Some plotline! At last!
Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter five
Less than a month after this, Uvani receives a sealed letter from the Speaker.
The message itself gives precious little away beyond a location, a designated time, and orders to reveal neither to the rest of the sanctuary. He hasn't a clue what Speaker wants to discuss – not with such secrecy and formality – but obeys, departing Leyawiin in the dead of night when all other assassins are asleep or absent.
He finds the long-abandoned lodge not far from the city, rusting sign swaying gently in the breeze, matching the description in the note. The door is locked tight, but the second-storey window has been left open a fraction of an inch, the only clue to the presence of a person inside. Keeping an eye out for patrolling legionnaires, he hoists himself up the rickety exterior of the building, pushing the window fully open and climbing inside.
He trespasses over creaking floorboards, avoids the cobwebs, and grimaces when the door handle leaves a coating of dust on his fingers. The lodge is so silent, so stagnant that he wonders if he's in the wrong place, but then he turns the corner and sees the black-robed man awaiting him.
"Uvani," the Speaker greets pleasantly, gesturing to the empty chair beside him, "Have a seat."
He does so, albeit unsurely, because they both know he wasn't invited here for a chat. Thankfully Speaker knows how Uvani works – and accepts it instead of being irked by it like the others – thus he skips the small talk and gets straight to the point:
"You have served the Brotherhood for a number of years," he tells him, "And completed all your contracts with unwavering efficiency. As such, you are due for a promotion."
"Promotion?" Alval repeats, puzzled. After all, he is already the highest rank attainable in the sanctuary – the next step up is the Black Hand itself. "I'm becoming...a Speaker?"
"Not quite," the man corrects, "Unknown to most, the Black Hand contains a few...unofficial members; to each Speaker, a personal assassin. Though in the interests of secrecy, you would still be known as Executioner to the rest of the sanctuary."
He frowns; "Then what's the difference?"
"High-end contracts, therefore more money. Also, one must serve a Speaker before they can become one. So it has always been," he nods sagely, "You will, at this stage, have no say in the decisions of the Black Hand. But your performance will affect my bearing – hence why only the most capable of assassins are entrusted with such a position."
The most capable assassins. If only those sanctuary idiots could hear this...he could almost imagine the sweet seething envy on their faces. They accuse him of arrogance, but the superiority of his abilities is fact, not opinion, and this is the sheer proof of that. Unfortunately, the 'interests of secrecy' means his one opportunity to legitimately gloat is forbidden. A shame.
"However," the Speaker continued, though Uvani had thought the conversation was over, "There is a task you must perform, before ascending in rank."
"Which is...?"
"You are essentially being initiated into the inner circle of the Brotherhood," he explained, "Therefore, a test of loyalty is required. Of skill too, of course – but mostly your ability to put the Brotherhood before your own wants and needs." he leans back in his chair, and with the murky dusklight filtering through the shuttered windows, Uvani can just make out his sombre expression. "Oftenmost, this entails turning on the people you call family. Not only does this prove your commitment to orders, but also weeds out the weaker and less useful members of the organisation."
"You mean I have to get rid of a few of those idiots?" Uvani snorts, unimpressed, "Fine by me. I could be doing without them anyway."
"Alas, the Black Hand is already aware of that. This is a challenge of loyalty, Uvani," he is quietly reminded, "And there is only one person in the sanctuary you would hesitate to murder."
Something inside him goes very, very cold.
"You want me to kill Banus."
Speaker inclines his head; "That, they feel, is the most suitable trial."
He doesn't know what to say, what to think, how to react. His gaze drops down to the dust-laden floor, watching but not-watching a spider inch across the aged woodwork. He has to kill Banus. The one person he has come to respect, even like, and he must end his life.
"But."
He immediately looks up.
"There may be a way around it."
"How?" he asks at once, barely allowing Speaker to finish his sentence.
"It took a great deal of persuasion on my behalf," spoke the black-robed man, "But I convinced them that Alor, being one of our more competent assassins, was too valuable to sacrifice to a test. He is, in the eyes of the Black Hand, still quite expendable, but they have agreed to give him a chance."
"A chance?"
"A test. A contract, to be exact, to kill an accomplished mage."
Alval frowns, "That doesn't sound like an Eliminator-level task."
"It isn't. Better suited to an Executioner, actually. But if he can defeat the odds and successfully take down the target, the Listener has agreed to spare his life, and you will be given a different trial."
"But hold on," Uvani points out, frown only deepening, "What if he fails? He would die at the hands of the target, and a new trial would be required anyway."
"A hidden Speaker will be watching. Not me, before you ask; a non-biased party," the other replies, "If Banus fails, they will step in, eliminating the target if necessary. He will then be taken elsewhere to recover, and you will be required to kill him."
"Is-" he hesitates, reluctant to say it. He recalls promising himself, once upon a time, that he wasn't going to befriend Banus – because he didn't need friends, didn't need anyone. Assassins weren't supposed to form emotional attachments for this very reason, because the person that they had grown fond of could be their next target. But he had never thought he would be called upon to kill Banus... "Is there no other way?"
He knows Speaker will shake his head, but it still stings when he does: "The word of the Black Hand is final. The only thing you can do is hope he completes the contract, or you'll have to fulfil your orders," the Dunmer can feel the weight of the man's stare, "And you know those orders cannot be refused, Uvani."
"...I understand," he says quietly, so quietly even he can barely hear the words, "Is there anything else, Speaker?"
"No. You may return to the sanctuary. Oh, and-" he adds as Uvani wordlessly rises from his chair, "I needn't tell you, you are not to reveal any of this to Banus Alor. If you try to warn, prepare, or assist him in any way, the chance to prove his worth will be removed. And I can assure you, however subtly you go about it, the watching Speaker will know if he has had help."
"Understood," Alval replies stiffly. Giving a curt nod, he leaves the building as he entered, and begins the deliberately-slow walk back to Leyawiin, more troubled than ever.
The next day he sits in his room, still brooding, when there is a knock at the door.
"Uvani?" he recognises the voice before the door opens, and Banus peers around, "Do you have any spare bandages?"
"Bandages? Should do, why?"
"New contract," the other Elf answers, and Uvani feels but does not show the spike of ice-cold dread in his veins, "It looks straight-forward enough, but I haven't been given any details on the target. I thought I should re-bandage my side, just in case."
"Let me check," he makes a show of rummaging through his crate of healing items, something a practitioner in Destruction magic soon learns to keep handy. Of course he has plenty of bandages, as he never lets his supply run low, but a little something reminds him he cannot assist Banus, and this probably counts. "No, I'm all out. You'll have to do without them."
"Oh, never mind. I'm sure I'll be fine," and Uvani feels downright nauseous then, because he knows that really, really isn't going to be the case. Not only is the target far beyond Banus' current fighting ability, but the assassin is also still recovering from the Skooma dealer contract-gone-awry. With a severe lack of Restoration mages in the Brotherhood, Alor is relying on the body's natural healing process, leaving a tender scar at his side; if it re-opens, Banus will be even further disadvantaged.
And on top of all that, there is the Eliminator's reluctance to physically mark his opponents, a personal hindrance that may just cost him his life. Granted, his proficiency in drain spells has improved, but it isn't enough to take down a spell-caster, someone who probably boasts a fair amount of magical resistance anyway. Mages are best taken out by getting up close and personal; he desperately wants to tell Banus to use his dagger, taint the blade with the best silence or magicka-damaging poison he can craft, but to help him would be to condemn the boy to death.
Banus moves to leave, but pauses when he sees the other's deep-set frown, the uneasy look in his eyes very few have come to recognise. "Uvani?" he asks, stepping back into the room, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine," Uvani replies even though he really isn't, and that fact is so obvious that Alor doesn't believe him for a second. "I'm fine," he insists when the mer approaches him, rising from his chair because he feels the need to keep his distance, "I'd rather be left alone- ow," in his haste, he scrapes his wrist against a protruding chest of drawers, and cannot contain his wince.
"Are you alright?" Banus is by his side quicker than he can react to, hands extended, "Here, let me see."
"Don't-" he starts, but not before the boy has taken hold of his wrist.
This is, he realises, the first time they've properly touched. Excluding carrying Alor back to Leyawiin, tending to his injuries and later teaching him to stand up straight – but he had always been wearing gloves, or Banus had been wearing clothes, or there had been some sort of material barrier between them that made it socially acceptable. But this is skin-on-skin, and his entire body tenses, because it isn't a feeling he's at all used to.
"That'll bruise," the young Dunmer murmurs, turning Alval's wrist carefully to examine it. If he isn't accustomed to being touched, being treated like glass is definitely a foreign experience. It isn't unpleasant, but so utterly alien that he immediately pulls his wrist away and steps back.
The Eliminator notices, of course: "Oh, did I hurt you?"
Uvani shakes his head wordlessly. In actuality, no-one's ever – ever – touched him so gently before, though of course he doesn't tell Banus that. He can't afford this kind of tenderness now, not when the saintly, softly-spoken boy before him could end up being his next kill.
"Banus-" he starts, motivated by the overwhelming desire to get away, get the other away, or some variation on the two of them being apart, "-I need to practise my magic for a while. Don't you have a contract to see to?" Sithis, but that feels as though he's sending the boy to his doom. The chance of Banus' success is slim to none, but it's also the only chance he has. So he watches him nod and utter a quiet farewell before leaving, doesn't say a word but behind his back his wrist still tingles with Alor's touch, and his fist is clenched so tightly that his nails are cutting bloody crescents into his palms.
He can only hope that the next time he sees Banus, it won't be as an assassin and his target.