Blood and Choice

Chapter 3

As always, Telasero's blocky silhouette reared up out of the night with startling suddenness, as soon as they passed through the rocky Molag Amur ground and into the open space around the stronghold. Raema eyed the structure as they approached, surprised by the feeling of homecoming that stole over her. For better or worse, the ancient stronghold was home, and she was not used to the feeling.

Musing over that, she mounted the steps at Assurjan's side, and they entered the fortress' single entrance. The long entry corridor was lit, as always, by the blood-red candles that the Sixth House cult had left behind. They threw wavering shadows against the walls to either side. Talintus was waiting at the end of the corridor, his steel armor glinting in the shaky light.

"My lord Ancient; Raema," the old soldier greeted them gruffly, with a rough bow. "There are visitors. They arrived not a quarter of an hour ago." He nodded over his shoulder, toward the vast, open space of the audience chamber at the far end of the corridor. "It's the Redguard hunter. And... he has Silweyn with him, my lord," he added, with a swift glance in Raema's direction.

Raema felt her heart sink. A large part of her had hoped her old teacher had found a way to the mainland, out of Juraene clan's reach. She had no illusions that the Bosmer vampire was innocent, but she knew Silweyn had been acting out of desperation when she'd betrayed the Ancient.

It didn't excuse what she had done... But Raema was sure she did not want to witness whatever Assurjan would do to exact justice. A memory of Korren, shriveling and dying in a room full of watching vampires, forced its way into her mind. The Nord vampire had challenged the authority Raema was given over the clan, and Assurjan had executed him for it, drained him to his death without ever laying a hand on him. It was not a sight Raema was eager to see again.

Assurjan did not reply immediately, but she sensed a change in him; he shifted slightly at her side, and his expression hardened. Over Talintus' shoulder, Raema could see two figures standing on the raised dais in the center of the audience chamber. Below them, several vampires had gathered around the floor of the chamber, waiting with that eerie, undead stillness.

"Send for the others," Assurjan said finally. "I would have them witness her return."

"Aye, my lord," Talintus said, striding away. The Ancient gestured to Raema, and she fell into step behind him. He strode through the audience chamber to the side passage that led deeper into Telasero. There, in the shadows, they waited.

"What are you going to do with her, my lord?" Raema asked quietly.

He did not look at her, staring into the chamber with a slight frown, deep in thought. "I intend to make an example of her," he said, so softly that she could hardly hear him. It sent a chill down her spine, and she fell silent.

Soon, the other members of the clan began to arrive, murmuring greetings to the Ancient as they passed him, filing through the archway. As the last of them appeared with Talintus, Assurjan gestured for Raema to follow him. Steeling herself against what was to come, trying to push memories of Korren from her mind, she followed the Ancient up to the dais that overlooked the room.

He climbed the stairs at a measured pace, and the crowd below fell still, silent as death, as he stepped into view. Raema stayed in the shadows, one step behind the Ancient's right shoulder, and folded her hands behind her back.

On the platform below, Talintus strode up to take a place next to the shadowy figure that had to be Silweyn. Jole bowed when he caught sight of the Ancient. "Good evening, my lord Ancient," he called, his voice carrying clearly through the chamber. "As you can see, I've brought one of your fugitives." He grasped Silweyn's elbow and urged her forward.

The vampire took a limping step forward into the light, and Raema bit back a startled curse. Silweyn had evidently not fared well since fleeing Telasero. Her fair hair hung in tangles about her face; her skin and ragged clothing were soiled by dirt, grime, and what looked like dried blood. She was frail, as if she had not been feeding enough, and she looked up at the dais with eyes that appeared bruised and sunken, staring out with a dull glow of hunger. She looked away quickly when Raema met her gaze.

No one spoke. In the stillness, Raema had to fight the urge to hold her breath, the instinct to keep the sound of her breathing from destroying that perfect silence. Talintus gripped his sword hilt, tensing, as if he expected a command to slay Silweyn where she stood.

"You have my thanks, Ser Devan, and that of Juraene clan," Assurjan said at last. "I believe I promised a payment of triple your customary fee. Is that not correct?"

Jole nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"You shall have it." Raema could see Silweyn cringe when the Ancient's gaze fell on her. "And you, Silweyn. You conspired with our enemies to destroy me, and the rest of Juraene clan. Do you deny it?"

The Bosmer kept her eyes downcast, answering in a dull voice. "No, my lord."

"Tell me," Assurjan continued, "what did Raxle Berne say to convince you?"

"He said..." Silweyn's voice trailed off, and Talintus prodded her roughly. "He said that the Hand was dead, and that you would lead the rest of us into death as well... but he only wanted you, not us. If we- if we captured you, he would let us go."

"And yet, here we are," Assurjan replied, almost conversationally. "The Hand is alive, and Berne is not. You betrayed me, and yet here you are, my captive."

Silweyn looked up then, a flat, numb look in her eyes. "I made a gamble, my lord, and I lost. I know it."

"This is not a game," Assurjan said softly, his voice gone low and dangerous. "And the lives of my people are not to be gambled with." He took a step closer to the edge of the dais, addressing the gathered clan members. "This vampire conspired to destroy all of us. It is only fitting, then, that the entire clan be permitted to punish her. Talintus..."

The Imperial raised his chin. "Yes, my lord?"

"Leave her restrained and put her with the cattle. She shall be available to any who hunger for Bosmer blood."

Oh, gods... Raema shuddered, glad that she was still half-hidden in the shadows, where none could see her expression. Silweyn blanched at Assurjan's words, and even Jole looked a bit disturbed at the pronouncement.

"As you wish, my lord," Talintus said with a bow, and took Silweyn's arm. The Bosmer hobbled away, while the room remained silent, watching her go. In the dimness, Raema could see the hungriest pairs of eyes beginning to glow as they tracked her progress through the room. Feeling sickened, she pulled her gaze away.

When Silweyn was out of sight, Assurjan addressed Jole once more. "You have my gratitude, Ser Devan. The Hand shall see to your recompense." Nodding to Raema, he turned and descended the stairs. Jole met her eyes from the platform, looking unusually serious. With a sigh, Raema turned away to go fetch his payment.

Her friend met her in the hall, and followed her into the antechamber that doubled as Assurjan's library. "Bloody Oblivion," he muttered, by way of greeting. "I'd been expecting something more like a clean death for her."

Raema only shook her head, still too shaken by Assurjan's decision to comment on it. She went to the small chest that rested on one shelf to get his payment. "I'm glad you came, anyway," she told him, counting out the coins. "I was looking for you a few nights ago, but I suppose you were out...hunting."

Jole gave her a sharp look; she could feel his eyes on her even without looking up from the chest. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said carefully. "Why?"

Jole didn't answer, and when she finally looked up, he was regarding her flatly, dark eyes knowing. "How is Assurjan?" He asked, after a moment.

Raema hesitated. "Fine. Busy. Some new spell or other that he's trying to develop."

She got the sense that somehow, her answer told him more than what she had said. He took the handful of coins she held out, and did not count them, trusting her. "And you?"

"I'm fine."

Jole tucked the coins away and looked at her sternly. "Guarscat," he said firmly. "Don't lie to me, Raema, I know you too well. What has he done?"

"Nothing," Raema insisted. That's the problem. "He's...I don't know. Distant. We worked well together, before... Before everything. Now, it's just... awkward."

She could practically read the I told you so in his expression. "Ridiculous, isn't it?" he said softly, bringing back another memory... a memory of him, eying her over a campfire in a cave on the edge of the Grazelands. The most ridiculous thing I've seen you do. Vampires don't love, Raema.

"You're no help at all, you know that?" she asked crossly.

He shrugged. "At least I'm honest with you," he pointed out. "Which is more than you can say for yourself."

Unexpectedly, a lump filled her throat. Was he right after all? Was she deceiving herself, had she done so all this time?

I don't love him, she told herself once more, with an impatient shake of her head. "How is business?" she asked, to change the subject.

Jole rolled his eyes at her evasion, but mercifully he went along with it. "Very good," he said with another grin. "Nearly more business than I know what to do with. The Ancients' deaths were one of the best things that could have happened. Now that they're gone, their remaining vampires are causing trouble much more openly... and everyone is willing to pay well to get rid of them. You should come with me, you know. I could always use some backup, and I trust you at my back more than anyone else."

A flush of warmth filled her at his praise. And, she had to admit, some time away from Juraene clan- and from Assurjan-sounded wonderful. "I would love to accept the offer," she said. "But it's not my decision, you know that."

He grew more serious then, and hesitated, looking at her for a long moment. "It could be yours," he said quietly. "I kill vampires for a living, Raema. You know, you are the only reason I haven't yet-"

"No!" She blurted, louder than she'd intended. "Bloody Oblivion, Jole..."A knot of cold fear tightened in her chest at his words... but there was the tiniest thrill, too. The thought of freedom, so long out of reach, undeniably made her heart skip a beat. "No," she said again, softer, but just as firmly.

He shrugged, flashing his brilliant grin. "Alright," he conceded easily. "But in that case, maybe I can ask permission to borrow you, sometime."

Raema made herself smile back, trying to hide the emotions roiling in her head. "I'd like that... But we split the pay evenly."

Jole made a pained sound in his throat. "Expensive s'wit," he grumbled, making her smile turn genuine. "I'll see you again soon. Be safe, Raema."

"You do the same," she said, walking him to the door.

"Someone's been looking for you," Raril grunted, setting down a glass of mazte.

Jole slid a gold coin across the counter and took the glass. "Looking for me, huh? Good or bad?" He asked cautiously, taking a long drought of the drink. Business had been good lately, with all the leader-less vampires to hunt down, but Favela Dralor's husband had been none too pleased when word of her affair with the hunter got out. Rumor had it (straight from Raril himself) that Lord Dralor was minded to send the Assassin's Guild after the Redguard who shared his wife's bed. In fact, Jole had been about to leave the city for a while; he'd heard reports of a vampire sighted near Ald-ruhn, and it might be a good idea to get away from the Lady Dralor for a time.

The Dunmer barkeep rolled his eyes. "The Morag Tong would be a little more subtle than that, don't you think?"

"I hope not," Jole muttered. "Who was it, then?"

Raril tilted his head toward a table across the tavern, where a plain-looking Dark Elf sat with his back to the corner, watching the entire room. His gaze was already on Jole when he turned to look, and the hunter blinked. The Dunmer's scarlet gaze was direct and appraising; the man knew who he was looking at. "He's with House Hlaalu, or so he said," the tavern keeper said. "Not one I've seen around before."

"Huh." Jole downed the rest of his glass and pushed away from the bar, making for the table. The Dunmer did not move, fixing an inscrutable stare on him as he approached.

Jole gave the man his best, most charming smile, the one reserved for potential clients and second only to the one for potential lady friends. "Jole Devan, at your service, ser," he said, giving him a sweeping bow. "You were looking for me?"

The Elf inclined his head, gesturing at the chair across from him. "Dram Bero, of House Hlaalu," he replied. Please, sit down."

Jole blinked. He knew Bero by reputation only, the least-known and most mysterious Councilor of the House.

Ignoring the chair Bero had indicated, Jole took a seat beside the man instead, angling himself to watch the rest of the room. "Your pardon, ser," he said, still smiling. "Life is dangerous enough without turning my back to a room when there might be a price on my head."

"Of course," Bero murmured, shifting slightly to face him. Was there a bit of approval in his voice? Happy to see I'm smart enough to watch my own back, I suppose. So this is the elusive Dram Bero? Why is he meeting me in a tavern, in plain sight?

Bero's eyes did not settle, seeming to dart restlessly around the room, only occasionally glancing at Jole. There was no nervousness in it, though, only a calm alertness. "You have quite a reputation around the city. You're a vampire hunter, are you not?"

"Of sorts," Jole said wryly. "Have a vampire problem?"

"Of sorts," Bero echoed, a hint of humor in his tone. "What is your usual fee for a kill, Ser Devan?"

Jole named a sum, a little higher than usual, watching carefully. The Hlaalu didn't balk.

"And you will take any vampire for this fee?"

"Well. Some vampires require more work than others. Ancients, in particular, are tougher to take down," he pointed out. "My fees would be considerably higher." Especially since my best friend works for the only one left on Vvardenfell.

"I see," Bero murmured. "House Hlaalu will pay you triple that amount for every vampire you destroy, if you will leave Juraene clan undisturbed."

Jole leaned back in his chair, more startled than he cared to admit. "Oh, really? And why would you offer such a thing, ser?"

The Dunmer smiled slightly. "We have our reasons. This is not an exclusive agreement. If another party hires you for a kill, we will still pay you the agreed amount, regardless of your other client's fee- so long as you hunt no members of Juraene clan."

Jole stared at him, thinking. As far as he knew, no one outside of the clan knew of his friendship with Raema, or his uneasy truce with Assurjan. It was almost too good to be true- triple his fee, for something that he would have done regardless...

"Does this restriction apply to any vampires of Juraene blood, or only those who are current members of the clan? Because several of them have been cast out for betrayal, and I've already been offered a tripled fee for their capture."

The Dunmer frowned. "Betrayal? How do you know that?"

"It's my job to know," Jole said easily. "Keeps me alive. And I find it odd," he added, "that someone would make such a specific request to spare so many vampires. What is House Hlaalu's interest in Juraene clan?"

Bero's face went carefully blank. "Perhaps it is best if you do not know."

"Perhaps," Jole murmured. Though I doubt it. "How long will this agreement last?"

"Until further notice," Bero replied. "Or until you decide it is no longer worth it."

Jole drummed his fingertips on the table, thinking. Though he had as much as promised Raema and Assurjan that he would leave their vampires alone, House Hlaalu couldn't possibly know it. He had a reputation to uphold, and so he said, "Triple is enough, for now. But as soon as you change your mind, let me know. I don't like leaving unfinished business, and I don't want some Juraene vampire coming after me because I let it live too long."

"Agreed," Bero said, and Jole grinned.

"Excellent," he said, waving at Raril to bring more drinks. "Shall we share a drink to seal the deal?"

"Another time, perhaps," Bero said, sliding a pouch of coins across the table. "I assume this will be enough to cover your expenses for an immediate start?"

Jole hefted the pouch; it was full and heavy, likely two hundred, perhaps two hundred fifty septims. "Indeed, ser."

As Raril approached with two glasses of mazte in hand, Bero rose to his feet, giving him a little bow. "We'll be in touch," he said. "Good hunting." As he left the tavern, Raril set the two glasses down at Jole's elbow.

"Well?" The Dunmer tavern keeper asked. "Good or bad?"

Jole chuckled, the thought of triple income making him grin. "Good, my friend," he said, reaching for a glass. "Very, very good."