Chapter 9

Still some way off, Tychicus Varen walked down the road between Bruma and the Imperial City. He was a short, thick-built man, like many Imperials, but he walked very quickly for all that. Priests of Arkay generally got plenty of exercise going about their patron's business.

Not quite this much exercise, though. The young priestess Laure stumbled along, sweaty and exhausted, well to the rear of the priest. She had a knapsack on her back, and it was weighing her down. Not that Varen should be able to tell. At the moment Laure was invisible. Illusion was not one of the recommended skillsets for priests of Arkay, but Laure was a Breton and very apt to learn new spells.

For all her current discomfort, Laure did not regret her decision to follow Tychicus Varen. She was sure something quite serious, as Laure herself would put it, was happening. She had gathered from the other priests of Arkay that serious things often did happen somewhere in the vicinity of Brother Varen, although no one seemed eager to explain any further. For that matter, she suspected most of them didn't really know.

Take, for example, the awful time when Raius and his companions had been killed deep down in the ruined Ayleid city of Anga. Laure had not been part of the Chapel then – she'd been taken on to replace the others, to the extent that was ever possible – but she'd heard about it. Varen had been gone for a long time after that, some said hunting down the killer. That was silly, she had thought. Anyone who wandered down into the darkness full of Namira's worshippers was very likely to be killed, unless they were well prepared with companions and light. Raius had been prepared, and he was dead. But Varen had come back. And when he had left once more, in company with an Orc and a Khajiit, it was said he had performed the Rites of Arkay for all of those who lay in Anga and lived to tell the tale.

Except, of course, that he had not told any tales. That wasn't his way.

Then there had been the more recent incident with the two paladins, the Dunmer and the Altmer. Laure still wasn't sure what had happened there, except that Varen had come home tired for the first time she or anyone in the great Chapel had ever seen. Maybe he's just getting older, said one of the Brothers. Laure didn't believe them. She had seen the light under his door before he went out, and the bandage on his arm after he brought them back.

She was not likely to forget the sight of Tychicus Varen carrying two unconscious mer down the stairs, one over each shoulder. The others had firmly said he'd used a spell of fortification, but Laure had been standing quite close by as he passed. No magicka had been in use. She was Breton, and sensitive even for that race. She would have felt it.

Laure also possessed more than the usual measure of curiosity. This was another trait perhaps not considered ideal in a priestess of Arkay. Laure didn't generally bother herself much with what other people considered ideal. She permitted herself a tight smile, breathing hard between her teeth. No Chapel of Dibella would have taken her on, that was for certain. Laure was not pretty. Her hair was brown. Her eyes were brown. And she did not quite possess the small, neat figure most valued in Breton women. One of the things she liked best about Tychicus Varen was that he didn't seem to care. Never once had he looked at her face and her body and dismissed them, the way she'd seen nearly every male she met do since she was twelve or so. He treated her with exactly the same intent, eerie attention he gave to pretty women, men, mer, beast-folk, and occasionally the walls.

Her invisibility spell was about to run out. Laure whispered the words again, dragging up the magicka around her. Her fatigue would get ahead of her magic reserve soon. Hopefully, it would be dark before then. The sun was already creeping toward the Western horizon.

Up ahead, Tychicus Varen had apparently noted that same thing. He stopped, looking around him. Laure stood quite still. She hadn't quite settled how she was going to avoid losing him after she fell asleep for the night, but she was sure she would figure it out. Laure was not without a certain faith in her own abilities which was, incidentally, not particularly popular either in Breton women or in priestesses of the Divines. She had been told she was arrogant. Laure didn't see this, but she also supposed most arrogant people couldn't tell they were, either. It wasn't as if she'd joined the chapel of Mara.

Tychicus Varen shook his head slightly. Then he unstrapped a canteen from his belt. He turned to look down the path directly at Laure. His face was a little wry. "Would you care for a drink, Sister? You must be tiring, by this time."

"You aren't," Laure said, making a quick recovery. She dropped the invisibility spell with some relief. "And, er, I have my own water. Brother."

"I see," said Tychicus Varen. They looked at each other for a moment. He didn't seem to be angry.

"How long have you known I was here, Brother Varen?" Laure said tentatively.

"For about two miles, Sister," said Tychicus Varen.

"You must be very preoccupied," said Laure.

"I suppose so." He examined her with a sharp brown eye. Laure had noticed he tended not to blink very often.

"I would like to go with you," said Laure.

"So I gathered," said Tychicus Varen gently. "Did you understand what I meant, when I said this was a personal trip?"

Laure nibbled her lower lip with her upper teeth. "Erm. No. Not exactly." She was dying to ask what he'd seen or heard at the Altar, but she didn't think he would answer.

"It is likely to be dangerous," Varen said. "And it is nothing that should concern a Priestess of Arkay. Not even so intrepid a priestess as yourself, Sister."

"Now you're making fun of me," said Laure wryly.

"I have never been known to joke," Varen said. He looked at her for a while longer. "Where I am going pertains to events that took place a very long time before you were born, before I took orders or even set foot in Cyrodiil. I would have to ask you to keep more than one secret which you will very much wish to tell."

Before he set foot in Cyrodiil, thought Laure. Tychicus Varen, who was as Imperial as an iron helmet. "I want to know more than I'll want to tell," Laure said firmly. "I promise not to slow you down. I can fortify my own fatigue. I'm quite good at it."

Varen sighed. "I doubt you can help yourself. I myself generally do not sleep."

"Really?" said Laure.

"Oh, yes," said Tychicus Varen.

---

It was not so very hard to find an animal. The blood in terrestrial veins beat slowly, and loud, and Ebel-Merodach could track them in the dark almost as easily as he could Menien Goneld.

Killing it was another matter, of course. The creature he stalked was utterly without natural defenses other than a small set of hooves, but it jumped up and ran away from him before he was within striking distance despite his approach from downwind.

There was a faint thwip about the same time the prey burst out onto the open road. It stumbled, tried to leap, and fell over. Menien Goneld strolled out of the bushes where Merodach had left Sodrinye and went to look at the arrow in the deer's neck.

"See?" he said. "I told you you'd want me armed. You're too loud to sneak up on anything."

"This plane has too many plants to step on," growled Merodach. He went to retrieve Sodrinye. "We cannot make a fire in the open road. It will be too visible while darkness persists."

"We can always wait until daylight," said Goneld. "I'll have to sleep pretty soon anyway. It's been a couple of days."

Ebel-Merodach shook his head curtly. "Now." He adjusted Sodrinye over his shoulder. "It is too cold here. If I am to do anything other than carry her, I must have warmth for the Sleeper."

"So you're finding it a little chilly now that we're not in Hell?" Goneld said dryly. "Fine. I'll check the copse you chased that deer out of. It'll save me having to watch you drink its blood."

Merodach did not deign to reply. He drew his belt knife and knelt beside the thing Goneld had called a deer. He could not have said he enjoyed the taste – it might be sweet, but mortal blood tasted both cold and flat – but it was better than nothing. He also poured a few drops down Sodrinye's throat, mostly to show he could disobey her if he wished. This, at least, was what he told himself. He made sure Goneld didn't see him.

After a few minutes, he heard the crackle of the flame. Merodach surveyed his two burdens with something approaching resignation, hoisted one over each shoulder, and went with straight bearing toward the fire.

Neither Merodach nor Goneld spoke as the mortal hacked off one or two bits of the deer and roasted them. Merodach watched this only briefly, until the smell of burning flesh reminded him too much of home. Then he went back to pacing around the little clearing Goneld had found, trying to see out and not look into the familiar glare of fire in the dark. There was a small stream of water running over the ground nearby, another peculiarity of this plane. Goneld went back and drank from it every so often. Merodach could not see the allure. It smelled like, well, water. He had dragged a short length of some plant over near the fire and propped Sodrinye near that more wholesome element.

The dark kynaz half-sat against the rigid bark, apparently still entirely unconscious. Her robe was in even worse case than it had been when he found her, shredded to the knees and entirely filthy. Merodach looked consideringly at Goneld's clothing, but ultimately decided that if he were Sodrinye, he would rather be stark naked than wearing the filthy hide of a mortal animal. Besides, the Sleeper would undoubtedly object to his taking the clothing away from Goneld. He was beginning to know her. This last thought was as close to morose as Merodach generally ever came.

After a while Goneld said, "You had better hope there's nothing really after us." He twirled a scorched stick idly between his fingers. "They'll shoot you through one of those glowing eyes before you ever see them. All that armor won't do you much good, then."

A soft snarl was all the answer Merodach felt this deserved. From the corner of one eye he saw the Imperial's shrug.

"Of course, I'll be dead, too, so I don't suppose it matters," said Menien Goneld. He licked grease off his fingers. "At least I'll have had a decent last meal first."

"That is disgusting," said Merodach.

"Says the demon who drinks blood," said Goneld. "I'm going to sleep now. Feel free to do whatever you want with the body. I doubt we'll have time to tan the hide."

Then he curled up against the base of a tree and said nothing more.

The light began to return, eventually. Merodach saw the horizon begin to turn gray long before the first painful flash of sunlight. Soon after that, it was too bright to look at. The wash of pale light crept between the trees until it struck Sodrinye's black-nailed toes. Merodach moved her back into the shade. The sound apparently woke Goneld, who staggered upright and went back to the stream again.

Goneld hid the remains of the fire. Merodach watched, memorizing everything he did. They couldn't agree about the deer. It ended up underneath some bushes a few yards off.

---

When Laure woke up that same morning, Tychicus Varen was already packed and ready to go. The priestess stared at him blearily as she sat up on her bedroll. Parts of her were sore that, well, she had known existed, but generally preferred not to think of in the context of physical discomfort. It had been a long walk.

"Please hurry, Sister Laure," said Brother Varen. Laure rolled onto her feet and scrambled to get ready. No doubt he's already sorry he hasn't sent me back. Or maybe he is sending me back. She glanced at him warily, but he was watching her pack her few things with the same wide-eyed blankness with which he looked at everything.

"Have I time to wash, Brother?" she asked with some trepidation.

"Yes," said Brother Varen. Laure scrambled through that as well, ran a comb through her shortish hair, and presented herself neater than might be expected. She had been out on the aedra's work once or twice, albeit not on quite such an errand as she suspected the day might bring.

"I'm ready," said Laure.

"I hope so," said Tychicus Varen. "What happens after this point will depend very much on how you react to what you are about to see. Please remember that no matter how I appear, I would never harm you."

"Er... All right?" Laure said, but Brother Varen was already changing.