The Daedra's Wrath
(A Lord of the Rings/The Elder Scrolls Crossover)
Chapter 5
As Cassius finally drifted off into uneasy sleep, a chilly breeze whipped through Riften's streets on the opposite side of Skyrim, rattling the wooden stalls of the Markets, and the group of beggars standing around a drum fire huddled closer for warmth. The furthest Hold south in the entire realm, Riften had a more temperate weather pattern than the northern Holds, and this cold wind was unseasonably frosty.
"1 o' the Watch and all's well!" A voice boomed out across the dwellings. "Changing of the Guard!" The Guardsmen who had been huddling in narrow recesses of stone and under the eaves of buildings to fight off the chill moved away on cue, moving swiftly through the streets towards the warmth and light of the Barracks, eager to get indoors and rug up. At the same time, one of the beggars slipped away from the fire, down a shadowed alley beside the Inn.
Since leaving Thorn beside the Sewers of the Imperial City, Ma'kiir hadn't wasted any time progressing on to Skyrim. The cat hitched a ride with some Khajiit merchants on the way to Bruma, and from there passed on into the mountains (sneaking a satchel of supplies from Sky Ruler Temple, the home of the Blades, along the way) and wound his way through disused paths and craggy passes into Skyrim itself. The journey was smooth, aside from a wolf pack catching the cat's scent a few miles from Riften. If Ma'kiir feared anything, it was wolves. The braying howls of the dark canines chased the poor Khajiit all the way to the gates of the Holdfast.
Ma'kiir received a warm welcome in the Ragged Flagon from Silas, the Nord guild master of Riften, and was immediately recruited for a high level heist. The target, said Silas, was a rich Breton, who owned Brightwater Manor near Riften's docks. Aside from large amounts of gold and jewels, Alabastor Corthwaite owned a set of exceptionally valuable daggers, all (reputedly) owned by an ancient Dwemer King, and worth more than the Jarl's treasury. With a sly smile, Ma'kiir told Silas that they were as good as his. The crafty feline scouted the city under his usual beggar facade. And, in doing so, learned the rotation of the guards, figured the safest path to the house, and even, an escape route. With everything set out before him, Ma'kiir hatched his plans.
Keeping his hood up, the Khajiit scaled a nearby home by climbing a short garden wall and onto the thatched roof, balancing on the narrow beam at a crouch, and moved stealthily towards another home nearby. He jumped, landing with both feet on the railing of a balcony, and pulled himself swiftly onto the next roof. Ma'kiir scurried across the rooftop, then the next, and soon, the Manor was his final stop. He took off at a run, grabbing onto a hanging flag pole which jutted from the wall, and swinging like a trapeze acrobat, launched himself towards the open bedroom window. Silently, he pulled himself up and onto the sill, slipping into the window, and landed lightly on the floor. His approach had been so silent, that the dark robed figure by the bed didn't even turn around; Merely withdrew the bloodied dagger from the sleeping Breton's chest, wiping the sharpened blade on the dead man's blankets. "Sithis take you, Alabastor Corthwaite..." The figure muttered into the night. Ma'kiir had stumbled upon a Dark Brotherhood killing. Fear took him at once.
He quickly weighed up his options; Slip his dagger from his belt, move swiftly across the room and cut the assassin's throat, stealing the small chest of daggers in his escape, or tiptoe backwards, clamber out the window, and try again. Ma'kiir was no hero, so it was clear which option he preferred. Fleeing with his tail between his legs and running back to the Guild empty handed seemed far more attractive than trying to kill a skilled assassin. Even though it meant being mocked for flunking the heist.
But, as he slowly stepped backwards, a sudden bout of valour hit him; he wasn't going home with nothing to show. Ma'kiir had a silver tongue when he needed it. Time to put it into use. "Forgive the intrusion, friend." he said quietly.
In a flash, the assassin (a Bosmer, Ma'kiir deduced from the man's height) sprung across the room, slamming Ma'kiir against the wall and pressing his dagger to the cat's throat. "A foolish move, sneaking up on a hunter of the night..." the cloaked figure hissed, his face hidden beneath the hood.
Ma'kiir's eyes widened in horror, not daring to move a muscle. He could feel the blade pressing sharply against his windpipe, and he let out a short gasp. "Completely accidental, this one assures you. He was merely here to complete a job for his friends..."
"Friends..." the figure's eyes swept the Khajiit's form, taking in the supple tanned leather outfit and hood. "The Thieves Guild."
"Yes, yes. Ma'kiir's friends sent him here to relieve the Breton of a few choice items. His discovery of you was not intentional..." he paused for effect. "Perhaps... Perhaps we two can arrange something. Perhaps we can both walk away unharmed."
"Is that a threat, cat?" The assassin growled, tightening his hold. "You're foolish enough to believe you could kill me?"
"Ma'kiir would never be so foolish to believe such a thing." the cat muttered. "But he can scream quite loudly. Loudly enough to rouse the guards. Although, he hopes we can move past such things."
The Dark Brother sized up the Thief, hearing the truth in his words. He could slit his throat, but doubtless, the cat would manage one strangled yell for the guards. There was a chance he could escape, but it wasn't a risk he wanted to take. So, slowly, he pulled the blade from his throat, taking a step back. "Very well, 'Ma'kiir'... What do you propose?"
"That we both do the jobs we came here to do, and part ways." Ma'kiir knew Assassins (especially those in the Dark Brotherhood) had some semblance of honour. He also knew that they rarely killed unless there was a profit to be made. And, he knew no bounty would come from killing a poor old Khajiit. Still, he almost couldn't believe his eyes when the Bosmer nodded his agreement.
"Very well, Ma'kiir." he said quietly, sheathing the dagger at his belt and tightening his gloves. "I suggest you move swiftly. The guards will-" A creaking floorboard caused the elf's sudden silence. Both thief and killer listened hard into the darkness. "Did you bring accomplices?" The Bosmer asked.
"No..." Ma'kiir whispered slowly. "Did... Did you silence Corthwaite's manservant?"
"... Manservant? What manservant?"
"Who's there?!"
The elf's information clearly missed out on the burly Orcish servant who lived with and served Corthwaite. Both Ma'kir and the Bosmer fell silent, hardly daring to breathe. The Khajiit felt a combination of fear and shock, the assassin felt nothing but incredulous surprise that such a vital piece of information was overlooked.
"Master Corthwaite?!" the grunting voice boomed from the ground floor, and a moment later, heavy footfalls echoed up the wooden stairwell. Simultaneously, Ma'kiir and the elf slunk back into the shadows; the former to hide, the latter for an ambush. He planned to lunge at the brute as he crossed the threshold and snuff the life from him. But, when the Orc hit the second story landing, his dim, tired eyes caught sight of his master, blood pooling around his chest, and bellowed. "GUARDS!" he roared, pelting towards the room. "SOMEONE'S BEEN MURDERED!"
The Wood Elf was on him in a flash. Before the grey-skinned Orsimer knew what was happening, the elf leaped onto his back, dragging his head back by the ponytail and slashed his exposed throat. The Orc coughed, blood gushing from his mortal wound, and crashed to the floor heavily. Outside, iron boots thundered against the pressed stone paths, and a horn was blown in a nearby tower.
Reacting instinctively, Ma'kiir leaned out of the window, drawing the shutters inwards, while yells of "HALT, MURDERER!" boomed up at him. When the shutters banged closed, iron tipped arrows crashed against the wood.
"What now?!" The elf hissed. He knew that the front door was barred from the inside, but no escape would be found that way; the guards would be on them quicker than you could say "criminal scum". Sure enough, heavy blows smote the door, while rough voices demanded the door be opened in the name of the Jarl. "We're cornered like rats in a trap!"
"A cunning rat can escape any trap." Ma'kiir argued quietly, doing his best to remain calm. "And cats are smarter than rats. Fear not, friend. Ma'kiir does not think he is bound for the headsman's block this day. He knows a way out!"
The Khajiit beckoned to the disbelieving Elf, leading him down the stairwell and into the foyer. From there, they moved on into the root cellar. "There is a hidden passage to the sewers here." he muttered, while the heavy beating against the door intensified. Past rows of barrels and hanging garlic clusters, to a battered old bookcase in the far corner, where, barely noticeably, a faint and chilly breeze fluttered around the edge. The cat leaned his shoulder into the wood, and pushed it just far enough for the unlikely duo to slip through. Beyond laid a sizeable hole in the stonework, where, Ma'kiir wagered, Skeevers had burrowed their way through, looking for food and warmth from the cold.
"You seem to have researched your job far more thoroughly than I." the elf muttered in mild amusement and admiration.
"Ma'kiir is exceptional at his line of work." the cat replied with a sly grin, leading the way into the tunnel. Water dripped quietly from the uneven ceiling, as the elf pushed the bookcase back into place with strength his slight frame hid. The floor was slanted and overgrown with moss and fungi, and the dark slowly but surely pressed in on them.
Ma'kiir, with his hyper-sensitive eyesight, had no trouble piercing the gloom, acting as guide to his Bosmer companion, and before long, they crawled through a narrow gap in the rock into the sewers itself. "Before we go on," the Bosmer began, dropping down onto the slick stonework beside the Khajiit, "I want to thank you, for getting me out of there." He lowered his hood, revealing pale and pointed features, high cheekbones, and long blonde hair swept back from his widow's peak forehead in a ponytail. "Daelian Carnastiel, Silencer, at your service."
Ma'kiir returned the bow. "Ma'kiir, the Crafty, at yours, friend. But now is no time for pleasantries. Only when Ma'kiir breathes free air again will he consider himself out of the fire. And only when his goods have been... Have been..." Ma'kiir broke off, his mouth moving silently. Then, without warning, he let out a howl, falling to his knees and gripping the sides of his head. "Stupid!" he moaned. "Stupid stupid stupid Ma'kiir!"
Visibly shocked by this sudden shift in behaviour, Daelian stammered, kneeling beside the cat. "What? What is it?" he asked.
"The chest! Ma'kiir forgot the chest!" he rose, tugging his whiskers in frustration. "Without that, his trip to the Manor will be pointless, and he will be the laughing stock of the Guild! And now, the Guards are doubtless everywhere, looking for Ma'kiir!" The Khajiit slumped to his haunches, frustratedly clutching at his fur.
"They won't have started removing his effects yet." the Elf said encouragingly. "There's still a chance to claim your prize." The guards would still be a problem, but Daelian held the answer to that as well. "I can lead the guards away, giving you time to slip back in unnoticed and take this chest."
Ma'kiir seemed to brighten at the prospect. "Ma'kiir would be in your debt if you could render him such a service." he said, rising and bowing.
"Not at all." Daelian replied. "It is I, who is indebted to you. Had you not known about the secret passage here, I would have been stuck in the house, surrounded by guards."
Ma'kiir hastily accepted the offer.
Before long, the cat stood behind the bookcase in the cellar, waiting for his cue. He could hear footsteps above, and knew the guards were combing the house for clues. Then, a hoarse shout bellowed through the halls. "There he is! After him!" In his minds eye, Ma'kiir could see the guards, drawing keen blades and well-strung bows, their booted feet stomping across the floorboards, and out the door.
Pushing the cabinet aside, Ma'kiir slipped into the dusty cellar and up the stairs. The front door was wide open, creaking on its iron hinges, and the house was silent. The cat stole up the stairs with feline litheness, slinking through the shadows of the second floor landing and into the master bedroom. The bodies of Corthwaite and his manservant were lying where they died, but Ma'kiir paid them no heed. It was the safe he needed. He slipped a lock pick out of his pocket and kneeled beside the hefty container, twiddling the locking mechanism, waiting for the telltale snap. When it came, he grinned. "Easy as pie." he muttered, opening the door.
His furry hands reached out for the chest, and a steel blade was rested against the back of his neck. "Well well well... Look what we have here..." a voice muttered, dripping with amusement. Before the cat could turn, a heavy, iron fist smote the back of his head, and Ma'kiir passed into sleep.
...
Ma'kiir awoke an hour later, face down on a thin deerskin bedroll on a cold stone floor. His head throbbed where the blow had struck him, and his vision swam before his slowly waking eyes. Dimly, he could make out thick iron bars, and brightly flickering torches set in brackets along the outer wall. A figure stepped up to the bars and smote them with a hefty iron rod, the cacophony making his already aching head ring with pain.
"Wakey wakey!" shouted a familiar voice. "So... A thief and a murderer... Tsk tsk..."
Groggily, the cat rose to his feet, placing his hand on the wall for support, and his swimming vision began to clear, revealing a grinning Nord, peering through the bars; The same Nord Ma'kiir had pickpocketted in the Imperial City.
"You're destined for the headsman's block, cat." he chuckled sardonically. "I've personally requested that your head be delivered to me. It will look absolutely splendid adorning my hearth. Pray to whatever gods you hold dear." the merchant called, rattling the cell door again. "And please, try not to feel too bad. You won't be feeling much, come sunrise!" The pot-bellied Nord turned and, laughing, made his way out of the dungeons.
It was all over. Ma'kiir was as good an escapist as any, but due to the manner of his arrest (and the unforgivable crime he'd been blamed for) there was no chance for the lithe fingered Khajiit to free himself from the stone cell. Resigning himself to his fate, the cat slumped onto his abysmal bed and hung his head.
He couldn't even remember falling asleep, but he awoke in total darkness, with only the dim glow of the moon shining through the bars of his tiny window. Confusion eclipsed his misery, and he sat, peering into the night. With his superior vision, Ma'kiir could make out three figures on the floor and a fourth, stooped over the guard nearest his cell.
The Khajiit froze, inching his way backward and away from the murder scene, his breath stuck in his throat. He hoped that this stranger would simply be content to kill the guards, raid the evidence lockers, and leave without even noticing the poor Khajiit behind bars. Perhaps the Riften officials would pardon Ma'kiir after such a traumatic experience, he thought to himself.
A pair of pale white eyes glanced in the Cat's direction; eyes that could see as well in the dark as Ma'kiir's. They found the feline, huddled beside the stone wall, and moved towards the cell, the jangle of keys echoing in the darkness. With a scrape and a snap, the lock was opened, and the door creaked open on rusty hinges. "Come, we haven't much time." whispered a familiar voice.
Even in his surprise, Ma'kiir had the presence of mind to keep his voice down. "D-Daelian?!" he hissed, clambering to his feet.
"You were expecting the Gray Fox?" the Bosmer asked with the hint of a grin. "I told you, I owe you my life. And until you're free and clear of the guards, that debt is still unpaid. Now come, before the watchmen rotate the guard." He immediately turned on his heel, leading the stunned Khajiit back through the detention area and along a narrow corridor to a disused side door, and out into the night.
They progressed on, past the Bee and Barb and crept at a crouch along the bridge, turning down an alley and into the courtyards of Riften's homesteads. Daelian led the way down towards a low water gate, and after kicking off the iron grate, ducked through and out into The Rift. The Elf pressed on, progressing their march through a thin band of pine wood, not halting until they reached a softly babbling brook winding its way down and out of the nearby mountains.
"I strongly suggest you go abroad." the Elf muttered, pulling a small leather sack from within the folds of his cloak and handing it to Ma'kiir; the Elf had had the presence of mind to take Ma'kiir's effects in the daring jailbreak. "The guards will soon find you are gone, and the sentries slain. You would do well to be far, far away from Riften before this happens."
Ma'kiir realised the gravity of Daelian's statement. And he would indeed be far, far away come morning. He'd run all the way to Solitude in the North-West if he had to. "But Ma'kiir's task is-"
"Completed." Daelian interrupted. "I took the liberty of collecting the chest from the opened safe in the master bedroom and delivered it to the waiting Thieves in the Ratway."
Ma'kiir couldn't help but grin. He swept the Bosmer a bow, after slinging the pack over his shoulder. "Many thanks again, friend. May the Night Mother watch over you always, Daelian Carnastiel."
The Elf smiled, returning the bow with a perfunctory nod. "And may Nocturnal guide you safely home, Ma'kiir." he gave the correct reply, then stepped sideways, vanishing into the trees.
[A/N: Once again, forgive the time between uploads. Aside from having other projects to work on, I have a very severe handicap in the fact that I still don't have an Internet connection in my home. Expect the next chapter in a week or two.]