A/N: Well. I'm kinda embarrassed. I wrote the first draft of this chapter from memory and have subsequently made a mistake about the quests involved. I've accidently mixed up a small bit of Malacath's and Namira's quests but I actually liked what I wrote, so I decided to keep it. My apologies in advance for the non-canonicity.
Also, this is the last of the pre-written chapters, so it will probably take me longer to update from here on in. Bear with me. ;)
Disclaimer: Oblivion isn't mine. At all. In any way.
Steel Over Shadow
Chapter Four: Prisoners
Lucien looked up as the door opened, a hand slipping inside his robe to grasp the hilt of his dagger. He relaxed slightly as Ungolim walked in and shut the door behind himself. Still, no such thing as being too careful.
The Bosmer crossed the room and Lucien was unable keep from frowning a little. The Listener's walk was very careful, as if he had to completely concentrate to perform that simple movement. As he sat down, the Imperial caught the slightest tremor in his hands.
"I have spoken to the Night Mother." Ungolim's voice was completely toneless. "She was very…unhappy…with this turn of events."
Lucien was suddenly very glad that he had not been appointed Listener, when the opportunity had cropped up about two years ago.
"She has instructed me to turn the situation over to you. It's your responsibility to ensure the elf – if she refuses to actually join the Brotherhood – has as many ties and links to it as possible instead." Resentment flickered briefly in the Bosmer's eyes.
A little jealous are we, Honourable Listener? The Speaker smiled inwardly. Still, the task was definitely a poisoned chalice. So much to lose if he failed; so much to gain if he won. Normally, he took only calculated risks, but a request – order – from the Night Mother was not to be refused.
"I see," Lucien replied, carefully neutral. "And how am I to go about doing this?"
"In any way you see fit." Ungolim's attention had returned to the paper strewn about his desk. "I suggest you start immediately." It was a clear dismissal.
The Imperial inclined his head and rose from his seat, already planning. "As you wish. Walk always in the shadow of Sithis, Listener."
xxx
Elsynia momentarily considered going after Parwen and Ah-Malz, then discarded the idea. The information would keep for when they met up in Chorrol. It wasn't as if they urgently needed to know the Brotherhood had tried to recruit her.
She sighed, leaning back against the wall of her house; enjoying the coolness of the stone on her back and the heat of the sun warming her front. Closing her eyes, the elf considered her next move. A warm breeze blew strands of hair across her face; the soft, tickly sensation made the corners of her mouth turn up in a contented smile. She loved the heat.
Opening her eyes, Elsynia made her decision based on that. She would chase the sun west to Malacath's shrine. Autumn was upon them and thus far it had been unusually mild. She planned to take advantage of the warmer weather until the inevitable chill of winter set in.
Decided, the swordswoman strode back into the house and up the stairs to her room. Stripping out of her sweat-stained clothes, she threw on a fresh set and began buckling on her Dwarven armour on top of them.
Greaves, boots, cuirass, gauntlets, helmet, shield –
Damn. Her fingers had reached automatically for her Elven shield, only to find it missing.
Elsynia cast around, seeking a temporary replacement from the piles of armour and weaponry she had collected over the past four years, from both her Fighters Guild contracts and freelance adventuring.
The mer pulled out a leather shield from one of the untidy mounds and stared at it. Why on Nirn had she kept such a thing? It wasn't even one of those useless but intriguing items that she occasionally happened across and couldn't bring herself to throw away.
Elsynia sighed. Better a poor shield than no shield at all. She slung it on her back. It was a reassuring weight, if not much else.
Then the Elven longsword joined it, and Chillrend was belted to her hip. After a moment of consideration, a silver shortsword was attached to the opposite hip. Better safe than sorry. A few more seconds of deliberation saw a pair of prized ebony daggers join them, one slipped into each boot.
Feeling suitably armed to the teeth, Elsynia then dug out a dozen Welkynd Stones and added them to her pack. She didn't know the next time she'd be back in Skingrad and wanted to be prepared. The way things were going, the elf would probably need all of them.
The swordswoman crossed to the potion cabinet and stocked up on every potion that it seemed likely she would need. The most important ones were attached to her belt and the rest joined the Welkynd Stones in her pack.
Turning, Elsynia walked out of the room and back down the stairs. She found Nerissa in the sitting room, feeding Tawny chunks of cold beef. Her sister's smile faded into a look of dismay as she took in the swordswoman's appearance. "You're leaving again so soon?"
"Sorry, Rissa," Elsynia sighed. "That Daedric artifact won't find itself."
"Can't I come with you?" Nerissa pleaded. "I'm a good archer, you said so yourself; so did Mama, and she should know –"
"No!" Elsynia's voice came out sharper than she had intended. Her sister's face fell in disappointment. The older elf softened her tone. "No. I'm sorry, Rissa. You know I wouldn't be able to concentrate on fighting if you were there. I'd be worrying about you the whole time and in combat situations, lack of concentration can kill."
Nerissa looked dejected. "Okay. I understand, I suppose."
"Come on then," Elsynia gave her a one-armed hug. "Put your shoes on, grab your stuff and I'll take you over to the Guildhall."
The swordswoman locked up the house and then they set off through the busy streets. It was the height of the day and the roads were packed with all manner of people going about their business. Nerissa moped and dragged her heels all the way there, Tawny trotting loyally by her side.
They stopped at the entrance to the Skingrad Fighters Guildhall and the younger elf hopped up the stairs. She stopped on the top step and turned to face her sister.
Elsynia reached out and readjusted Nerissa's bow, which was poking over her shoulder. It looked almost too big for her. "Now behave yourself," Elsynia instructed sternly. "Keep up your archery and magic practise." Nerissa had a modest amount of magicka at her disposal and had not been born with the same affliction as her sister. The swordswoman schooled her in Restoration at every opportunity. "I know those Destruction spells Tirion taught you are fun, but try to exercise some caution when you're throwing them around. I don't want to return to find you've blown up the Guildhall."
A reluctant smile tugged at Nerissa's mouth. The older elf grinned. "If you absolute must destroy a building, go down the road to the Mages Guild. It happens pretty regularly there, what with Skingrad being the branch that specialises in Destruction magicka."
"I will." Some sadness still lingered in Nerissa's eyes despite her smile. Elsynia groaned with dismay and pulled her sister into a hug. She hated seeing the younger mer upset.
"Cheer up. I know it seems like a long time until you turn sixteen but you'll get there eventually. We'll all be waiting to welcome you into the Guild and you can come on contracts with Parwen, Ah-Malz and I all the time."
"Promise? I can really fight alongside you one day?" Nerissa's voice was muffled by the hug.
"Promise." Elsynia's heart gave a guilty twinge at the longing in her sister's voice. "I'm not planning on going anywhere."
The younger elf squeezed her tightly and then stepped back, a radiant smile on her face. An old pain – no less potent for its age – flared in the swordswoman's chest at the sight.
By the Nine, when she smiles she looks so much like –
Elsynia cut the thought off savagely. The ache of old grief intensified.
"I'll see you when you get back then." Nerissa placed a kiss on her cheek. "Come home safe, El."
"I will," the older mer murmured. Her sister and Tawny bounded into the Guildhall and the heavy doors swung shut behind them.
Elsynia simply stared at the wood for a second; then she took a deep breath and banished the painful memories.
A few minutes later, she was in the Grateful Pass Stables, rousing her sleepy horse. Snowflake attempted to nip the swordswoman on the arm, making it plain that she highly disapproved of only getting a single day of rest.
After gently smacking her disobedient horse, the elf swung herself up into the saddle and urged Snowflake forward. They trotted out of the stables and as the bay mare hit the open road, Elsynia gave her free rein. The horse surged forwards eagerly, sleepiness forgotten, and they set off at a steady gallop, along the road to Anvil and beyond.
xxx
Parwen leant against the wall of the chapel, looking out across the village square. Several of Hackdirt's inhabitants were skulking – there really was no other word for it – about, despite the failing light. She rather suspected they were keeping an eye on her. The bloody tinge of sunset did not cast the village in a more appealing light either; the shafts of orange light falling through the trees made the place look even more creepy than it did in full daylight. She was dreading the complete fall of darkness.
It had taken them two days to reach Chorrol – hampered on the road by a particularly determined group of bandits – and after they had spoken to Dar-Ma's mother, another day and a half to actually find Hackdirt. The archer was sure they must have passed it about three times, hidden by the fastness of the Great Forest. No wonder not many people came here to trade. The villagers' decidedly hostile attitude towards 'outsiders' probably didn't help matters either.
The chapel door creaked open and Ah-Malz shouldered his way out. He wasn't verbose at the best of times but over the past few days he had become barely monosyllabic. Parwen recognised it for what it was; worry over Dar-Ma's safety, and forgive him his complete lack of conversation. She herself tended to talk more when she was worried.
"So? Did you find anything?" the Bosmer pitched her voice low. She could almost swear the people on the other side of square appeared to lean towards them in an attempt to catch their conversation.
"Only that these people worship something referred to in their holy book as 'the Deep Ones'." It was probably the longest sentence the Argonian had uttered for days.
Parwen frowned. "That doesn't sound good at all." She rubbed her arms; cold now as the sun sank completely below the horizon. Hackdirt was every bit as eerie as she had suspected it would be under the veil of twilight. She thanked her lucky stars that she had just enough magical ability to cast a weak Light spell, if the need arose. It wasn't much, but it was reassuring just to know it was there.
"I checked out the inn. The man swore Dar-Ma had never showed up." The archer snorted inelegantly. "This turned out to same crap that the woman in the shop tried to give us. I poked around a bit and found Dar-Ma's journal in one of the bedrooms upstairs. After that, the innkeeper tried to sell me some more bullshit. She was here, apparently, but 'left without any of her stuff'." The deep scepticism in Parwen's expression spoke volumes, even if her tone hadn't. "Just like how that paint horse really belonged to the woman in the shop, honest – even if it did have the name 'Blossom' scratched into the bridle."
The Argonian growled; a low angry rumble that spoke of contained wrath. The accompanying look in his eyes made Parwen suddenly glad that she would not be the one on the receiving end of his fury. "I am tired of these lies," he rasped. "Someone in this place must be willing to talk, even if we have to buy the information."
The archer pushed herself away from the wall. "Let's get cracking then. I have the feeling that time may be running out."
xxx
"Planning a drinking session, are you?" asked the shopkeeper conversationally. Elsynia gritted her teeth and reminded herself for the millionth time that losing her temper would not help anything.
"Something like that." The elf pushed her gold across the counter. With a curt farewell, she exited Lelles' Quality 'Mercandise' with her prize; a couple of bottles of cheap wine clinking merrily under one arm. They gleamed in the sunlight and sloshed in time with her footsteps as she marched along Anvil's quay.
Elsynia fervently hoped that this was not a joke. If it was, she was going to be even more pissed off than she already was.
After a brief stopover in Anvil, the mer had arrived at the shrine of Malacath to find that Pinarus Inventius had been correct about needing an offering of troll fat to gain the Daedric lord's attention. What he had not known, however, was that it was extremely hard for anyone other than an Orc to get an audience, even with the correct offering. One of the worshippers – an Orc, naturally – had been well-disposed enough towards her to offer a bit of advice. Apparently, she was too attractive.
The swordswoman had been completely stumped by this piece of information. It certainly wasn't a compliment she had ever received before. Or, judging by the Orc's pitying expression, perhaps it wasn't a compliment after all.
When Elsynia had confessed that she no idea how to make herself less 'attractive' – short of asking someone to punch her in the face – the Orc had further advised that she should get thoroughly drunk and come back then.
Drunkenness was a key factor in unattractiveness, apparently.
Either that, or the worshippers of Malacath were currently all rolling around on the ground, howling with laughter at her gullibility.
The mer sighed as she passed through the main gate of Anvil and entered the stables. She loaded up Snowflake's saddlebags with the bottles. The bay horse snorted, flattening her ears against her head and dancing sideways.
"Behave," Elsynia said sternly, giving the mare a firm rap on the nose. "Don't try your crap with me today. I'm not in the mood to put up with it. I had to ride all the way back down the coast to Anvil, just to get some really terrible wine and the worst part is, I'm not even certain if I actually need it, or if I'm just having a horrible joke played on me."
Mounting up, she urged the horse into action and they galloped northwards once more.
xxx
"Here."
Jiv Hiriel pressed a key into Parwen's hand. She curled her fingers around it and looked back up at him. The Imperial was pale with fright but his expression was set with determination. "Please, help her. I have to get to the Gathering before I'm missed."
Hiriel slipped out of his house past them and was swallowed up by the gathering darkness. Parwen looked at Ah-Malz. The big Argonian was standing stock-still, his fists clenched tight in rage.
"Bastards," he rasped finally. "Those complete bastards. How could anyone –" He broke off, anger apparently too great for words.
Parwen just shook her head in mixture of disbelief and disgust. She knew she'd been right about this place. They'd managed to find the one person in town who didn't appear to wish them a horrifically painful death and Hiriel had explained that Dar-Ma was being held in the caverns under Hackdirt. She was scheduled to die tonight, as a sacrifice to bring back these 'Deep Ones' that Ah-Malz had found mentioned in the village chapel.
Naturally, the two warriors were violently opposed to this plan and the man had gladly provided the key to the trapdoors leading down into the caverns. He had apparently gained a conscience at the last minute.
"Let's go," said Parwen uneasily, glancing out of the window. It might have been her imagination but she thought she could see shapes moving around in the dusk. Ah-Malz nodded, jaw still clenched with anger.
The archer slipped the key into a pocket and followed the Argonian outside. They carefully circled around the perimeter of the village until they came up behind Moslin's Inn. Hiriel had recommended that they use the trapdoor inside the Inn to enter the caverns but the two Fighters Guild members weren't taking any chances. A brief whispered argument ended in them deciding to go down through a trapdoor near the inn, located in one of the burnt-out ruins dotted around the village – on the off-chance that Hiriel was setting them up in some way.
The trouble was finding it. After stumbling around in the dark for a few minutes, they downed a night-eye potion each. "We're going to need it when we get down there anyway," hissed Parwen, as Ah-Malz grunted in displeasure over the time wasted.
She blinked as her vision adjusted, and spotted the trapdoor instantly, not ten metres away. Grumbling, the archer stomped over and rammed the key into the lock. However, it took the Argonian's strength to haul the trapdoor up from its frame; it came free with a groan of rusty hinges. They descended carefully down a rickety ladder and warily checked their surroundings. Under normal circumstances, the cavern would have been in complete darkness; however, the night-eye layered the cave in ghostly shades of blue.
It was a spacious area, with several passageways branching off from it. It was filled with stalagmites and stalactites. There was a scattering of crates and barrels in varying states of decomposition. The air was cold, stale and musty; the scent of damp and mould lingered. Parwen stepped forward cautiously over the uneven, rocky ground. The only thing her sharp ears could detect was the faint plop of water droplets dripping from the cave roof.
The archer turned around. "I think it's all clear," she murmured to Ah-Malz and turned back around just in time to see a figure rush out from a nearby passageway.
Parwen yelped in surprise and barely raised her bow in time to block. She caught a brief glimpse of a half-naked male Breton with wild, too-large eyes in a pale, drawn face. The sturdy wood of her bow held up as a club collided with it but the impact sent her stumbling back a few paces. The Argonian flowed past her, unsheathing his silver claymore with a steely rasp and turned aside the next swing of the club with ease.
As Ah-Malz grappled with the cave-dweller, the Bosmer caught sight of another one running towards them; she whipped out an arrow, drew the bowstring and fired in one smooth motion. The cave-dweller staggered forward a few more paces, and then pitched face-first onto the ground, the arrow through his throat.
"These freaks must be the 'Brethren' that Hiriel mentioned," grunted Ah-Malz, as he slid the body of the first attacker off his claymore.
Parwen nodded and nocked another arrow to her bowstring, stepping over the Brethren she had just shot. She was forced to leap to the side almost instantly, as another club-wielding maniac rushed out of the passageway to her left. With a roar, he spun around, raising the club –
–and Ah-Malz's claymore punched easily through his bare torso in a spray of blood. The Warder grunted with satisfaction as the man collapsed to the floor, blood pouring from the fatal wound at an alarming rate. The Argonian had a lot of repressed anger to deal with over the situation and it showed.
The Bosmer paced a couple of steps ahead warily, peering down the next passageway. She pulled back just in time to prevent her skull from being caved in. The club that narrowly missed her head bounced off the floor as the cave-dweller staggered, off-balance. Parwen wasted no time in pulling the glass shortsword free from the belt at her waist and slicing his throat open while he was distracted. The Brethren fell to the floor with a dying gurgle.
She slid the blood-stained blade back into its scabbard, listening to the eerie, whistling shrieks of the cave-dwellers growing louder as they sprinted up the passageway towards the two Fighters Guild members.
The archer glanced over at the Argonian. He nodded to her and she drew another silver arrow from her quiver. Together, Ah-Malz and Parwen turned to face the coming onslaught.
xxx
Elsynia dismounted unsteadily a short distance from Malacath's statue. She had started drinking the wine as they had drawn closer to the shrine and now, two and a half bottles later, her mind was now pleasantly foggy and her body slightly wobbly.
The swordswoman walked unsteadily towards Malacath's statue, determined to get there, despite the way the landscape was spinning lazily around her. She made it eventually, grabbing the base of the shrine quickly for support. Elsynia blinked up at the statue, her sluggish mind attempting to recall the necessary information.
"Ahh…troll fat." She nodded wisely to herself and reached into her pack for the offering. On the third attempt, the elf managed to select the correct item from her bag and placed it at the statue's feet.
The sound of the Daedric Lord's voice booming through her head cut through the drunken fog of her thoughts like a blade tearing through flesh; the noise startling her so much that she almost fell over.
You brought a present. Good. That's smart. You're pretty strong too, for such a little elf. You want something? Then, if you're smart, you do what I tell you. Lord Drad took my ogres. Says he owns them. Lying maggot! They're MY ogres! Get over to Lord Drad's estate. Let my ogres loose, and get them out! Okay? Get going!
By the time the rumbling voice had died away, Elsynia's mind had cleared, the numbing qualities of the alcohol dispersed. She wished it hadn't. Her sobriety had been restored, but she was also the recipient of an instant hangover.
The swordswoman clutched at her head, almost groaning with the agony of a blinding headache. Her stomach heaved, threatening rebellion; she swallowed, trying to quell the uneasy rippling.
With an effort of supreme concentration, the mer gathered her power and sent a stream of healing magic flowing through her body.
The Restoration magicka gently assuaged the headache pounding behind her eyes, washing away most of the throbbing pain and the nausea in her stomach. Healing internal problems such as headaches were always harder than more the obvious injuries, like a broken bone or a flesh wound. It was the reason that cure disease and cure poison spells were far more difficult to perform than a comparatively simple spell to close surface wounds.
Consequently, there was still a dull throbbing ache in Elsynia's temple that had not quite been banished by the Restoration magicka. She released the spell and the blue glow died away.
Straightening up, she walked over to the Malacath's worshippers, who weren't even bothering to hide their grins.
"My advice worked then, yes?" asked the Orc who had previously advised her to get drunk.
Elsynia sighed. "Yes. Thank you, I guess. I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of Lord Drad's estate?"
The Orc's face darkened in disapproval at the mere mention of the name and he grunted, "Southeast. You can't miss it."
"Thank you." Elsynia untied Snowflake and mounted up. She turned the bay mare around and they galloped down the hill, heading southeast. The horse's long legs ate up the ground with ease as they traversed the rolling plains of golden grass. The sun beat down out of a cloudless blue sky and the same breeze that ruffled the grass, stirred the branches of the scattered coniferous trees dotted around the landscape.
A short while later, horse and rider rounded an enormous outcrop of rock and the Drad estate lay before them. It consisted mainly of a grand manor house surrounded by cultivated farmland, the ploughed fields abundant with crops. There were also three small outbuildings grouped close to the house and as Elsynia drew nearer, she identified one as a stable.
The mer swung out of the saddle and leading Snowflake inside, looped the bay's reins around a handy post. The horse nickered and nudged her impatiently, chewing hungrily at the bit. Elsynia glanced around the stable; it was empty of any other horses or people, so she moved a hay rack close enough for Snowflake to reach.
The ride here had given the swordswoman's brain a chance to slowly re-engage as the last of the alcohol fumes had cleared away. She had had time to turn over Malacath's words in her head and already disliked the sound of Lord Drad, whoever he may be. Even if the creatures enslaved were classed as non-sentient beings, that didn't make it right.
Elsynia left the bay mare munching happily and circled around the crop fields to reach the beautiful manor. Walking up to the ornate front door, she knocked once, then opened it and stepped inside.
The house was equally lovely inside as it was out, decorated with sumptuous rugs and expensive landscape paintings. A fire crackled in an enormous hearth, filling the ground floor with warmth. A finely-dressed Dunmer stood up from a seat near the fireplace, turning to face her with a look of surprise. "I welcome you to my humble home, stranger. What brings you to this place?"
"Are you Lord Drad?" Elsynia asked, just to be sure.
"Yes, I am," he responded, looking a little confused. "Can I help you?"
"You can. I want to know if you keep ogres as slaves to work in your mines." The swordswoman was straight to the point, as always.
"I do. Can you think of a better use for the mindless beasts? Under my eye, they do some good in this world." His tone was proud.
Elsynia kept her temper under control with difficulty and her voice came out cold and even. "It's wrong. No creature should be enslaved, be they ogre or elf."
Lord Drad bristled angrily at her blatant disapproval. "I don't recall asking for your opinion on the subject. If you have just come here to criticize, please leave; you are no longer welcome."
"Gladly," she retorted, glaring at him as he turned his back on her and strode up the stairs. She had the confirmation she needed. The swordswoman moved to go back through the front door and almost walked into a pretty female Dunmer, wearing clothes every bit as rich and fine as Lord Drad's.
"Lady Drad?" guessed Elsynia, looking her up and down. The Dark Elf nodded, a distressed expression on her face.
"Please leave," she whispered. "I'm afraid you've upset my husband. Go before he loses his temper."
The swordswoman snorted, entirely unimpressed with this threat. Lord Drad hadn't even been carrying a weapon and his physique certainly didn't suggest that he was any good at hand-to-hand combat. "I'm leaving right now. But I'm freeing those slaves before I go."
Lady Drad bit her lip, looking torn, then blurted out. "He works them in Bleak Mine. It's terrible. The guards beat the creatures mercilessly. That's all I can tell you. Now please, go."
Elsynia regarded her with surprise as the woman hurried away. "Thank you," she called, astonished at Lady Drad's differing attitude but nonetheless grateful for the information. The Dunmer didn't acknowledge her, so the mer shrugged and strode back out the front door. She brought a hand up to her eyes to shield against the sun and, scanning the horizon, she spotted what looked like the mine on a sloping hillside to the east.
The elf walked through the fields, until she had almost reached the dilapidated door to the mine; loosening her longsword in its sheath, she carefully approached the entrance. The wooden door gave easily, with some encouragement from her sword, and she ducked into the cave; only to be confronted instantly with two startled guards.
Elsynia didn't wait for them to recover and instead charged quickly to close the distance before the one carrying a bow could regain the presence of mind to fire. The other one, a Dunmer, drew a claymore and she quickly ducked underneath his strike. The heavy blade whistled over Elsynia's head, almost clipping her helmet, and she retaliated by hitting him in the face with an armoured elbow. The Dark Elf staggered back with a howl of pain, clutching his shattered, bloodied nose.
There was a loud screech of metal on metal as an arrow bounced off her shoulder, the impact knocking her back several paces. Elsynia swore and spun around to see the archer, a Khajiit, backing away from her and reloading. She strode forward, attempting to close with him, but he dodged away nimbly in his lighter armour.
The swordswoman caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and avoided the second swing of the claymore just in time. Spinning, she kicked the legs out from under the Dunmer and then almost fell on top of him as another arrow slammed into her cuirass at close range, staggering her.
Gritting her teeth, Elsynia made a swift decision; turning, she extended a hand and blue lightning crackled from her fingertips, the deadly Destruction magicka shooting across the cavern. The Khajiit was thrown off his feet and slammed into the rocky cave wall. She swiftly crossed the room and brought her longsword down on the badly singed archer. His groans of pain were abruptly cut off.
Behind her, the Dunmer climbed back to his feet, spitting out blood and gripping his claymore tightly. Elsynia met his next strike head on, the ring of metal on metal echoing through the cavern as the swords clashed. She turned his blade aside with an easy twist and he stumbled forward as his claymore failed to connect. She decapitated him with a single powerful stroke and the headless body slumped to the floor.
The mer wiped her blade on the fallen Khajiit's leather armour but didn't bother to sheath it. Her sharp ears caught the sound of distant shouting echoing along the stone passageways of the mine. No doubt she would have company again soon. Stepping across the floor, Elsynia took up a stance in the narrowest part of the passage, and waited.
Ten minutes, she was still standing, considerably worse for wear, the ground around her soaked in blood and littered with corpses. The swordswoman leaned heavily against the cave wall and drained another healing potion. She felt the last of her wounds seal up and gave a sigh of relief.
The mer then checked her magicka stores – she had called on several more minor Destruction spells when the fighting had gotten tricky – however her reserves were not depleted enough for her to reach for a potion.
She was battered, bruised and bloody, but she was alive. The mercenaries hired to guard the mine had been well-trained veterans; her side ached from where an axe-wielding Nord had crushed her Dwarven armour into her skin. A potion had taken care of the wound but the damaged armour would continue to hamper her until she took it to a blacksmith.
The elf moved carefully over the blood-slicked floor and around the bodies, continuing warily down the mine's network of tunnels. The last passageway opened out into large space; six deeply unhappy-looking ogres were locked inside reinforced cages.
Elsynia narrowed her eyes and let out low growl of anger at the sight. Using the key she had lifted from one of the dead guards, the mer unlocked each cage, and then swiftly moved out of the large creatures' way; just in case they decided to take out their frustration at captivity on her. However, they appeared more interested in the prospect of freedom and set off at a shambling run up the tunnel towards the exit.
Following at a safe distance, the swordswoman emerged into the sunlight after the last ogre and squinted as her eyes readjusted to the brightness. She heard a loud, distressed whinnying that she instantly identified as Snowflake. Swearing, she bolted across the fields towards the outbuildings, heedless of the crops crushed under her boots.
Elsynia arrived at the stable to find Snowflake being watched intently by a curious ogre. The horse was clearly upset with the attention and proximity of the creature; dancing at the end of her reins, the bay had her ears flat against her head. The elf soothed Snowflake with gentle words and, when she could get close enough, soft strokes on her flanks. The ogre lost interest and shambled off to join its fellows, who appeared to be attempting to break into Lord Drad's house.
When the mare had been sufficiently calmed, Elsynia coaxed a steady canter out of her and they set off once more for Malacath's shrine.
xxx
Parwen and Ah-Malz emerged into yet another cavern and a glad cry echoed through the space. "Ah-Malz!"
The Argonian's face lit up, joy and relief evident on his features. "Dar-Ma!" He strode across the cave, to where the young woman was pressed eagerly against the bars of a cage set into a rocky recess.
Parwen planted herself firmly in the centre of the cavern, facing the passageways leading in and out of the area. She was studiously ignoring the two Argonians behind her, in an attempt to give them some measure of privacy. They had their heads close together, Dar-Ma clasping Ah-Malz's hands through the bars. Low, loving murmurs drifted over.
The Bosmer's eyesight began to deteriorate, as the effect of the potion she had drank earlier started to wear off. Grimacing, she downed her last night-eye potion and tossed the empty bottle aside. Parwen blinked and her vision flickered, taking on that sharp blue hue and once more penetrating the shadows with ease. She scanned the cavern anxiously for further signs of attack, bow at the ready.
The next second, the archer nearly leapt into the air in shock as an echoing bang rang out from behind her. Whirling around, she saw that Dar-Ma had retreated to the back of her cage and Ah-Malz was pounding at the lock on the cell, the screeching of stressed metal reverberating through the tunnels.
"I could just pick the lock, you know!" Parwen called over the noise.
The swordsman simply grunted, "No time."
As it happened, Parwen was in complete agreement with his assessment. She didn't want to spend any more time than was necessary down here, and they had already drawn the attention of the Brethren, so it wasn't as if they were trying to avoid detection. When the Bosmer strained her ears past the quiet dripping of water, she was almost certain she could hear the sound of faint screaming in the distance. It set her nerves humming with as much tension as her bowstring.
With a resounding clang, the lock snapped and Ah-Malz wrenched the door of Dar-Ma's cell open. The liberated Argonian hurried out and threw her arms around the Warder. He embraced her back strongly, leaning down to murmur something in her ear.
Dar-Ma flushed, her scales darkening in hue, and smiled at him with her usual warmth for the first time since they had arrived.
Parwen fidgeted restlessly, glancing at the gaping mouths of the tunnels. "I hate to break up the reunion, but can you two catch up later? I really think we should get out of here as soon as possible."
Ah-Malz nodded, acknowledging the sense of her words, and reluctantly released Dar-Ma. He moved forward to take the lead down the passageway that they had entered through. The Bosmer gestured for the young Argonian woman to go ahead, and then fell into step behind her, an arrow poised to fire at a moment's notice.
"I haven't forgotten you, Parwen," Dar-Ma said earnestly over her shoulder. "Thank you for coming with Ah-Malz to rescue me."
Parwen spared a quick, sunny smile for the younger woman. "Don't thank me prematurely. We're not out of the woods yet."
xxx
Good job! No one owns ogres but ME! And I fixed that maggot! The ogres own Drad! Make Drad eat dirt! Bwah-hah-hah! Now you get a present. Keep up the good work. And be nice to my little brothers!
Elsynia sighed in relief as Malacath's voice faded from her mind once more. She straightened up, and then stiffened as a strong tingle of foreign magicka ran over her skin. The air shimmered and warped in front of her and an enormous Dwemer warhammer materialised on the ground at the foot of Malacath's shrine. Volendrung.
The swordswoman knelt and appreciatively ran a hand over the haft of the weapon. She could feel the powerful enchantments swirling within the metal, even if she couldn't identify exactly what they were.
Taking a firm grip, the elf lifted Volendrung. Or rather, attempted too. She staggered with the sheer weight and then lowered it quickly back to the ground. She was strong but she wasn't that strong.
Elsynia glanced at Snowflake, who was tethered to a nearby tree. The horse snorted and tossed her head, giving her mistress what the mer imagined to be a scornful look. With a sinking feeling, Elsynia remembered that she only knew one feather spell.
It's going to be a very long trip back to Bruma.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter; please do so again for this one! ;D