A/N: Yes, it's been a ridiculously long time since the last update. Sorry. I'm going to finish this story if it kills me, but it may take a while because I'm a)working on other projects too and b)feeling a bit stuck at the moment. Thank you to all those who left reviews requesting more updates - encouragement never hurts. :D

Chapter 22

Tracks-too-well crouched on top of a boulder, looking down. "The smaller one sat here," he said. "The other two stood behind this rock."

"Didn't even try to cover their tracks here," said Marcus. "It must have been urgent." He kept his mind on present events with an effort, stifling guilt. They'd sent another report to the duty mage at Cloud Ruler. Another pair of Blades was on its way to Tychicus Varen and the girl, effectively taking their fate out of Marcus's hands. He had no idea whether or not his silent prayer to Arkay was heeded. Certainly the two Redguards would have no such ideas; most Blades were very sincere and singular in their worship of the Dragon. Especially now.

"You don't say," said Lybiad. Marcus ignored his caustic tone of voice as he looked at the burnt remains of a tree in front of them. Burnt, and probably frozen afterwards, to put the fire out; water was still dripping from the branches, and everything around it was dry. The corpse of a spriggan, already beginning to crumble around the edges, lay at the foot of a large rock nearby. The expression of primal fury was still discernible on its wooden face.

"They set the tree on fire," Marcus said. "They were attacked by a spriggan. I wonder if they did it on purpose."

"That wasn't any godsdamned accident," said Lybiad, staring up at the tree. He shook his head, resettling his cropped brown hair. "They let it burn for too long. They must've been trying to bring one."

"So they could kill it," Marcus finished this thought.

"The taproot is still there, yes," said Tracks-Too-Well. "This one checked. It is too crumbled to be of any use now. All the life is sucked out of it."

"Spriggan blood wouldn't be any good to a Dremora," said Lybiad. "It's practically sap. I'd say they did it just for entertainment – it's a demonish thing to do – but..." he obviously didn't want to admit Marcus was right, but even Lybiad had not been accepted into the Emperor's Blades without better-than-average native discernment. "It doesn't fit the rest of what we've seen."

"Seems redundant, to set the sick one out as bait," Marcus mused. He looked at the spriggan, then at the burnt tree.

"Burnt and frozen," said Lybiad. "I suppose there are some Dremora mages who could cast a fireball that big and frost that soon afterwards. I never met one."

"And not the big warrior, certainly," said Marcus. "Like you said before, a footsoldier."

"A pattern emerges," said Tracks-Too-Well grimly. "There is a very good reason why they carry the small one with them, yes."

--

The terrain grew steeper. Trees grew closer around the three as they climbed, and Goneld checked off each new type of foliage as it appeared: foxglove. Cairn bolete cap. There won't be tinder polypore, this far East. There was no real path any longer. Instead they negotiated the spaces under the trees, where the canopy prevented sunlight from reaching the ground. Goneld didn't speak to Ebel-Merodach for a while. There was too much cover to keep full track of their surroundings, and he needed his eyes and ears every minute. Not so many of the larger, more dangerous creatures lived up here, but you never knew – and evil men and mer were known to establish their fastnesses in the wilderness far from the City.

They saw an occasional deer. Bad sign, Goneld thought, watching one flashing white tail vanish into the gloom. For them to be this skittish of two-legged things, they have to have been hunted before. Or maybe it's just the demons they don't like. But that was just wishful thinking. He was out of sight of the other two, even out of hearing of the caitiff's tramping boots.

Goneld stopped, realizing there was a break in the trees ahead of him – bright sunlight falling on the flat ground, the first he had seen in hours. He crept quietly toward it, looking around him. Right on the edges of a clearing would be an ideal place to put traps, for an enterprising bandit or necromancer. The birds had fallen silent around him.

He was not startled by the sudden rattle from up ahead, though he had not realized he was listening for it. Goneld squatted next to a tree trunk, peering around it out of the dim and into the light.

The ground was bare for perhaps twenty yards ahead of him, spotted with moss and a few little white flowers. Beyond the pale sward loomed a tower made of weathered stone, nearer brown than white. The round keep was unmistakable. One of the old Imperial forts. But there hasn't been an active outpost out here in a hundred years or more. A thick growth of bushes crowded up close to the walls, half-choking the arched doorway into the courtyard. A small lake spread out beyond it, reflecting the blue sky.

And, high on the walls where no watchman had stood in a century, something moved. Goneld held himself very still as he tracked it, a scrap of something bobbing above the top of the stone wall. Whatever-it-was was nearly the same color as the building. He caught the flash of sunlight on a weapon, and then a human skeleton appeared suddenly at a gap in the stone.

The thing was unmistakably animate, clattering its jaw as it stared down with empty sockets. It held a bow and an arrow with bony fingers. It wore no clothing, but somehow it had managed to sling a quiver over one shoulderblade. Menien Goneld didn't move, waiting to see if it had seen him. Behind him came the sound of someone trying to walk quietly in heavy boots. He glanced back long enough to verify that it was Ebel-Merodach, and when he looked back at the wall the undead was gone.

"The courtyard made of stone," said Merodach. He unslung Sodrinye from his shoulder and set her in the moss at the foot of the tree. She slid over onto her side, limp as a corpse. Goneld watched him look from the Sleeper to the moderately warmer sunlit ground ahead, but he did not break cover.

"There are animate dead in there," said Goneld. "I just saw a skeleton."

Merodach snorted, but he did it quietly. "I am not to be killed by the remains of a mortal creature."

"Plenty of other fort ruins in Cyrodiil for you to die in," said Goneld. "If you're going to be particular about it. Sometimes liches colonize these old forts, too."

"What are liches?" said Ebel-Merodach.

"That's what you get when a necromancer decides to live forever," said Goneld. "And that's about as much as I know. I've never seen one. Not many men do and talk about it afterwards." I wonder if it's the same number that are prisoners in Oblivion and come back again. Gods know it's not looking like I'll get a chance to chat much about it myself. "Pick her up and let's get going. I don't like it here."

Ebel-Merodach shook his head. "We would not succeed in leaving. Things the Sleeper sees invariably take place."

Goneld sighed. Gods damn it all. "Then see if you can wake her up. Undeads are susceptible to fire."

"Are they susceptible to arrows?" said Ebel-Merodach, clearly trying out the unfamiliar word.

"Not iron ones," said Menien Goneld. He hefted the silver sword, feeling its solid weight against his palm. "I don't know what enchantment you've got on that mace - "

"Poison," said Merodach.

"No good," Goneld said. "But hitting them will still work."

"It so often does," said Ebel-Merodach. He knelt beside Sodrinye and shook her. "Get up, little krynvelhat. We have found the place of your vision."

One dark purple hand clamped onto Merodach's pauldron as Sodrinye dragged herself into a sitting position. She blinked dark eyes in the shade, then turned to stare into the light. "So you have," she said. "We will not be alone here long and what power I have, I will need. Carry me into the shadow of the wall and do what you can to rid us of the undead. Not many are outside in the daylight. It will be easy."

Merodach grunted and leaned forward to hoist Sodrinye over his shoulder again, so that he would have a free hand to the mace.

"Can you run in that armor?" said Goneld. "I ask because there's a good chance we'll be shot at on our way to the wall - "

The caitiff was already gone. Goneld swore under his breath and shot off after him. A rusty arrow flew past him with a whiny thwip, and then a few more breathless strides across the brilliant space and he was under the wall.