The peace of the forest was shattered by frenzied shouting. Just a hill's climb away from Weynon Priory, Carolara and Martin stopped in their tracks to witness a Dunmer half-running, half-sliding down the slope towards them, waving his arms madly.

"Friend of yours?" the priest inquired, nervous, understandably wary of strangers for the time being. He looked down at Carolara to see her pausing in the ready of her bow.

She hadn't even nocked an arrow yet when she decided against doing so entirely. "I don't..." Her head tilted, squinting, and then finally her eyes lit up in recognition. The Breton had seen this elf before, tending to the flock as they grazed in the Priory yard. But just as she was voicing her findings a figure came down the hill behind him, clad in the crimson robes that Carolara would never forget the look of.

The Dunmer saw as the bow came back up but seemed to understand the arrow wasn't meant for him, dropping to his hands and knees to give her a clear shot. Carolara was a bit surprised when her shot wasn't the only thing flying toward the enemy; a blast of conjured ice traveled with it and struck almost precisely where her arrow did, the combination sending the cultist swiftly to his death. The Breton, once sure the target wasn't getting back up, glanced at Martin in mild surprise.

"I didn't know they teach you to do that in the priesthood," she commented.

The Imperial shrugged. "They don't."

Statements like that were nothing but catalysts for Carolara's boundless curiosity but for now that had to take a lower priority in her mind, for the Dunmer was finally finding the breath to speak. "I think... I'm the only one... Maborel, Piner, they were cut down..."

The Breton remembered the Amulet and felt her heart sink. She began to hurry up the hillside, nocking an arrow and calling for Martin to stick close. He quietly complied, readying himself to cast a spell at a second's notice. Together they came to the road, and the Priory was in full view. As the Dunmer shepherd had warned, the other two monks lay dead near the well, their wounds bad enough that she didn't even feel compelled to check for a pulse.

Signs of life, however, did come from the Chapel building. The doors were already thrown open, revealing Jauffre holding his own against two red-robed cultists wielding short blades. The length of his katana was enough to force both combatants out of range to be of any good, and his speed was nothing short of surprising for his advanced years. Two of their compatriots already lay still; one on the floor, one draped unceremoniously over a damaged pew. Carolara and Martin rushed to his aid and soon the remaining cultists were dispatched by way of arrow and spell respectively.

"You're back," Jauffre nodded at his fellow Breton when he'd caught his breath. "Thank Talos. I have bad news, but..." here his gaze drifted to Martin and he smiled. "It seems it has not all gone against us. I am Jauffre, Grandmaster of the Blades. I'm sure the lady has told you why you're here."

"An honor. I didn't want to believe her at first, but too much has happened for it to be anything but the truth." The Septim heir nodded, the memory of pain still in his voice when he said, "And, I don't want to see another Kvatch."

The old man took a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to clean his katana with it. "I heard about all that. Stopping it would be as simple as taking the Amulet to the Imperial City and crowning you... that is, if we had the Amulet."

"I was afraid of that," Carolara sighed. "Gained the heir, but lost the Amulet. Do we have any idea where they might have taken it?"

"No," Jauffre admitted, "but we've got a bigger problem right now. Martin cannot stay here. It's not safe."

She knitted her brows in thought. "I'm not entirely sure there is such a thing as a safe place from this."

"Perhaps not," was the Blade's grave reply. "But if there's such a thing, it's Cloud Ruler Temple."

Carolara tilted her head in blank confusion, but Martin perked up a bit, inquiring, "Is that the mountain fortress? I think I've heard tales of it."

Jauffre nodded in the affirmative. "Cloud Ruler Temple was built long ago, by the founders of the Blades, back in the days of Reman Cyrodiil. It is high in the mountains near Bruma... our ancient fortress, sanctuary, refuge of last resort."

The smaller Breton put her bow back over herself, glancing out the door in a moment of paranoia. "And you're sure it's safe to corner ourselves in the mountains?"

The Grandmaster tilted his chin up pridefully. "Don't underestimate the Blades. A few men can hold that fortress against an army. The Blades stationed there will provide much better protection than just two Bretons."

"Can't argue with that," Carolara shrugged.

"Let's get what supplies we can carry and leave at once." Martin's voice was the most purposeful she'd ever heard it. But there was remorse, too. Even though his mind knew better, his heart felt like these tragedies were his fault in some way, and Carolara had just caught a glimpse of that conflict.

They salvaged what they could from the Priory House; the interior of the building had been sacked, every drawer pulled out of its chest and every book on the floor. There was a room that Carolara hadn't seen on her first visit, and rightfully so. The door had once been hidden behind a bookshelf, which was now a pile of splintered wood and torn books. In lieu of picking the lock on the desk Jauffre claimed the Amulet had been in, someone had burned the top away entirely to get at it. She and Martin gathered up food that wasn't damaged, which turned out to be quite rare in the cult's wake, while the Grandmaster sent a message ahead of them by carrier bird.

The sun was already down when all three saddled up but no one so much as mentioned it. Aside from the good deal of yawning the party was silent and it was too dark to see the mountains, but less than an hour in they all lost their drowsiness in the face of the biting northern wind.

When Carolara spoke, it was only to briefly utter that she could smell snow coming.