelm. Sionis lurched forward to catch up with her. A short distance later, Sable suddenly stopped and turned back towards the mining town and pointed at the mountain behind it.
"Up there." She said simply. "Boethiah's shrine is up there – near the mountain top."
"We have to hike up the mountain?" The mage asked incredulously.
"We could try," Sable answered with a smirk, "though it's unlikely we could climb the more sheer faces near the top, and – if I remember right – it will take us quite a bit higher up than we want to be." Just then, an idea occurred to her. "That magic you used to pick up that dead elf at the embassy. Could you use it on yourself?"
Sionis shook his head. "The spell actualizes in a linear behavior," he answered as if that explained anything. When she said nothing and just stared back at him, he decided to elaborate. "It's linear behaving nature requires specifying both a destination and an origination. Because of that, the caster, cannot be the intended target."
"A simple 'no' would have done just fine," Sable returned, rolling her eyes and ignoring a glare from her mage companion. "Well, then we will just have to take the long way around. But, not to worry," she added at seeing Sionis' questioning look, "it's also the easy way. On the north side of the mountain, there is a path that leads directly to Boethiah. Let's go."
She started off again down the path to Windhelm with Sionis following closely behind.
They followed the road back to the Windhelm stables, but instead of going back into the city, they turned east down a road that ran beside The White River and brushed up against the southeastern corner of Eastmarch's capital.
There was little conversation as they walked. They seemed lost inside of themselves. Sionis simply contemplated whether the pair's endeavor was even possible, but determined to see it through. Perhaps with his magic having been augmented by Mephala there was a chance? He just didn't know, but he did know that there was a real chance both he and Sable would die tomorrow. He found that he was okay with the idea of himself dying. He would avenge Clairiss or he would die trying and that was enough for him.
He glanced up and saw the back of his companion's head as he followed her along. What about her? Was it fair to just lead her to her death because of some vendetta he had towards a god? Was it right? Did it matter? Or was exacting vengeance for his sister all that held meaning for him? He turned his gaze to Sable again. He honestly wasn't sure anymore.
For her part, Sable was turned inwardly as well, though she was ruminating on different matters than her mage companion. She was edgy. She was constantly mulling Boethiah's offer – Sionis' life for all the power of being a Daedric Prince's champion. But bits of what Sionis had said to her in Windhelm kept invading her thoughts, nagging at her. Was she really gaining power this way? Or was she taking a proposal out of fear? She forced herself to admit that she was afraid of what would happen if she gave herself to Sionis. Wouldn't opening herself up to him give him power over her in some way? Maybe that's exactly what he wanted. If he could gain that power, he could wield her how he wanted.
But was that really any different than Boethiah's offer? Would she not simply be a tool of a Daedric Lord? It was different though. Boethiah promised her power in return. Boethiah had said all she ever dreamed of would be hers. Could Sionis say the same? What did he have to offer?
Her thoughts were broken by the cry of a rough male voice.
"Hold there! Come no further."
Sable's head snapped up and she saw a large scruffy Nord standing at the outside corner of an L shaped two story house that had certainly seen better days. He was dressed in a hodgepodge of fur and leather armor that had also seen better days.
She quickly took in the rest of the building and the surrounding area. There was another crouched behind a crop snowberry bushes on the other side of the road, trying – and failing miserably – to hide from view. She caught the site of another as he peaked out from behind the jut of the house. And finally, she spotted a fourth. He was crouched up on the roof of the house with a bow. He had an arrow nocked and trained on her.
Sable narrowed her eyes and stared hard at the leader of the group.
"We're not here to disturb you." She called out. "We are traveling to the mountain path just beyond your house. Just let us pass."
The man began making some blustery and boastful reply, but Sable didn't pay attention. She knew they wouldn't comply, she just needed a moment to get her companion ready. She lowered her head so the bandits wouldn't see her talking.
"Sionis," she muttered, "can you deal with the archer on the roof please?"
"Yes," came the whispered reply.
"Ready what spell you need and hold it until I move."
There was no reply from him this time, but she knew he was with her.
She turned her attention back to the ruffian. "Let us by," she called out. "It isn't worth your lives and I won't warn you again."
The leader of the brigands threw his head back in a laugh, and that's what gave the assassin her opening.
Sable took off in a dead run for the leader. An instant after she heard an arrow whiz over her head, the sharp crackling report of a lightning bolt sounded, followed by a clipped scream and involuntary garbled warbling. She smiled because she knew Sionis had hit his target. Sable pulled her bow from her back as she ran.
She made it to the chief fast enough to see the surprise in his face that she would just charge him like that and before he could react, she spun in a low circle, kicking her leg out and sweeping his out from under him. He landed with a thud, gasping, trying to catch his breath.
The assassin paid him no heed and nocked the arrow she had pulled during her turn and took careful aim at the hooligan still crouched behind the snowberry bushes. His eyes went wide as he saw her take aim, but he couldn't move fast enough. Sable released the string and the arrow slammed into the man's chest just below his throat. He fell over backwards, grasping at the quivering shaft to no avail.
By this time, the last remaining bandit had recovered from the surprise attack and charged at her. Sable dropped her bow and drew her daggers. As he reached her, he launched a sideways swipe at her, aiming to cut into her arm and chest. The white-haired woman easily ducked under it. As she did, she punched her left hand up into his elbow. His hand – suddenly too weak to hold his blade – went limp and his sword fell to the ground as his arm went high and wide. Sable took the opportunity to sink the dagger in her right hand into his armpit before twisting it and yanking it back out violently.
Not finished, she spun again using her right leg as the pivot and stuck the blade in her left hand into his chest right above his left breast. The man stumbled away a few steps before crumbling the ground.
Now she turned her attention back to the leader. He had just regained his air and was attempting to sit up when her boot kicked him back down. Sable peered down as she stood over him. A cruel smile twisted its way across her lips.
"I told you it wasn't worth your lives." She admonished him, panting from the thrill of the fight and the prowess she had just shown all of them. "And I did warn you."
Saying nothing more, she slid her dagger across his throat. The man gasped as blood began spilling from his neck in sheets.
Sable stepped away from him and turned back to Sionis.
"Shall we continue?" She asked as if they had stopped for nothing more than a brief lunch.
Sionis just stood there with his mouth hanging open for a moment.
"I do believe you've gotten even better." He said in awestruck tones. Sable beamed and tried hard not to blush furiously.
"Let's go," she said, composing herself. "The path up the mountain should be just ahead."
After retrieving her bow, she turned back up the path and started on her way.
Sure enough, they came to the path up the mountain about a mile or so past the shack that had formerly housed the group of bandits. It was marked by two piles of stacked stones, one on either side of it. The two of them looked to each other and stayed there for a moment, each one searching for the resolve they needed in the other. Somehow, they just knew that the hardest step would be the one taken onto this path, as if crossing this invisible threshold meant there was no turning back.
Without a word, they both turned and with purposeful steps, passed the rather small monuments and started their way up the mountain to where Boethiah waited.
While the trail they followed was smooth and generally unbroken, the going was slow. The path twisted and turned its way up the mountain and the mountain was apparently quite tall. However, from the very bottom, gazing up at the mountain, they could see their destination – a large circular stone wall with tall archways standing around it proudly and ominously. At first the pair constantly looked to it as they made their way up. Eventually the novelty was lost and their gazes went to the ground in front of their feet.
Finally they came to a point where the path wound around a jutting slope on the eastern side of the mountain and the wall disappeared from view. As the trail went around the corner, the mountain sides rose up on both side of them. The climb became steeper though it more or less straightened out before coming to one last bend. And then they came in view of the camp.
Small rudimentary tents lay scattered on either side of the track they had been following. A short distance in front of them off to the left they saw the stone arches standing at the edge of the wall they had seen from the bottom. It made up the outer edge of a flat circular area that was surrounded by a make shift fence except for a break at the trail and a large portion missing where the ground ran into the top of the stone wall. There was a weapons rack and numerous blood stains caked into the hard ground and judging by the two men inside swinging bladed about, it looked to be some sort of proving arena where followers could train or fight each other to the death.
They were immediately approached by a Dunmer woman dressed in fur with a fierce scowl etched across her face. Her head was shaved clean and she had a reddish tattoo working its way down the right side of her face.
"Boethiah has been expecting you." She said flatly.
Sable said nothing. She just stood there staring the dark elf down, taking measure of the woman. She had a small round buckler strapped to her back and a dagger sheathed on her left hip. An odd combination, Sable thought. Generally a shield would impede, or take away, the needed reach to fight effectively with a dagger.
"Why have you come?" The Dunmer finally asked as she saw no reply coming from the white-haired assassin.
Indecision hit her hard. It was obvious that Boethiah had some way of communicating with her followers that lived in the camp spread about her shrine. However, there was no way to know how much she told them. Did she tell them to expect assailants, or a new champion? The answer was critical here, and she had no idea what to say to her. She decided to be vague with her answer and hope for the best.
"I have come to see Boethiah," she answered simply.
The dark elf smirked before narrowing her eyes at the assassin. "I know the armor of the Dark Brotherhood when I see it," she said, "Who are you here to kill?"
That answer didn't do much to clue her in on what they knew. There wasn't much to do now but play out the ruse and hope that Boethiah enjoyed deceiving her followers as much as she did insane Thalmor mages.
By now, all the stirring of the camp had ceased as all the others – about half a dozen – stopped to look on the encounter taking place at the edge. However, while most stopped whatever it was they were doing, none moved to become a part of their conversation. Seeing this, Sable guessed that the Dunmer woman speaking to her was most likely the leader of the camp.
"You." The assassin answered flatly, hoping that if she killed the leader, the others would disband, or let them pass or something.
The dark elf smiled. "You have not yet proven yourself worthy to challenge me," she said, her voice full of disdain for the pale silver-blue eyed woman in front of her. With that statement the camp's entire population began moving toward them. None of them drew weapons, nor did they rush at them. They simply walked down the path to where their leader stood speaking to a pair of outsiders. Despite there being no threatening movement or statements from the camp's small number of residents, it was still rather ominous nonetheless.
"I'm here to kill you," Sable returned with annoyance, "not challenge you to a friendly duel."
By now, the group was close enough that the priestess – or whatever title she carried – took two steps backwards and was swallowed by the small crowd.
"Prove yourself, assassin," she called out, "Prove yourself worthy and only then may you have the chance to kill me."
"Are you a coward, then?" Sable taunted. "Are you really going to hide behind six mere men rather than face your death with dignity?"
The Dunmer responded with laughter. "I call a tournament!" she shouted out. "We will pit the murderer for hire against all of us. Each contest will be one of single combat to the death. Let this outsider earn the right to face each of us. Everyone to the ring!"
The group moved with its leader so there wasn't much hope of taking her out without going through them. Sable paused a bit before following so she could confer with her companion without them hearing.
"Do you think you could take them all out?" she said softly to Sionis. It was so quiet that she could only hope that the mage had heard her.
"Of course," he replied with equal discretion, "though I would need to be in front of you. The spell I have in mind has quite a wide area of effect."
"Do it," Sable said, "but wait until we are all stopped so as to make sure you have the best chance of catching all of them in it."
The assassin, then, inconspicuously paused a step and slid behind the tall blonde man.
Just before they reached the fenced area that served as the fighting ring, the dark elf leader called out, "Bind the mage."
Instantly the whole pack reversed course and fell upon Sionis. The movement was so sudden, that he was unable to cast in time. Four of them held him and began to tie and gag him while two others turned upon Sable with swords drawn. She could have taken them down easily, but the time delay that exposed her back was their purpose. Sionis would be tied before she would be finished with the guards and it would leave her open to treachery from the Dunmer woman.
There was nothing to do now but go through with the "tournament". Sable looked over to the dark elf and saw her wearing quite the smug, satisfied smile.
"I must have forgot to mention that your mage friend is not invited to participate," she said. "He may spectate, however."
At this point, Sionis was hauled upright and taken over to the edge of the arena where he could see everything. They had gagged him to keep him from speaking and had crossed his arms tightly across his body to prevent him from casting. His feet and legs were also bound as if for good measure.
"Shall we begin, assassin?"
Sable didn't speak, but just walked to the entrance of the ring.
"You can leave your bow out here." The bald Dunmer instructed. "This is a contest of martial skill after all."
Sable took her bow and her quiver and set them down and then walked into the fighting pit and turned back around to face the camp leader.
"You will start with the lowest member and work your way up to me." The dark elf informed her. "Each fight will be to the death. I'm sure you won't have a problem with that. If you win, you will get your prize. If you lose, I will kill your mage friend as well. Are you ready?"
Sable glanced once over to Sionis. He was not struggling to free himself but had a murderous look in his eyes. It was as if he was telling her to kill them all as punishingly as she could. He looked furious at this turn of events and she found that she was beyond furious at the camp's treatment of him. All of these fools would die. She decided right then that she would slit all their throats.
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she turned her gaze back to the Dunmer, staring daggers at the woman.
"Let's get this over with," she spat through gritted teeth. "I haven't got all day."
The chief looked over her gathered charges. "Brannis, you're first," she called out.
A Breton looking man stepped into the ring. He was at least a head shorter than her with mess of tangled black hair and dark eyes. He was carrying a single sword and did his best to scowl as fiercely as possible at her. She might have laughed if she wasn't so pissed off.
"Whenever you're ready, little man," Sable called out.
The man shrieked in rage and charged her. He stopped short as he reached her and swung his sword at her. Sable ducked under the swing and punched the back of his shoulder, causing him to stumble through a turn to his left. The assassin took the one step necessary to get herself behind him and then drew a dagger and slit his throat before kicking him in the back to send him sprawling into the makeshift fence. He fell to the ground grasping at his neck, trying to contain the blood that was spilling out in spurts.
Sable turned back to the crowd. "Who's next?"
The next three – two Dunmer men and an Imperial man – fell as easily as the first had and left the assassin wondering if all of them were as inept with their weapons as the first four.
The first woman stepped into the arena. She was a Nord about as tall as Sable, though a bit burlier with bright red hair. The woman pulled a two-handed great sword from her back and advanced upon the assassin, slowly.
The red-haired woman brought her blade up and swung it down at Sable's right shoulder. The assassin side-stepped it easily, but learned it was just a ruse when the woman let go of the sword with her right hand and punched her in the face.
Sable staggered back a couple of steps and then rolled to her right to avoid another swing from the great-sword. The two opponents faced off again and Sable reached up to wipe away some of the blood from her nose.
As they closed the distance between them, her assailant again hefted the massive blade. Sable immediately rushed forward before the woman could do anything with it. Already inside her reach and unable to bring the sword back in for a block, she could only watch in horror as the assassin plunged both daggers into her stomach.
Stunned from the icy cold invasion of her innards by the elven daggers, she offered no resistance to Sable quickly spinning around behind her and slicing her throat open before shoving her to the pile of contestants she had dispatched already.
She looked out at the Dunmer woman watching over the tournament. She now had an angry frown creasing her face. Sable took pleasure in seeing – in knowing – that she was ruining the woman's fun.
Before Sable could hurl any taunts or take any other action, a man stepped away from the priestess and into the ring. He was much older than the others, but still very much in shape as testified by his muscular body. He had a full salt and pepper beard and mustache and a large scar running across the right side of his face showing him to be blind in that eye. He carried a sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Sable knew that to be a dangerous combination, giving him reach from the sword and flexibility with the dagger. He threw her the toothy smile of a predator that enjoyed a challenge.
A moment later, the smile was gone and he charged. He closed the distance surprisingly fast with a downward swipe at her left side. The assassin stepped to her right to avoid the sword and straight into the path of the incoming dagger. Sable just managed to get a dagger down to block it. The man then spun a complete circle bringing the sword in level at her neck. It clanged against both daggers as she blocked, but there was no way to address another stab attempt from the man's dagger.
Sable threw herself to her left. The dagger nicked her side, putting a long scratch in her leather armor, but she took solace in that it was a scratch and not a near evisceration. Instead of trying to jump to her feet, knowing that to do so would be certain death, she swept both legs around her in an arc.
The maneuver saved her life as the man had come running in for the kill, but instead ended up hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Both of them scrambled to their feet and faced off once more. He was skilled, she had to give him that. She needed to find a way to take away his skill, if even for a moment. It was the dirt being shuffled around by her feet that gave her an idea.
Sable cocked her arm and whipped her dagger at her opponent. Next she quickly grabbed a handful of dirt and ran at him. The blade spun end over end straight for her assailant's throat. He just managed to knock it away, but it left him terribly vulnerable. As soon as he looked toward her and began to move to counter her, she threw the handful of dirt in his face.
"You cheating bitch!" He shouted as he attempted to backpedal while trying to blink through eyes filled with grit.
Taking advantage of his momentary blindness, Sable brought her left dagger through his right forearm, causing him to drop his sword and bringing a scream of pain from his mouth. She then spun herself behind him and kicked the back of his knee out.
The man went to his knees, hissing through the pain and cursing her treachery. Sable grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back exposing his neck and the arteries that lay pulsing beneath.
"I'm an assassin." She said softly and sweetly in his ear. "Why would you ever think I would fight fair?"
And with that, she reached around with her other hand and gave him a second smile. She held him for just a moment before letting him go. He fell forward choking on his own blood.
"BLASPHEMER!"
Sable looked to the source of the scream. The last remaining member of the camp, the Dunmer leader, was trembling with rage as she walked into the small arena. "How dare you violate the sanctity of the tournament!"
"And what did I do that was so wrong?" Sable asked genuinely surprised by the woman's anger, though she didn't necessarily care if she had broken some rule.
"This was to be a contest of blades," the dark elf spat at her. "An opponent that cannot see is not a worthy opponent."
"What!?" The assassin questioned. That was her issue? She was upset because a little dirt was thrown? Sable managed to suppress all out laughter, though she couldn't keep a smirk from breaking through. "You said no magic and no bows," she answered. "I broke none of your rules."
"You show yourself to be a coward by your actions," the Dunmer fired back. "You're a mockery to the tenets of a fair fight."
"Who cares about a fair fight?" Sable asked incredulously. "There is only power and weakness. Those who die show themselves to be weak to whoever killed them. Those that kill show they're the ones who have any true power. There is nothing worthy about any opponent. There is kill or be killed."
The other woman's countenance darkened even further. Her only answer to the assassin's lecture was to raise both shield and dagger toward her opponent. And what a dagger it was. It was unlike any Sable had ever seen before. It was black as ink. The back side of the blade was straight while the other side – the sharpened side –curved gracefully and subtly back and forth before forming the point about a foot from the handle that was somewhat long and tapered to a base that was much wider than at the hilt. What made it truly beautiful was the etchings all along the handle and covering the full length of the blade. They had a silvery quality to them that made them glint and shift hues as the light or shadow hit them.
The priestess raised the shield on her left arm high and tucked in close to her side and turned her body away from Sable as much as possible while still keeping the point of her dagger just beyond the rim of the shield and aimed at the infuriating heretic.
Sable then saw the intent of the priestess' fighting style. The combination of her shield and stance made it nearly impossible to get a hit on her while one would always have to mind the pointy end. Assuming one could get inside the shield to strike, they would likely be gutted before they could do much of anything.
As she struggled to find a weakness to her assailant's fighting style, the woman suddenly came at her. The dark elf closed the gap swiftly and thrust her black-as-midnight dagger toward Sable's abdomen.
Sable flung herself back, pushing her butt out as she did so to take her belly away from the blade and avoid being skewered.
The dark elf withdrew her dagger quickly and then stabbed again, this time aiming for the assassin's face.
Sable awkwardly rolled back on her left foot, twisting her head and body away from the blade and fell to the ground landing on her back. She immediately rolled away to avoid another incoming strike from the Dunmer.
It never came, however. The dark elf simply stepped with her and then landed a hard kick to her ribs, before backing off.
"Look at you," she taunted, "rolling around in the dirt like the cravenly bitch you are. Get up and face me."
Sable rose to her feet. She could see how the priestess – or whatever she was – had risen to the top. Her way of fighting was to essentially expend as little energy as possible while wearing her opponent down until they left her an opening. Then they would be dead.
The only thing she could think of was to find some way of separate the dark elf from her shield. If that could be accomplished, she would be easy to take down with only one dagger against her two. She just had no idea how she was going manage it.
The pair circled each other once or twice, neither making a move towards the other. Sable's face showed one of grim determination, while the camp chief showed a smile of smug satisfaction, carrying the belief that she was the better of the two and the win was inevitable.
"I'm almost glad you made it to me," the shaved woman said simply. "I don't think I would have enjoyed your death as much had one of the others bested you. However, it does make Gauntlet's Day a touch awkward. I now lack everything necessary to summon my master. Hmm . . . Perhaps when I've finished with you, I can offer your mage friend to Boethiah. Not the proper offering, but maybe he will accept it as a placation."
The thought of this Dunmeri witch killing Sionis spun the assassin in a whole new place of rage. How dare she think about even touching him? Sable leapt at her opponent, driving both daggers into her shield. There was no technique or strategy in the attack, just blind rage that just might take her by surprise.
The dark elf was too good to let that happen. In fact, that had been exactly what she wanted. It had been too easy to goad her adversary into something stupid like this. The silly intruder hadn't even noticed that she had put her dagger back in its sheath. Her death would be sweet poetic justice that would avenge Gerson.
Both of the assassin's blades slammed point first against the dark elf's shield, biting deep into the wood. With the daggers embedded into the buckler, the dark elf yanked her left arm out wide, ripping them from the white-haired woman's hands. She then threw the fistful of dirt she had grabbed into Sable's face.
Sable staggered back blinded, trying desperately to wipe the stinging grit from her eyes as quickly as she could. It was no use though. She would be dead before she hope to regain her vision. The killing strike didn't come, however. Instead, everything went quiet. The Oblivion-damned elf stopped her taunts and her movements. It was clear that the dark-skinned witch wanted her to be frightened before sneaking around her and cutting her throat.
It was then that the memory of the game with Astrid hit her. Without her sight, the game her matron had used to prove that she needed more training in the art of stealth would be the means through which she would defeat this last follower of Boethiah. Suddenly, Sable calmed and knew that if she played the game right, it was impossible for the dark elf to win.
The assassin fell into herself and paid attention to nothing but what her senses could tell her. In her mind she looked at the fighting pit from all angles to analyze what her adversary's best approach would be. When she found it, she smiled and then threw all her concentration into listening to any and all sounds around her.
Seconds passed unnervingly slowly as she waited, standing there trying to anticipate the coming strike. And there it was. It was an extremely faint sound. Just the soft scrape of a boot moving just that much too quickly in the dirt, but it was all the signal she needed.
Sable immediately stepped to her left and spun to ensure she came to her opponents left side, well away from the dagger that was undoubtingly streaking through the place she had been standing. As she did so, the assassin grabbed the Dunmer's left arm and held it out wide to keep her off balance before delivering a swift kick to her knee.
The dark elf staggered to the ground with a grunt. Sable's boot went up and came back down again; this time crashing down on to the shield's edge where it met the woman's elbow. There was a deafeningly loud crack as the joint and socket shattered followed by the grotesque screams that erupted from the Dunmer's throat.
As the dark-skinned woman thrashed upon the ground and howled in pain, Sable took a moment to carefully clear her eyes of the debris. A moment later she stepped over the dark elf and turned her to her back. The assassin searched the ground with her eyes for a moment before locating the desired object. Once found, she picked up her assailant's beautiful black dagger with the silvery etchings and stabbed it down through her other arm. The woman screamed again, though it didn't quite match the volume or intensity of her elbow being destroyed.
With the priestess effectively pinned to the ground, she yanked one her elven blades from the shield, left the arena, and went to where Sionis stood bound and gagged, watching the whole affair. Sable quickly cut him loose.
"Do you want to finish her off?" she offered. If it wasn't for the simmering anger in her voice, it would have seemed no different than barmaid asking to take a patron's order.
Sionis didn't actually answer, but walked into the fighting area and then stood over the Dunmer, leaning down to speak to her.
"I think there is a flaw in you theology," he stated simply as if he were lecturing a bunch of students. "Does not Boethiah govern the realm of deception? I would think he would find it completely legitimate to trick one's opponent in order to deliver a mortal strike. I can't find the notion of a fair fight something he would exhort. Perhaps you should think on the ideals of the Daedric Prince you have chosen to venerate with what little life you have left."
With that said, he stood back upright and walked away.
"All yours." He said to his pale-eyed companion as he walked by.
Sable walked back over to the dark elf and wasted no words. She simply bent down and slit the woman's throat as she had done to all the others before collecting her other dagger from the buckler and claiming the priestess' midnight blade as her own.
She nearly walked into the back of her mage companion as he had stopped just outside the fighting ring. She was about to ask why he had stopped when she saw the look on his face. It was one of sheer amazement tinged with trepidation. He just stood there with his mouth open and his eyes wide. She followed his gaze and finally took in what he was staring at. It was her turn, now, to stand in awe. There, standing menacingly on a platform above them stood her quarry.
A monumental statue of Boethiah stood, sword raised high above her head as if beckoning – no challenging – them to approach and withstand her might. Sable felt a small shiver work its way down her spine.
A/N: The big showdown with Boethiah is coming up next. And Sable still has to decide what to do with Sionis.