XIII

The knowledge that Rolega the Quiet was tailing the mages—even though none of them could fathom exactly why the thief would elect to do such a thing—continued to be the foremost thought on their minds as they trekked with Taron and his guard across Skyrim.

Cosette wished that were the case for her, though. Vinye and Malys knew this thief better than she did, if only slightly, even seeing her handiwork in Whiterun. They had told her about the crossbow and her little sleight-of-hand exhibition, and Cosette had immediately suspected that Rolega was no ordinary thief even before they had mentioned she had been part of the Riften chapter of the Guild.

The Breton had never been that far inside the Rift before the mages' sojourn to Rkund, but she had heard stories—with the Morag Tong's presence in Riften, so said the guards there, she could immediately draw up parallels to the lawlessness that plagued the streets of Markarth in her time living there. There was no doubt in her mind that Rolega was a master criminal—and if the mages saw her again, it would be too soon.

But as the sun approached its zenith, Cosette looked up at the sprawling complex of stone that loomed before them. Speaking of lawlessness, she thought. She quickened her pace slightly until she was at the front of the group, and then motioned them all to stop.

Malys frowned. "What's going on?"

Cosette indicated the massive fortress. "That's Fort Sungard," she explained. "The Forsworn used to have a base up there. Ever since the Stormcloaks captured it in their rebellion, they've been trying to take it back."

"Meaning?" Vinye looked uneasy.

Cosette set her jaw grimly. "Meaning once we pass this fort, we will be inside Forsworn territory. So every single one of us needs to be on our guard." She stared everyone in the eye. "I don't know how often you lot come out to this part of Skyrim," she told them, "but the Forsworn are more dangerous than you can imagine. They don't recognize anyone as superior to them—not the Thalmor, not the Empire … and certainly not the Stormcloaks. If you give them a reason, they will kill you."

She turned around, with her back to them. "So if you want to turn around and head back home, I can understand completely."

Malys sniffed. "Not a chance. We've trekked at least half the province in the last week. I'm not about to be stopped by one last corner of Skyrim."

Vinye nodded in agreement, and Taron crossed his arms. "I've searched most of Morrowind myself—at least, the parts that weren't obliterated in the Red Year. I'm not letting these Forsworn types turn me back after two decades of hard work."

Cosette wanted to slap them all—no one knew the Forsworn better than she did, but Cosette was aware that if she told them too much, they would become suspicious. There was nothing to persuade them against it, she knew, and she heaved a sigh.

"All right—we move on," she said, taking the lead and resuming her walk down the road. "There's an inn about a mile further west—Old Hroldan. Maybe we can take on some supplies there."

Unfortunately, the Forsworn had been more active than even Cosette had anticipated; as they rounded a curve, they saw dark wisps of smoke in the distance, perhaps a half-mile away.

"That's too big to be a campfire," Vinye noted, shielding her eyes from the high sun.

Cosette swore under her breath. That could only be Old Hroldan; the Forsworn had attacked this place, she realized, and burned it to the ground—perhaps they knew why it was culturally significant to the Nords, how it was rumored that Tiber Septim himself had stayed in that place before handily defeating the Witchmen of High Rock—the precursors of the Reachmen and the Forsworn, some called them—in the Second Era.

They're definitely increasing their activity, she thought. They wouldn't have dared to do this last time I was here. This was a problem—they'd have to be scarce with what supplies they had. But that wasn't why she was angry.

"We can't stay on the road," she told them. "If that's really the Forsworn's doing, then there's going to be patrols out and about. We need to get out of sight before anyone can see us."

Taron pointed out a fork in the road. "We can take a left up there," he suggested. "It'll lead us further south. My sources suggest that the dwarves built a tower near the Jeralls—it could have been a lookout post for Arkngthamz."

Cosette knew what Taron was talking about; its original name had been lost to time, but the Nords in Markarth often called it Reachwind Eyrie. There was also an Orc stronghold very close by—Dushnikh Yal—but there was also no other significant Forsworn presence in the area. The closest encampment was near the ruins of the mountain often called the Karthspire; Cosette had visited there just last year.

"That's as good a lead as we've ever had," she conceded. "But we still need to keep our eyes peeled and our weapons out—and stay as low as you can until I give the say-so."

"What makes you the leader?" one of Taron's guards burst out indignantly. Taron himself made a guttural noise, and the guard was silent.

Because no one knows the Forsworn better than me, Cosette thought. "Because I used to live in Markarth—and I've spent more time in the Reach than all of you combined. So since I know the lay of the land better than all of you, I think that allows me—"

Cosette barely ducked the arrow at the last possible second before it would have found its mark in her right ear.

Immediately, all seven adventurers sprang into action. Taron and the mages brought their magic to bear on the hillside off to the right, where the arrow had come from, while the Dunmer's bodyguards unhooked their broadswords and spread their legs in an attack stance.

And then suddenly, the hillside exploded with movement and shouts. Brambles and bushes were hacked aside as half a dozen men and women, wearing scant collections of furs and bone—not all of them belonging to animals—burst out from their hiding place not a house-length away from the group, brandishing crude bows, swords and axes alongside their own magic.

"Forsworn!" Cosette yelled.

Even as she swore under her breath, she felt a grudging admiration for how effectively a group this size could conceal themselves. They're getting better since I last saw them. I guess the Cullers are doing well enough without me around.

But the Cullers were myths to the Forsworn—and this particular band didn't seem like they were willing to stay still for a history lesson. Nor was Cosette prepared to face so many of them—in her experience, she was better facing them one at a time, assassinating them when they least expected it.

And so she turned and ran. "Come on!" she hollered to the rest of the group. "We're dead if we face them head-on! We have to run for it!"

Malys' response to that was an ice storm in the direction of several Forsworn; but the Forsworn were almost all composed of Bretons, meaning they were almost as every bit as resistant to magic as Cosette was. After noticing that her ice storm hadn't even slowed down the Reachmen, Malys seemed to decide that discretion was the better part of valor, and it wasn't long before the Dunmer drew neck and neck with Cosette as she sprinted southward off the road onto a worn dirt path.

The Forsworn continued to pursue them, occasionally firing indiscriminately at the fleeing adventurers with spells and arrows. Vinye yelped as a lightning bolt grazed her hip, and one of the Forsworn's forked arrows ripped into Cosette's arm; she bit her lip until blood flowed to ward off the pain, and she healed the gash as best she could.

Cosette was taking them through a narrow pass now, to funnel the Forsworn through a tight squeeze that she thought might turn their numbers against them. She could barely see the top of a Dwemer tower above the sheer crags—Reachwind Eyrie, she thought, just as Taron had said.

Yelling left and right for everyone to stand clear, she sent a pair of fireballs at the band of Forsworn. The explosions rocked the pass, and she grimaced in satisfaction as she looked out of the corner of her eye, and saw parts of at least one charred body fly every which way. But that was just a dent in their numbers, Cosette knew, and even her assault had done nothing to change the inexorable charge of the Forsworn.

But she knew of one thing that might—and unless the Forsworn had been particularly bold, it was coming up right on them … yes, there it was!

Dushnikh Yal stood before the adventurers like a shining beacon—insofar as an Orc stronghold could be considered "shining." But regardless, Cosette knew from tales how ridiculously stubborn the Orcs could be in defending their territory—and how ruthless they could be if pushed with the right amount of force.

A few Forsworn in hot pursuit ought to be enough to rouse this rabble.

The Forsworn seemed to sense this, too, as she saw them slowing down out of the corner of her vision. It wasn't a full-on retreat, though—they were just merely looking for another way around. That meant they couldn't slow down. Perhaps they could stay inside for the time being, but the Orc strongholds were very interconnected in spite of their isolation. It was entirely possible that Borgakh had made sure news of Ugluk's death had spread throughout every stronghold in Skyrim by now. That was a risk Cosette didn't want to take.

So she continued running past the gates of Dushnikh Yal. "We can't stop now!" she called out to the others. "They'll be back, and they'll have reinforcements. We have to find Arkngthamz before they find us again!"

Malys was panting with every other step she took. "Is—that—it—up—there?" she wheezed, pointing in the distance, somewhere off to her right. Everyone followed her finger, and Cosette was surprised to see saw a glint of gold off the mountains ahead. A dwarven ruin—here, of all places? That was not possible; she'd been through this part of the hold several times in the past—and she'd not seen so much as a tile of that Dwemer metal lying around.

But despite her thoughts to the contrary, Cosette knew the pieces all fit together: Reachwind Eyrie's function as a watchtower, the earthquakes in the region that could either conceal or reveal their destination—again, as Taron had said—which would explain why she'd never seen this ruin before in all the time she'd roamed the Reach.

"Arkngthamz," Taron Dreth said behind her. He'd slowed along with Cosette to take in the growing sight of the ruin. "Doesn't it look beautiful?"

That was a matter of opinion, Cosette thought. In and of itself, the sight was unremarkable—merely a pair of squat Dwemer towers flanking a great golden door—but after everything the mages had had to go through to get to this point, just the sight of it made them forget all about their individual trials and tribulations, of Ugluk, of Solyn, and of the Forsworn that were now lost to sight.

"Yeah," she eventually said, her throat dry and muscles aching. "Yeah, it does."

And then a burst of noise from just ahead of them made them forget all about Arkngthamz.

"For the Reach!"

Cosette had just enough time to count a full dozen Forsworn bursting from the bushes either side of the path. They were baiting us, she belatedly realized. That smaller band of Forsworn must have been a ruse; they were trying to lure them here!

Taron and his bodyguards sprang into action. "Go," he told them. "We'll draw them off for you! Get to Arkngthamz—we'll meet you inside!"

Vinye nodded, and she and Malys began sprinting towards the hillside where they'd spotted the towers. Both elves fired off a few errant shots, though none of them were particularly effective. One of Vinye's lightning bolts glanced off a Forsworn's stone axe; the impact was enough to shatter the blade, sending shrapnel flying into the Reachman's face. He screamed, and dropped the remains of his weapon. Cosette finished him with a firebolt before he could heal his injuries.

Taron's palm flicked in the distance, and flashed with silver light. There was a loud boom, and then a rush of wind radiated outward from the spell the dark elf had just unleashed. Everyone staggered, and several Forsworn lost their headdresses—including the two Forsworn nearest her: a tanned male and a short-haired female with flaming red hair, and—

Then it hit Cosette.

The Forsworn had flaming red hair.

For a few dangerous seconds, Cosette Ionsaithe paused, hoping that she had not seen some illusion.

And then the two Forsworn noticed her—her own fiery hair, and the fiery orange war paint over her eyes—and she felt a shriveling sensation in her stomach, as though her heart had simultaneously risen and sank, only to be cut in twain, and leaving an empty void in its wake.

It can't be …

But she knew there could be no other way.

And suddenly, Cosette was dashing for the pair of Forsworn, her heart beating madly at her ribs, threatening to burst from her chest. Tears came to her eyes—whether from fatigue, fear—or even relief—Cosette did not know or care.

She felt a pair of hands grasp her from around the waist and arms—two of them were ice-cold, and a corner of her mind realized they belonged to Malys. She and Vinye shouted indistinctly at the Breton, but she wrenched free of their grasp with a scream.

"Let go of me!" she cried out. Her voice sounded very far away—like it didn't even belong to her; it was someone younger, more innocent—the voice of a child. "I have to save them! I have to—unngh … "

She didn't know who'd cast the spell—for all she knew, it might have been an errant attack from Taron. But it didn't matter—the bright green missile hit her in the back of the head, and Cosette immediately felt her limbs turning to lead, and a strange, blank feeling washed over her mind as her eyes became unfocused.

A stunning spell, she thought—and that was the last complete thought she had before feeling a tugging sensation at her elbows. The last thing she saw was the two unmasked Forsworn staring at her, and she stared back with a fierce determination that almost broke her out of the spell's magic.

I … have to … save … my …

Then the magic took full effect, and Cosette's vision went black.

Mistress Malys was furious.

Two more Forsworn had fallen to Her ice magic, while vinye had downed a third with a clever bolt that ricocheted off a nearby juniper tree. But the fourth was proving exceptionally difficult to hit, both elves were running low on magicka, neither of them could afford to drink a potion right now lest they lose the only advantage they had—the high ground just outside Arkngthamz—and as if this was not enough, cosette had decided, for no apparent reason, to save those two Forsworn?! Malys almost applied a little too much magic into the spell She directed at cosette—but the magnitude of the Breton's folly more than made up for that.

What in Dagon's name was that idiot thinking?!

"Did you see that?" It didn't sound like vinye believed it either. "Those Forsworn—they had—!"

And then the hillside rumbled and shook, and Malys nearly lost Her balance, and cosette with it. She held Her hand out to vinye—clutching cosette's prone form around Her other arm. The high elf had nearly fallen on her backside with the force of the tremor, but Malys was able to stabilize her. Apparently taron had been right about these earthquakes, She thought, and She hoped that Arkngthamz was still stable enough to not collapse in on them.

The remaining Forsworn had disappeared as soon as the quake had started, but Mistress Malys was not taking any chances. "Come on!" She called out to vinye. The altmer took enough time to get behind the vampire and grasp cosette by the legs. The three mages quickly slipped inside the ruin without a moment's hesitation.

They did not exhale until long after the door had banged shut, and the tremors had finally subsided. They sat down in the entryway of Arkngthamz, drinking several potions and healing several scratches on their wounds.

"Is she all right?" vinye broke the silence, and looked at cosette with some concern.

"Just a simple stunning spell," replied Malys. "It should wear off any second now."

A loud bang from outside the door made them all jump. "I hope it does," the altmer said worriedly, looking from cosette to the door and back again. More booms sounded from outdoors as both elves jumped to their feet and brought ice and lightning to bear.

And then the door burst open. The force of the incineration spell that the Forsworn had used to force open the door carried on its path through the corridor, exploding far off in the distance. Malys' face was nearly singed by how close she was to the fiery missile, and She bared Her fangs as the fur-clad female approached them, drawing her sword in the hand that wasn't encased in rippling fire.

"Come," growled the woman. "Come and face the Forsworn!"

vinye's response to her challenge was a pair of lightning bolts that bounced off the walls of the corridor and rebounded onto the breton woman. The Forsworn grunted, but the magic resistance unique to her race made sure it caused nothing more injurious than a few singe marks on her exposed flesh.

The breton answered with a massive blast of fire from both hands. vinye countered with a ward, and had plenty of time to do so. Mages lacked cumbersome armor and weapons, and while Malys knew they each had their own strengths, She also knew that mages had something more deadly. Not being burdened by either allowed for quicker movement of the arms and hands, and at a wider range as well. If a mage was quick enough with their movements, she could immolate or defend against an entire platoon of Legionnaires in a matter of seconds, and without even turning around—even if that platoon had surrounded her completely.

This Forsworn, however, was channeling more time and energy into her attack itself than the act of releasing and guiding it. But while this lack of subtlety might have proved a weakness in another situation, there was simply too much force behind the breton's fire for even vinye's ward to handle. The explosion dispelled her ward and sent her skidding along the wall; the altmer was unhurt from the impact, but too dazed to be of further use for now, much to Malys' annoyance.

"Child's play!" taunted the breton. "You are nothing to a true heir of the Reach!"

Malys growled back at her—and then Her stomach growled as well. The trip had made Her hungry, She realized—and Her last meal had been that measly little snow elf in Tolvald's Cave. She felt a gnawing at Her stomach; the recent battle had taxed Her more than Malys would like to admit. She could not hold back.

And She realized She didn't want to.

Malys clenched Her hands, freezing Her hands into jagged claws—and then She was upon the hapless Forsworn. She lashed out with Her left arm; the woman was slapped against the wall like a child's toy from Her vampiric strength, and she slumped to the floor.

Bad girl.

Mistress Malys felt the familiar sensation snake through Her body, and She couldn't suppress a moan. She'd missed this feeling so very much—this wish to be in control, to help all those bad little boys and girls be good little boys and girls. Before, She had merely wanted to help them—She knew they would come back to helviane's abode, then; She knew the urge was just too great for them to bear.

But now, She could make them be good—whether they wanted to or not.

The Forsworn stirred feebly, and groaned—still a little punch-drunk from Malys' claws. We can't have that, can we? She thought. Her right hand sliced through the Forsworn's cheek, sending her to the ground again. "Be quiet," She hissed.

"Malys, no!" She heard vinye crying out at her, but She did not care to hear her.

"I told you to be quiet!" She screeched as the breton attempted to get to her feet with the rumblings of a battlecry.

The Forsworn crawled away from Her, and Malys prepared another calm spell. She remembered the bandit, gjavar, and remembered how he'd sobbed before Her, and felt the familiar sense of anticipation sear Her insides.

And then the Forsworn lashed back at Her with her blade, and Malys was just close enough to her that the tip of the ivory point sliced Her own cheek. Her face stung with the pain, but She was pleasantly surprised to note that She didn't seem to care. After all, she knew pain quite well; She had spent so long helping bad people to be good through the pain She gave them. Why, then, should She withhold Herself from the same pleasure?

Yes, She thought, as she let the spell die in her hands. Let's make this fun.

"What are you doing?!" vinye's voice might as well have been miles away for all the attention She gave it.

Licking Her lips, Malys expended a little magic to heal the cut—a little more than usual, and extended the range of the spell's effect a bit so the Forsworn could be healed as well. She fought the urge to laugh as the breton's face furrowed in confusion, despite her pain and fear. That pain and fear soon evaporated, though, and the sword was back in her hands in a flash. This Forsworn was a stubborn one, She admitted; She couldn't have this bad girl spoiling the moment.

Five seconds later, then, Mistress Malys had crushed the sword under Her heel, where the Forsworn had dropped it. The Forsworn herself was shouting and cursing at Her, struggling in vain to free herself from the ice spike that nailed her to the wall through her palm. But her other arm was still very much free; the Forsworn unhooked a second sword from her belt, and attempted to jab at Her with it. Malys smiled again, and caught the wrist with Her clawed hand just as the toothed blade sailed within a hairsbreadth of Her stomach. She let it hover there, licking Her lips at Her prey.

"Bad girl," She spoke in a malevolent whisper—before She pierced Herself with the blade. The scream from vinye barely registered in Her ears. And neither did the pain—not even as Mistress Malys slowly drew closer to the Forsworn, skewering Herself on its ivory teeth. Her own blood and bile pooled at Her feet, staining Her black robe with dark crimson, but Malys did not care about that, either. Closer and closer she drew to the breton, who was beginning to tremble with fear at the monster barely inches away from Her. She moaned again, and then again, each time louder than before, as if the pain was gradually driving her closer to her peak of pleasure—

Pleasure … pain …

You're a monster.

For a very brief moment, Mistress Malys paused. She blinked, wondering where that thought had come from. Was She really a monster? She looked from the icy claws tipping Her fingers, to the Forsworn blade still embedded in Her chest, to the Forsworn herself, who now looked absolutely terrified—and then Malys realized that that had not been Her thought at all. It had come from the Forsworn, and the declaration still echoed off the stone corridor.

And yet, it had still made her hesitate.

Was this really who She was reborn to be? A small part of Her had spoken up—weak and childish, but still clinging to some semblance of innocence.

Pain … pleasure …

Then the moment had passed, and Mistress Malys smiled—and crushed the tiny voice of dissent under Her heel, too.

No … I will be a monster.

Biting Her lip until yet more blood flowed from Her, Malys ripped the sword out from Her body, throwing it aside with chunks of flesh and intestine still caught on the teeth—but She did not care. She did not even notice the pain.

I will take pleasure as My pain …

In the blink of an eye, Malys had conjured up another ice spike, and the Forsworn howled as—just like the insignificant bandit from before—her other palm was nailed to the wall by the frozen missile, leaving her helpless before the vampire—

… and pain as My pleasure.

With a small effort of will and a little more magicka, Malys lengthened the icy claws on Her fingers, and began slicing into the Forsworn with the precision and care of a battlefield medic. Shouts came from behind Her, but She paid them no heed; the howls of the Forsworn were louder than them, and they spurred Her further still in punishing the bad girl—

Malys knew She could not hold back any longer—the urge was too great.

She had to feed.

And so She opened Her mouth wide, showing the Forsworn every last gleaming fang in Her jaws—before plunging it right into the helpless breton's neck. The metallic taste of warm blood—infinitely more appetizing than the sour excuse for nourishment that falmer had offered Her—was like an explosion in Her mouth, and the feeling in Her insides intensified. Malys tugged at the flesh and clawed at the struggling body, sucking air through Her fangs, and moaning again and again in excitement and exhaustion as though She was climaxing. The wound in Her chest felt smaller and smaller, and she felt the shredded flesh and entrails knitting themselves back together as the blood She'd ingested repaired the damage to Her body.

It seemed to take forever for the Forsworn to die, but die she eventually did, and her head suddenly lolled in Mistress Malys' jaws as she expired. With one last, long moan and a sigh of contentment, the vampire drew back from the breton's neck, and licked Her lips clean from Her meal of fresh blood.

Slowly, the outside world flooded back into Her senses, and Mistress Malys became aware that she was being watched. With the utmost calm, She slowly turned around, and met the wide eyes, open mouths, and horrified expressions of vinye and cosette without a trace of emotion.

"That's why I can never go back to Windhelm," She hissed.

Cosette Ionsaithe could not believe what she had just seen.

From the moment she'd regained consciousness inside what she presumed to be Arkngthamz, the Breton had stared wild-eyed while Malys not only subjected herself to wounds that anyone would have called fatal—but also shrugged them off like they were nothing. A hundred questions had raged through her mind—how was this possible? How was she still moving, never mind living?

And then Malys had bitten into the Forsworn's neck, and half of those questions were instantly answered.

She was drinking the Forsworn's blood.

Now Malys was looking right at them, her lips still stained red with blood as the carcass of the Breton fell at her feet. "That's why I can never go back to Windhelm."

And as Cosette looked at the lifeless Forsworn on the floor, she remembered why they had come here, why they had fled—and her fear and confusion was suddenly replaced by a burning hatred of the Dunmer before her—no, of the vampire—

"You shouldn't have killed her," Cosette barely heard herself growl at Malys.

The vampire picked something long and stringy from her fanged mouth. "I was hungry," she said, as airily as if Cosette has merely asked her for today's weather. "I had no choice."

"Shut up," Cosette said, clenching her teeth in fury. "You shut up. You had no right to do that!"

"Why's that?" It was Vinye's turn to speak up; the Altmer was still obviously rattled by what she had seen, but Cosette could see the suspicion in her eyes as Vinye stared at her.

She didn't like that look.

"She could have given me information!" Cosette hissed, roughly shoving Vinye's face aside and marching up to Malys with anger in every step. "She could have told me about the Forsworn with her!"

And then her arm had reached out in a flash, and the Breton felt the cold flesh of Malys' neck on her fingers—and she squeezed.

Vinye started with a cry, but a low, primal growl from Cosette stopped her in her tracks.

"She could have told me where they were from—where they were going!" With every word, Cosette's iron grip tightened around the vampire's neck. She heard Malys beginning to gasp for air, but only just—the Breton's eyes were blurry with tears, and now her grip was beginning to weaken as her wrath began to choke her just as she was choking Malys.

"She could have helped me save my family!"

And with this revelation, Cosette finally crumbled, and sank to the stone floor, crying and raging like a child throwing a tantrum. She barely noticed the two elves edging away from her, but did not care. Her fury and helplessness at watching her family being pulled apart by the thrill of bloodshed yet again had finally boiled over.

It felt like an entire era had passed before Cosette finally got back up to her feet. Her rage at her own weakness was gone. Now there was only the rage for the creature in front of her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she rumbled. "Why did you keep this"—she swept a hand in Malys' direction—"a secret from me?!"

"Because I knew you'd react this way."

Cosette was almost—almost—surprised to hear these words come from Vinye, of all people. But again, the anger reared in her like a dragon before its prey, and she stared at Vinye with bared teeth.

"I don't exactly approve of it myself," Vinye went on, "But Malys hasn't tried to kill us, or—"

But Cosette refused to hear her. "You knew about her?!"

"I did." Now it was Vinye's turn to be angry. "And I'd hoped you wouldn't have found out this way, Cosette. I was praying Malys would tell you herself, or that I would eventually—"

"Well, why didn't you?!" Cosette screamed at no one in particular.

"Because we all have our secrets," Malys said quietly, looking from Vinye to Cosette and back again in a very meaningful way. "Don't we, Vinye?"

Cosette felt her anger ebb only the slightest bit as she watched the high elf slump a little and sigh. "She's right," Vinye said. "I'd wanted to come clean for a while now—but Skyrim's still a dangerous place. If anyone knew anything about who I used to be, I might already be dead."

"And why's that?" Cosette said harshly.

Vinye was silent for a moment. " … I'm on the run from the Thalmor," she sighed, and her slender Altmer body straightened a little, as though a large weight had vanished from atop her shoulders. "My father was a Justiciar with the Dominion—he was … partially responsible for the massacre at Falinesti five years ago."

Malys' eyes widened, and Cosette felt her mouth suddenly go dry. "I've never heard anything about a massacre in Falinesti," the Breton said, still with a little edge to her voice—she hadn't even heard of anyplace called Falinesti.

No, she immediately recanted—she had heard of it, only once … the wood elf in the ruins of Rkund …

"Give me the branches of Falinesti for this thrice-damned ruin any day of the week … "

"No one has," Vinye replied acidly. "The Thalmor are very thorough when it comes to purging the so-called lesser elves. But they lost everyone that night—everyone in Falinesti died, and it was all because of me."

Cosette was stunned as the words sank in. " … You slaughtered an entire city?" she said in disbelief, forgetting her anger completely.

Vinye shook her head. "No," she replied. "I just finished the job. I don't know exactly what made me lose control—it could have been any one of a thousand things. I just know I wanted the slaughter to stop. I remember closing my eyes and yelling. When I stopped shouting, I opened my eyes … and everyone was dead. Civilians, soldiers … and even my father."

Malys started. " … You killed your own father?"

Vinye bowed her head. "I might feel better if I knew that I actually did," she said. "But the truth is … I really don't know. It's entirely possible that I did kill him—or that the wood elves got to him first. I just don't know. I didn't know anything about what I'd done until after I'd already done it … and by then, I knew it was too late.

"So I ran—I had to. I fled to Cyrodiil—no one could ever find me there, or discover what I had done. I made a new life for myself, and I surrounded myself in studying the magickal arts after that, trying as hard as I could to drive the memory out of my head."

In spite of her fury, Cosette was surprised to find herself trembling at Vinye's revelations. Deep down—albeit grudgingly—she'd come to accept that this Altmer had genuine talent in her; Cosette only had to look at the storm atronach she'd used against Ugluk to realize that. But this was unheard of—she would never have suspected that this elf could be capable of such devastation. And then there was the long period of recovery after …

You always remember your first kill.

Cosette had been ten when she'd killed a fellow human being for the first time. Back then, Ulfric Stormcloak was still alive, as was Torygg, the High King Ulfric would later murder to touch off the civil war of Skyrim. The dissidents that followed him then were little more than Ulfric's private army—they wouldn't be a major faction for another few years, but they had just as much distaste for the Reachmen back then as they still did today.

It had happened that one of their patrols attempted to eradicate a Forsworn camp in the redoubt of Serpent's Bluff, a stone's throw from Rorikstead. They had been cut down swiftly—and Cosette had drawn first blood. She never saw the face of the armored Stormcloak she'd killed, but every other part of the memory was as clear as day: the split-second hesitation of the Stormcloak, unwilling—if only a little—to slay one mere child, and then the surprise and horror as that one mere child grabbed a blade and buried it hilt-deep in his neck—

But more than anything, Cosette remembered the shaking and insomnia that came to haunt her later that day. It had gone on for a week—a whole week without food or sleep, so badly shaken was she. It had desensitized her, and later she came to understand that that was the whole point.

You always remember your first kill.

But Cosette had been bred to be more than a monster—or even a soldier. As far as she was concerned, the Forsworn were a force, plain and simple. They did not contain their fear and rage within them, bottling it up where it could be smothered like a wet blanket over a fire. Nor did they lash out with it—though the Nords might not be entirely undeserving of such a fate, that would make the Forsworn no better than them. If that were the case, the Forsworn might be completely eradicated by now. No—the Forsworn controlled their anger, holding it in their own two hands. It was their sword and axe, their bow and arrow—even their spells and wards.

What Vinye had done in Falinesti could not be understated, Cosette knew—but at the end of the day, she'd behaved like nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum. And Malys was almost laughable—to think that Cosette had actually fallen for that lie about an improperly cast healing spell!

Cosette grimaced. These two elves didn't know the first thing about anger, let alone knowing how to use it—how it hadn't destroyed them already was a miracle.

That being said …

"So," Cosette said, putting her hands on her hips, "not only do we have a renegade from one of the strongest military factions of Tamriel … but we also have a vampire who mysteriously wasn't a fortnight ago." She scoffed as she glared at Malys—this was too much to take in. There was simply no way this was true.

"Oh, I was a vampire," Malys corrected her. "I've been undead for much longer than you've been alive. I just didn't know it until last week."

Cosette scoffed again. "How does someone just forget they're a vampire?"

"I'm not just any vampire," said the Dunmer. "I'm a hybrid—part Quarra, part Volkihar. Both those clans have very strong blood in them—and they battled it out inside me. It nearly killed me, you know—I had to sleep for two hundred years just to stave off the worst of the effects. It cost me most of my memory, but I barely survived."

A hybrid vampire? Cosette wondered. She knew precious little about vampires—very few chose to make their home in the Reach—but what she did know suggested that if Malys was telling the truth, then she was very unique, and potentially very dangerous.

"How did this happen?" the Breton finally asked. She maintained a little of her voice's edge—skeptical, but not so hostile as to completely alienate Malys when she had the chance to explain herself.

"Remember when I told you how Dunmer were promiscuous by nature?" Malys told her. "It wasn't any different with me. I grew up in Suran, and when I was old enough, I started working at a place called the House of Earthly Delights. The owner put me to work as a 'special request'—I don't think I need to go into the specifics."

Cosette silently agreed—Malys' exploits of pleasure weren't the issue here.

"Then Vvardenfell erupted, and we were all driven out of our home. The few of us who survived only did so by the skin of our teeth. Those were low days for me—I made for Windhelm, but I had to give my body to an Ashlander just to get a map of the way there. By the time I found out he was a vampire from the Quarra clan, it was already too late."

Cosette noticed Malys had gripped the side of her neck very tightly as she said this, and grimaced as she put two and two together.

"I made it to Windhelm eventually, but times were tough. I had to hide myself from the rest of the city—Nords and Dunmer alike. But I still believed I could eke out a living for myself. I started selling myself again, out of an alley in the Grey Quarter of town. Business wasn't as good—the Nords would have me arrested if I ventured out of that section of Windhelm."

Cosette already suspected where this was going. "But someone ratted you out, didn't they?"

Malys didn't say anything for a while. "No one suspected anything at the time—I always operated at night, and what streetwalker doesn't? And I kept my thirst in check, too, if only just—animals aren't nearly as filling a feast as men or elves."

"But one night I had a visitor—a customer of mine had brought a friend for his first time. I still remember his face—he had this slicked-back black hair, small little black beard—and I don't know how he knew, but he knew what I was. He could see it on me, he said. I didn't fully grasp what he meant until he bit me right here." She rubbed the other side of her neck.

That threw Cosette for a loop. "That doesn't make sense at all. Why would a vampire bite another vampire?"

"I never had the chance to find out," Malys answered her. "When I woke up, I was practically surrounded by an angry mob—cliché torches, pitchforks, and all. Somehow, I knew that vampire had alerted the guard, and told him everything. The whole town ran me out of Windhelm that morning—even some of the other dark elves were chasing me—and I was forced to hide in a cave on the bank of the White River. That's where I slept, and that's where I woke up two hundred years later."

"And when you woke up … "

Malys nodded. "I had no idea what I was," she finished for Cosette. "I lost so much of my memory that that priest's blade couldn't tell I was undead at all."

The Breton was dumbstruck. It was the most illogical story she'd ever heard. Admittedly, she'd never experienced being a vampire firsthand, but the relationship between the body and the mind was rarely that complex. One could not live without the other—to Cosette, it was as simple as that.

So why was it, then, that she almost believed what Malys had told her?

She looked to Vinye for an explanation, before noticing that both she and Malys were looking at her with expectant expressions on their faces. Immediately, she felt her hackles rise again—she knew what they were about to ask.

They wouldn't be getting the answer they wanted.

"Well—I suppose this means you want me to come clean now?" Cosette told them, her voice filled with derision, hands still on her hips.

No one spoke. Vinye and Malys traded uneasy glances with each other, before they slowly nodded at her.

Cosette made a rude noise in her throat, and spat in disgust. "Well, too bad," she said, glowering at the two elves, wishing they'd burst into flames from the sheer force of her glare. "You should have told me this a long time ago. Maybe then you'd have earned the right."

She turned on her heel, not even daring to look at them. "I'm going back out there," she said in a very final way. "I'm going to find my family, I'm going to rescue them—and you two can rot in this hellhole for all I care."

"You're what?!" Vinye was incredulous. "It's crawling with Forsworn out there! We're lucky to be alive—if it wasn't for Taron, we might all be de—!"

Cosette finally exploded. "Don't you dare talk about that damned elf again!" she snarled. "And what's it to you if there's Forsworn out there? I told you the risks of coming through the Reach—I told you that you could easily have gone home and saved yourselves the toil and trouble! But no—you just couldn't resist the thought that Arkngthamz might still be standing.

"WELL, IT'S STANDING!" she burst out, whirling around at Vinye and Malys, and feeling a savage pleasure as they backed away from her in surprise. "And I hope it falls on your heads," Cosette growled at them, directing all her hatred into the next wad of phlegm she spat onto the stone floor.

She looked over her shoulder at them, and she noticed how pitiful their expressions looked—but Cosette was too angry with them to care. "At least the Forsworn are honest about who they are," she finished, turning away from them, "and what they do."

"And I suppose you'd know all about them, wouldn't you?"

Cosette did not immediately hear what Vinye said—her hand was just about to push against the door before the words finally made their way to her brain. That stopped her in her tracks, and her arm went slack against the metal.

"I'd answer her if I were you, Cozy," Malys added, and Cosette bristled—that creature had no right to call her that name. "Vinye didn't know I was a vampire from the beginning, but it didn't take much for her to find out. If there is something you're hiding, I'd wager she can read it like just another book."

"When Taron's spell staggered those Forsworn, I noticed that two of them had the same red hair you did," Vinye said, crossing her arms and speaking up before Cosette could even think to rebuff her. The Altmer's green eyes looked sharp as blades. "Now maybe that's pretty common for Bretons, but your hair's especially red—and so was theirs. And it was only for a moment, so I can't be one hundred percent sure … but I'm pretty sure if I had another, longer look at their eyes, I'd see the exact same tattoos on your eyes around theirs as well."

Cosette swore under her breath—one simple glance from Vinye had been enough to crush her disguise to sand. But there was still no way in hell that the Breton would admit defeat. "Do you think I care?" she said defiantly.

"You should." Vinye's expression was unreadable. "I'm shocked enough that you're a Forsworn yourself, Cosette—but I should think that even a Forsworn would care about their own mother and father."

The Breton felt a sensation that roughly resembled a heavy weight being swung into her stomach, and all her composure and toughness were leveled with Vinye's words. How did she know that? How?!

"You don't know anything about my family!" Cosette tried to muster up one last rebuttal, but the elf was unmoved.

"Hair that red is a recessive trait for both men and elves alike," the Altmer went on. "The only way it can be passed down is if both parents possess that trait, and even then, there's only a chance. For all three of you to possess the exact same shade of hair isn't something you see every day. In fact, I'd wager that could only happen through … "

Vinye did not finish her sentence, but Cosette was all the more thankful for it: she knew the Ionsaithe clan was known for both its passion for bloodshed and its bright red hair. It wasn't hard to come to the conclusion that either Cosette's parents—or Cosette herself—might have been the result of inbreeding within the clan to pass both traits on to their next generation. At least Vinye had enough tact to not say anything further on the matter. If she had gone on, Cosette would likely have killed her where she stood.

" … Well, that certainly explains a few things, at any rate," Vinye finished, half to herself and staring off into space, seemingly contemplating, before turning her cold glare on Cosette. "So you're a Forsworn. Those swords on your back aren't just for show, are they?"

For a moment, Cosette wanted to spit in her face—see how many lightning bolts the Altmer could squeeze out with phlegm in her eye. But the look in Vinye's eye had changed—it wasn't entirely cold, now. It felt softer—and yet those green eyes still felt like they were piercing her like a thousand needles. Cosette would die before admitting it—but she already knew that Vinye was a shrewd elf. Attempting to wall her off to protect her identity—who she was, and had been from the beginning—would be worse than useless at this point.

And so she sighed. "I'm not a Forsworn," she eventually said, choosing her words carefully. "Not officially, anyway."

"Officially?"

"Sorry." Cosette crossed her arms at Vinye. "That's all you get. Until you can prove to me that I shouldn't head back to Winterhold on my own and leave you two on your own, I'm not telling you anything."

"Why are you even with the College?" asked Malys. "You don't sound like you care about the place at all."

Cosette paused. That was a loaded question—how to answer it without giving anything away? "I don't really want to say," she said. "It was … necessary for me to go to Winterhold."

Vinye pounced on the word. "Necessary," she mused. "Are you being forced to go there?"

"No," Cosette said heatedly, and perhaps a little too quickly; she cursed under her breath for the slip-up. "I did it for my own self. I wanted to be stronger—by any means necessary, but nowhere else in the Reach could offer me what I wanted. I couldn't go back to Markarth—the guards would know me there, and I'd be back in Cidhna Mine all over again."

"So you just wanted to be the best, did you?"

"Not that simple," Cosette countered. "But sure, I'll give you that. I thought this excavation in Rkund could give me that kind of strength. If I'd known exactly what sort of nonsense this would turn into, I'd never have come along with you two at all."

The two elves looked wounded at that, and Cosette felt the ghost of a smile on her face.

And then Vinye asked, "Is that what you really think?"

It was a simple question, but it left her all the more shocked for it. I am Cosette Ionsaithe, she thought.

A small, nasty little voice in the back of her head answered her. The Ionsaithes are dead. They're never coming back!

I am invincible.

No, you're not. You never wanted to be.

I am Forsworn. I am a force, and a dream.

So you admit you can't even think for yourself?

I don't care about that. I want a free home, and I would gladly die for it.

Will you?

I am Ionsaithe! I am invincible!

…

Is that what you really think?

…

When Cosette next spoke, it was with all the roaring anger of a forest fire. "What else am I supposed to think?!" she stormed at the elves. "That I should just give up?!"

Give up.

Cosette had heard that nasty little voice in her head again, and for a moment of time to short to be measured, a thought entered her head, and that thought rushed through her body like the north wind, and extinguished the flames of her fury. The forest fire was now little more than a sputtering candle.

That voice sounded too much like hers.

Give up.

Cosette Ionsaithe was a Culler—someone who was not only encouraged, but expected to die for the Forsworn cause. By establishing herself to be above and beyond even the most formidable of Reachmen, her mere presence was a challenge to them—a boast to each camp she'd ever infiltrated that said,

"Do you think you're ready to fight for a free home? Then prove it—kill me before I kill all of you."

Cosette Ionsaithe had been told to give up her life—but no one had ever, not once in her life, told her to give up.

The candle flickered briefly, and Cosette jerked her head towards the elves. No, she decided. She would not give up. The Ionsaithe name and its survival, while no less important, could wait a while longer. Her mother and father had taught her everything she knew about the ways of battle—they could survive a second-rate mage and his cronies.

Which left only one other decision. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Cosette knew her duty.

And the candle finally expired—the fire inside her had been snuffed out.

"All right," Cosette sighed, finally facing Vinye and Malys. "So I admit I got my priorities a little mixed up back there. I came to Winterhold to be strong, sure—but I've had some … nice experiences along the way. Some more than others"—as images of the headless body of Orchendor, the draconic monster that had been Peryite, and numerous bodies of her fellow clansmen inside Bthardamz flashed through her mind—"but even those have been pretty life-changing."

She couldn't resist a little grin. "And let's be honest," she added, "you don't get more sisters-in-blood than you do by taking down one of the biggest and baddest Orcs in Skyrim together. So what if I got laid low for it?" She rubbed at her jaw, where Borgakh had punched her. "That was … I haven't felt that good in a long time. So … thanks for that."

Both elves breathed a sigh of relief as the thought that Cosette didn't want to kill them both finally sank in. "So is that it, then?" Malys asked. "There's no bad blood between us at all?"

Cosette's grin widened a little. "Don't get too ahead of yourself," she said daringly. "Right now, all I'm thinking about is seeing this through to the end." And the sooner the better, thought the Culler—it was all she could do to dispel any thoughts of her family from her mind. "But don't worry—I'll make it up to you. By the time we're done exploring Arkngthamz, you'll know everything there is to know about who I am and what I do."

The ground suddenly rumbled, nearly sending the three mages to the floor. The tremors continued for several seconds, and then disappeared as suddenly as they'd come.

Vinye rose from the cracked floor. "Then we should get started," she observed, "while we still have an Arkngthamz to explore."

Cosette nodded, and tightened the lashings that kept her twin swords in place. "Let's go."

Malys got to her feet, and the mages began their descent into the crumbling ruin.

Next chapter: Slowly but surely, secrets are being revealed—and the mages will need more than an unexpected source of help to survive the perils of Arkngthamz.

A/N: And again I've had to break a potentially super-long chapter into two parts. Writing interpersonal drama is exhausting, and I feel like I really could have handled it a lot better than I did here. You can take it as assurance that I won't be tackling anything like romance any time soon. Phew.

Thankfully, this next segment ought to be reasonably straightforward; I won't spoil anything, since the chances are you already know what's coming. I hope you enjoy! - K