Chapter 2
I can't believe this, Leif mumbled to himself for the fifth time in a row. He was shuffling blindly through the darkness, his hands stretched out in front of him in order to prevent him from walking face-first into a wall or, worse, something that would actually hit back.
He was trying to follow after the Emperor and his Blades, but their rapidly fading torchlight remained faint and elusive. Finally Leif's willpower crumbled enough that he reached within himself for his inherent abilities, and, focusing, drew the fire into the palm of his hand.
Instead of releasing the fireball, he fed it magicka and kept it living in the palm of his hand.
It was that light that prevented him from accidentally stepping his foot through the ribcage of a yellowed skeleton.
Leif's eyes widened in surprise, but he bit back a yelp. If there were really assassins after the king, which would explain the presence of so many Blades, then they would be after Uriel Septim. And Leif had the misfortune of being exactly where the assassins would want to be; behind the Emperor.
After recovering from his initial shock, Leif bent to inspect the skeleton more closely. There were pieces of cracked leather armor, stiff with age and probably more brittle than durable. There was also a rusty iron bow and a quiver, which Leif quickly claimed for himself.
After some hasty adjustments, he had swapped his sack pants for the ill-fitting armor and recovered a measure of confidence.
Then he scurried after the Emperor, unwilling to explore the dark any more than necessary.
Which wasn't the greatest idea, because by the time the Breton reached the party of warriors, they were just taking care of the last of a group of assassins clad in red robes. As the last one fell, the conjured steel armor protecting him evaporated in a glitter of yellow light.
"Cowards," the Redguard muttered, nudging a corpse near him with the toe of his boot. The sound of his sword sliding back into its sheath raised the hair on the back of Leif's neck, and he sank back into the shadows, uncertain.
He had never liked guards or steel, and the combination of both guards and steel made him feel sick.
Despite his pains to stay unnoticed, the Emperor seemed to sense the Breton's presence. The corner of his mouth curved upwards before he swept forward, forcing his Blades to take their positions around him.
Leif crept forward to slip through the heavy stone door behind them, but before he could, it swung shut. He crammed his fingers into the crevice between the door and the walls, seeking leverage, but he quickly abandoned his attempts. The door must weigh over a ton.
Swallowing his nerves, he concentrated on the fire in his palm, allowing it to brighten the underground cavern.
A few minutes of searching brought him to another exit from the chamber, almost unnoticeable. A rotten wooden door creaked ominously, but Leif pushed through it.
He found himself not in a stone chamber, but a natural tunnel that smelled of earth and moisture. He crept through it, unsure whether or not it was worth the extra effort of sneaking until he caught sight of a rat easily bigger than a small child. From the way saliva dripped from its oversized teeth onto the fur of its chin, Leif had never been surer in his life that a creature had rabies.
Slowly, so slowly it pained him, he took bow slung over his back and notched an arrow to its bowstring. Without even daring to breathe, he pulled the arrow back, feeling the springy wood tense under his fingers. The muscles in his back protested as he held the position, carefully lining his shot with the rat.
Just as it turned towards him, Leif loosed the arrow. It took the rodent cleanly through the throat, and the light in its eyes dimmed instantly as it fell to the ground.
Leif exhaled softly, noticing only then that his hands were shaking. He really wasn't cut out for this, but hey, who was he to turn down a get-out-of-jail-free card… Even if it only meant expediting his death.
He located and disposed of three more child-sized rats in the next twenty minutes without detection, and with each kill he gained a bit more confidence. After a while the all-consuming darkness didn't seem so perilous, and the narrow earthen tunnels became less oppressive.
That was why he walked, entirely unprepared, into the skeleton of an old guard, a rusted war axe clutched in its bone fingers.
He sensed the movement out of the corner of his eye, and threw himself sideways without questioning his instincts. The edge of the axe whizzed by his face, scarcely two inches in front of his eyes.
He then hit the ground on his shoulder, rolling to ease the impact. He came up clumsily, groping for an arrow from his quiver. He couldn't notch it fast enough and suffered a cut across his bicep for his efforts before he dodged backwards again. The skeleton came towards him slowly, a dull gleam in the sockets of its skull where its eyes should have been.
Leif scooted backwards as far as he could go until his back hit cold rock. The skeleton began trotting towards him, then sprinting, pulling its axe back for the final blow-
The Breton summoned the fire from the core of his being, collecting it between his hands, fueling it with energy from his own body, before flinging it at the skeleton.
With a sizzling sound and a burst of smoke, the fire ate into the skeleton's bones, melting away a part of the spine and several ribs. The skeleton fell to the ground, spasmed once, and then laid still.
Leif wiped sweat from his forehead. That had been far too close. Ignoring the stinging of his arm, he picked himself back up.
It was only several minutes later that Leif stumbled across a rusty iron shortsword that had long since passed its prime. He buckled it around his waist, more comfortable since he had a substitute for his magic. His strength was drained, and the quick bursts of adrenaline left him with legs of jelly.
When he finally made it out of the natural caverns and back into the secret passage, he had to pause for a minute to catch his breath. That was when he heard the voices of the Blades, getting louder with each passing second.
"-You and I both know that that's preposterous," the woman seethed. "Our order has only the most loyal and dedicated warriors in Cyrodil, we would every one of us rather die than betray the Emperor-"
"That's not what I was suggesting, Captain," the Redguard said coolly. "Although it is a possibility. Obviously we went wrong somewhere, if the assassins could get this far."
"Silence," the Emperor ordered. "This is no time for argument amongst ourselves, you should know that best."
Some more grumbling, and then a muttered curse when the torchlight sputtered out. A few seconds later the light flickered back on, allowing Leif a view of the Blades. Their steel uniforms were splattered in blood, both dry and fresh, and not all of it belonging to their enemies.
Uriel Septim, fortunately, seemed unruffled. The only sign of stress on the Imperial's wizened face was the sagging corners of his mouth, giving him a thoughtful frown.
It took the Redguard less than two seconds to spot the prisoner, crouched tiredly in the corner of the chamber.
"Damn, it's that prisoner again," he muttered, his eyes continuing to scan the rest of the room. "I'm really starting to think that killing him might be for the best. He could be working for them, after all."
"Nonsense," the Emperor overrode the murmured assents of the other two Blades. "Although to have made it this far in spite of us, there must be someone guiding your path."
The aged ruler approached the youthful prisoner. "My stars have guided me all my years, from my beginning to my end. I would know your sign as well."
Leif's eyebrow lifted. "My birthsign, and not my name?"
Septim didn't bat an eye. "I will take what will you give me, and I do not think you will give me your name. There is too much mistrust in your eyes."
The Breton blinked, surprised at the depth of the Emperor's judgment as well as his accuracy. This man wasn't the most powerful person on the continent for no reason, Leif thought wryly. And his perception did deserve a reward.
"The thief." It seemed like a breach of privacy to pronounce personal information like that to a room full of potentially hostile strangers, and yet Leif had still done it. He had known Uriel Septim for less than two hours, but the man was already earning his respect.
Septim nodded, as if he had expected that, and without further ado he turned towards the entrance of the next hall.
How does he know where to go? Leif wondered, but decided not to ask. He doubted he had the charisma to force such an answer from the Emperor.
The dark corridors fed into an antechamber with old sculptures and carvings in the walls that were so eroded over time that the prisoner could barely make them out. The uneven floor and numerous pillars left enough shadows to provoke the guards into a search, leaving the ruler temporarily alone with the prisoner.
"Under different circumstances, I would ask how you've wronged and how you've been wronged to wind up here, but I'm afraid I don't have the luxury of time," Septim informed him neutrally. "I am going to die here, as I have seen in the stars. But my end is only the beginning, for I have seen the gates of Oblivion, and without their resealing, evils not of this world will blacken the land. The gods have sent you here to me, whether or not you will believe it. You must close shut the jaws of Oblivion, for the fate of the world hangs in the balance."
While his voice was evenly pitched, Leif couldn't help but notice the rising intensity in Uriel Septim's eyes. For some reason, he didn't question any of what the Emperor told him; Septim's conviction was too real to be doubted. And while he wasn't physically imposing himself onto the Breton in any way, Septim wore the robes of authority with a flair that made him seem larger than life.
"What would you have me do?" Leif asked, berating himself for his easy compliance yet unable to stop it.
"Take this," the Emperor said, removing from around his neck the huge red ruby and golden chain. "Give it to Jauffrey at Weynon Priory, outside Chorrol. He's the Grandmaster of the Blades, he'll know what to do."
Hesitantly Leif accepted the amulet, feeling its weight dangling from the chain in his hand. He must be the first non-Septim to hold it in centuries, he mused to himself.
"A final piece of advice from an old man," Septim said, placing a strong hand on Leif's shoulder, and the Breton looked up curiously.
"Whatever circumstances led you here to me, they will continue guiding you, whether you will it or not. They will change you, mould you, and yet you must remember that you will always carry a measure of control over your own fate. As far as the rest of the world knows, you died in that cell. Now you are reborn. Do with your second life what you could not with your first, for the gods spared you for a purpose and will not let you die so easily. "
Leif was silent for a moment. "You are a difficult man to understand," he said finally.
Uriel Septim VII smiled wearily. "Difficult to read, perhaps. But I follow simple rules."
And then the assassin sprang forth from a hidden alcove and stabbed the Emperor through his heart.
Leif shouted for the Blades before unsheathing his sword and taking a clumsy strike at the assassin. The robed figure blocked the attack with ease but was unprepared for the Breton's close-range ice attack.
Leif managed to freeze the assassin's sword arm, and the axe the man had been holding clattered to the floor. The assassin pulled a dagger from his belt with his free hand and lunged at the Breton, his speed and strength easily overpowering him. Luckily the Redguard Baurus arrived in time to intervene, smoothly intercepting the blow aimed at Leif's throat. Within two seconds the assassin fell to the ground, his trachea slit.
"My fellow Blades are dead," he swallowed, "and now my life's purpose has failed."
The Blade fell to his knees beside the Emperor's corpse, unheeding of the pool of blood that soaked into the cracks of his steel greaves.
Leif stood awkwardly to one side, unsure of what to do. On one hand, he had an inherent hatred for all the guards, but this was a man in mourning. And the Emperor of Cyrodil had been killed in front of his eyes, and he had been powerless to stop it.
He was weak, and a great man had died. Leif wasn't about to blame himself directly for the Emperor's death, but there was certainly a correlation between his own strength and Septim's death.
He felt responsibility for the death, and he had known Uriel Septim for a few sporadic hours. He couldn't imagine how Baurus, a man who had served the Emperor for decades, was feeling.
"The amulet!" the Redguard exclaimed, wild-eyed. He looked left and right jerkily, like a startled animal. "Where's the amulet?"
"Here," Leif said, holding it out. "He gave it to me, right before he…"
Baurus began reaching for it, then stopped, his hand partially outstretched. "He saw something in you," the Blade murmured. "I don't know what, but it was something. If he gave it to you, then you should be the only one to handle it. Did he tell you what to do with it?"
The Breton didn't want to give away that information, but he saw no other option. "He said to take it to Jauffrey."
"Hmm." Baurus put his put his chin in his hand, pondering. "I suppose that makes sense. If anyone knew what to do with the thing, it would be him. You'll have to go there immediately, you hear? It's not like you can sell the Amulet of Kings to a merchant anyways."
"Understood," Leif agreed. While the last thing he wanted to do was agree with a civic employee, this was a subject too sensitive for personal grudges. "What will you do?"
Baurus sighed, the lines on his face seeming to etch themselves deeper. "I'll stay with the Emperor's body until someone comes. It's the least I can do, now that…"
Leif had the uncharacteristic impulse to put a hand on the man's shoulder, but he smothered it instantly. He asked instead, "How do I get out of here?"
The Blade dug into his pocket and brought out a small, rusted key. "This will get you into the sewers," he said. "From there just follow the direction the water's moving in. It will bring you to the hillside exit."
The Breton accepted the key, shoving it into one of the numerous pockets of his greaves. He hesitated for a moment before saying, "Good luck," and parting.
The sewers smelled terrible, and Leif knew he was getting close to him by the way the smell was progressively worsening. Within ten minutes he found the rotund door that led to the sewers.
He opened it with the key and carefully crept inside, his eyes scanning the shadows for signs of movement. It took him some time to get a feel for the area, but he worked out a system. The trick was to spot the other occupants of the tunnel before they caught sight of him.
The sewers were less difficult to navigate than the tunnels had been, although there was a measure of wading through murky, toxic-smelling waters in order to get out.
Nevertheless, several dead rats and a few broken skeletons later, Leif saw the light at the end of the tunnel, no pun intended.
Allowing himself a grin of triumph, he heaved open the sewer doors and allowed the moonlight of the open skies to illuminate the sewers. And then he stepped out into the night to begin his second life.
