Slinking our way through the dark alleys, the oppressive stone buildings bearing down on us from all sides, we hastily head towards the city's gate. Shaken up an emotions uncontrolled, I only want two things: Vorstag being the first, getting far away from Markarth the second. I hold his hand tightly, my racing heart matching the pulse in his palm.
"Hello, there." A voice announces slyly. We skid to a halt, hands untangling and fumbling for our weapons.
"There's no need for that." The voice assures, both bored and amused. A dark figure steps into the moonlight flooded alleyway. Though unidentifiable, the shadowy form is too small to be a Markarth guard and walks too lightly to be geared for a fight. But that doesn't rule out a threat; no one willingly encounters strangers in an alley in the middle of the night. This person could be part of an ambush, a psychotic mage, or a Silver-Blood lackey. I clench my jaw knowing it's most likely all of the above. Casting magelight through my teeth, I cause them to halt. The stranger's arms involuntarily fly up to shield their face as the orb of white light explodes before them. Even Vorstag and I are forced to squint.
"Come no closer, friend." Vorstag warns as he partially draws his sword, the black blade glinting like oil in the harsh white bubble of light.
"If you please!" The stranger requests, clearly annoyed. I reduce the light by slowly closing my opened hand. We all take a moment to blink the flashing colors from our eyes.
"Now was that so hard?" The stranger breaks the silence, smugness returning. Lowering their hands, I see it is the body of lean girl, possibly a little younger than I, clad in lithe black armor and a cowl covering half of her face.
"An assassin." I whisper to Vorstag, the hairs on my neck raising again. Had the Silver-Bloods really resorted to the black sacrament? They must want us dead more than I realized. But though the light is dim and possibly misleading, I cannot locate the infamous handprint on her clothes.
"Calm down." She sighs in response to my accusation, ears well trained. She crosses her arms and cocks a hip in a relaxed, vexing position. "I'm not an assassin." Pausing with a small, cold laugh. "Well, not today anyway."
"What do you want" Vorstag demands, unsheathing half of his ebony blade.
"I'm just a messenger." She insists with an eye roll, putting her hands up in mock surrender. "And I have some news that might interest you."
"Who sent you?" I ask roughly, finding my voice. "Was it the Silver-Bloods?"
"Why ask something you already know the answer to?" She complains, relaxing back into her previous pose. "This whole city is owned by them. Nothing gets by without catching their notice, especially the murder of one of their favorite pets." She cocks a dark brow.
I glance up at the roofs above, expecting to find agents lined with arrows, ready to kill. This whole mission had been a mistake from the start.
"Do you two ever listen?" the agent exasperates, no longer finding entertainment in her assignment. "I said relax, didn't I? I am simply delivering a message. And as for Nepos, as far as the Silver-Bloods are concerned, he betrayed them when he refused to deliver you alive."
"Why a message now then?" I ask suspiciously, grip on my sword tightening. "Why are they no longer trying to kidnap me?"
"I'm flattered by your high expectations regarding my rank, but I don't understand half of their decisions. Political games have always seemed like a waste of time to me. I say it'd be safer to have you killed, but here I am cordially inviting you to the Silver-Blood's manor. Let's just say they're trying a different approach."
"We are done with whatever this feud, power struggle, conspiracy is!" Vorstag interrupts, his rage nearly peaking. He advances forward, showcasing his undaunted intention. "We are leaving this city, and those who try to stop us will be killed, understand?"
I feel a shudder race down my back as I slip behind him in both awe and terror. Had we really come as far to killing everyone who stood in our path? All we had wanted was to hunt deadra, but now there was a pile of bodies rotting beneath our triumphs, a bloody trail of pain and death connecting our travels. Though our actions had been rooted in purging evil and self-defense, we had killed more than we had saved. And now we were running after interfering with so many lives, seeking only to save our own skins. I came to save the people of Markarth, but so far I have only made their lives worse.
But I follow his heels, swept in his unrelenting force and carried wherever he goes. "Give our regards to the Silver-Bloods." I say as we pass the stiffened agent.
"I didn't want to tarnish the invite, but I was instructed to weigh this over your head when rejected. If you don't show up before midnight, Rhiada and her unborn child die."
"What?" I stop, quickly turning around.
"Like I said, this whole city is owned by the Silver-Bloods." The stranger affirms, walking away in the waning magelight. "You think they wouldn't notice their own secretary, the widow of a former problem, leaking secrets? You think this is the first time one of us has watched your progress? You have an hour to make up your mind." The light dies and the stranger's shadow disappears with that final, ominous note.
My heart jumps and my palms feel sweaty. Have I really been under their surveillance this whole time? Did I only get as far as Nepos because they allowed me? All my investigations, my violent encounters, my meetings with Rhiada—oh divines, the newly widow was in just as and her baby were going to be killed because of me! Because of my meddlingI run my hands through my dirty hair, feeling the panic take hold. I know this mission was suicide from the start, but somewhere along the way I had deluded myself I could beat the Forsworn, that I could beat the Silver-Bloods, that I could beat the city of Markarth! I should have dropped this when Vorstag said, now I've ruined more lives. A woman and her baby were going to die, more innocents murdered due to my past and actions! If Rhiada's story was even real. She could be another Silver-Blood pawn in some convoluted plot to capture me, what for the Divines only know. I'd be better off dead—
My inner ravings are halted by a strong, warm arm on my shoulder. I my breath catches and I'm surprised to find myself collapsed on my knees with tears streaming down my face.
"Vorstag!" I cry, the only word I can say in this moment. I wither in his arms for a moment then hold him tight, sobbing silently into his hard, metal shoulder. The tears leave clean streaks on the grimy metal, transferring some of the gore to my already atrocious face. He holds me tight, comforting and strong as he waits for me to recover from the attack. "Vorstag, I know it's a trap, but I can't let another person die because of me—I can't—!"
"I know." He says solemnly, arms tight. "This is something you have to do, something you must do to make yourself whole. But this time I will be there with you. Until the end."
The tears still in my eyes as I stare up at him. I'm vulnerable and broken and in love and desperately want to tell him no. He wants to throw his life away for me? No, not for me. With me. I nearly revert back to my old ways, to scream at him and prevent him from following me to certain death.
Death.
No, I'm not going to death. I'm going because I have to do something right. I'm going because I cannot live a life with death of two more innocents on my conscience. This is something I have to do if I was to ever truly live again.
And for Vorstag, well, going into hell with me was what he had to do.
XXX
I realize that I'm lying down, and not in a comfortable way. My head pounds, barely able to piece memories together. Black dots still swim in my vision and my eyes beg to stay shut. Forcing them open causes my head to spin, but I push myself up anyway. The action is futile, however, for my legs wobble and I fall against a hard, rocky wall. Hands shaking, I attempt to cast a healing spell, brow furrowing in confusion when it does not work. I try again but wave of nausea rushes over. My knees buckle and I fall awkwardly to the ground. The dark room spins and I fight retching up my pathetic breakfast. My stomach, though sick, growls as I think back on food.
How long ago was breakfast? It should be nighttime, but the memories are dim and hard to make out. The wooziness finally subsides and I flick my gaze about the room, for the first time wondering where I am. My pulse quickens as I realize this is not the Warrens hovel I'd been squatting in. And there's a vital absence.
"Vorstag!" I call out sharply, surprised by the rasp in my voice. I swallow, eyes watering as the painful sensation burns against the soft flesh of my throat. I try his name again, this time prepared for the hindrance and with more force.
Something shifts nearby with a soft groan, and as my eyes begin to adjust, I faintly see a large, body like shape across the dark room. My heart skips a beat.
"Vorstag, is that you?" I eagerly cast an illumination spell. The light pulses in my hand and then flickers out. I gasp, nearly exhausted, but try again. It takes all my effort to conjure a radish sized orb, and as soon as I let go of my breath it disappears.
"What the hell?" I prattle nervously, unable to figure out what is wrong, why I feel so awful, where the hell I am. "Vorstag!" I cry a bit helplessly, more drained and lightheaded than before. I begin edging over to the body across the room as it groans again.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, sweetheart."
I stop moving. Defiantly not Vorstag.
"Got me confused with someone else?" the man pushes himself up from a damp straw bedding, some of the grass still stuck in his ratty hair. "Where'd you ever learn that name?" He continues gruffly, glaring as I attempt the spell again. There is something naggingly familiar about the voice.
Clanging erupts to my left and I jump with an undignified yelp. Turning, I make out a wall of long poles.
"No magic!" A man yells from the other side, bringing out a torch. "Or do you want another dose so soon?" The light burns against my dilated eyes and they involuntarily snap shut. Forcing them open again, I blearily make out a guard uniform.
I don't answer, patting my hands in search of my belongings. Everything is gone. Weapons, armor, the letters.
"Yeah, we've got your stuff. Don't worry, you'll get it back when your sentence is over—oh wait you're a lifer aren't you? So that'll I be...never."
"What in oblivion is going on?" I demand, sounding more like a scared child than a threatening force. "Where's Vorstag?"
"Don't know the name." The guard replies smugly, enjoying his position over me. "But if you're referring to the mangled lowlife brought in with you, well, it's no concern of yours anymore."
"You will tell me where he is, you bastard!" I scramble to the bars. "Where is he?" My body pulsates with fear fueled rage. I have no idea where I am, what happened, what day it is, why my powers won't work, but the one thing I do know is that Vorstag is missing, possibly hurt and confused, and this glorified guard dog is keeping him from me. I bang my knees against the bars. "Dammit. Where the hell am I?"
"I can answer that one for you." The annoyingly familiar stranger says from behind. "You're in Cinda Mine."
I can see him now, a dirty yet strong man settled comfortably against the wall—walls that surround us and reek of metal, feces, and earth. He looks at me amused—but not in a threatening or alarming way. He wears a dirty mining tunic, caked with who knows how many layers of mud. I look down at my own clothes—they are dried with fresh blood. What the hell happened?
Before I had time to piece anything together, I am pulled from the dank cell by three garuds, a bottle of cheaply concocted magicka dampener poured down my sore throat, and dragged down the infamous mining prison's poorly lit halls. I attempt to resist the guards, but self-preservation overcomes the surge to fight. I am weaponless, groggy from the drug, and confused beyond repair. Being a good little prisoner is my best option right now.
The guards drag me into what has to pass for an office. They shove me into a chair in front of a moldering desk, varnished with candlewax and long forgotten piles of paper. The room is better lit than the cells I'd been dragged from, and my dilated, bleary eyes can barely adjust.
Unsure what to do, since no one has addressed me or filled the vacant seat behind the overflowing desk, I begin to observe my throbbing body in the light. The clothes I wear are the those I wore under my armor—a loose tunic and worn leather leggings, still caked with sweat and blood from my encounter with Nepos and his Forsworn. I breathe in deeply, trying to calm myself as the old panic attempts enveloping me again. That fight had been so close, so emotionally compromising, so violent…I cannot afford to lose myself in its aftermath. If I want to find out how I got here, where Vorstag was, I need to stay in control.
Pushing through the nerves, I focus on my dirty, pale skin, looking for any signs of new damage. The attempt is useless, however, as I can't tell new wounds from the old. I'd never even checked myself after the last battle, completely relying on the healing spells my adrenaline cast. My fingers and toes are numb with cold, void of gauntlets, grieves, and wrappings. They involuntarily curl inward, fighting to sustain absent warmth.
A side door flies open, breaking my scrutiny, and a heavily clad, Markarth crest baring guard clanks into the room. He throws himself down into the seat behind the desk and glares at me through the narrow slits in his helm, air hissing through its vents in angry huffs. A woman follows slowly behind, her gate casual and armor leathery and tight. She sits on the edge of the desk, eyes smiling at me from over her cowl. The new guard, who I assume is a warden of sorts, does not seem to like her assertion in his office. He recoils momentarily in shock at her bold move and makes to shove her off his disordered desk. She turns and gives him a knowing wink, settling him back down. It's clear she has some sort of power over him.
"Saber," She asks, voice tired. "What are you doing here?"
"I was hoping you could tell me."
Her eyes widen derisively, nose crinkling in amusement. "So you don't remember anything about the night before, about killing Rhiada, about the specific instructions I gave you?"
"What!?" I yelp. "I didn't kill her, I would never!" The woman looks at me with a both triumph and failure, like somehow I'd both let her down and fulfilled her expectations. "You're the woman from the alley?" I ask. "You're the one who threatened to kill Rhiada! I was the one working with her!" I look at the warden, willing him to believe me. He's turned away, staring at the wall. "I did not kill her!"
"But you don't remember the incident?" The woman asks again. "How convenient. But that's only your most recent crime dear. You're also charged with the death of Thonar's wife, his business partner Nepos, and three of Nepos's servants." She pauses, eyes narrowing as she dares me to deny the bloody accusations.
"I don't remember visiting Thonar." I answer truthfully, avoiding my encounter with the Nose. "I was heading there to meet him, like I was told to figure this Forsworn mess out." I look pointedly at the Warden. "Did you know that there is a Forsworn syndicate built here in Markarth, that the Silverbloods are using Nepos and the Forsworn name to terrorize farmlands and private mines into selling so the family can monopolize the silver?" I stop, startled by what I said. Mouthing my confusion, I look inward trying to determine where that random knowledge came from. I spoke it with such truth, but where in Skyrim had I heard such a thing?
The woman lets out a short laugh and hops from the table. "I knew it'd come back to you, dear. You just got to work through the drug—come on, what happened last night?"
My lungs grow shaky, unable to hold the air as my heart pounds with renewed ferocity. What happened to me? What is happening to me? My hands shake and tears fill my eyes, uncontrollably falling as I blubber through my answers and questions.
"Divines—no one ever listens to me." The woman grumbles somewhere far away. "How many doses of that magic dampener did you give her?"
"One when she got here, as protocol," the guard behind me hesitantly answers, "and another when we brought her down here."
"You idiot." The woman seethes, stalking up to him. Though she's small, something in her stance looms with threat. The much larger guard steps back, nervously finding himself pinned against the wall. "I specifically told you not to give her anymore. Thonar had her drugged the moment we took her from his estate. You doubled her dose last night, and now tippled it this morning?! When you were to bring her into questioning!?"
"She was trying to resist!" The guard squeaks, finding no support in his two companions.
"I wouldn't care if she killed you!" The woman screeches, grabbing the guard's helm by the eye holes and dragging him down to her face. He squabbles unsteadily, trying to pull her claws off him. "The Silver-Bloods own her as well as you. I'll let you guess whose life and wellbeing are the most important to them." She shoves the sniveling guard away, and turns to me. I feel her rough gloves run through my dirty hair. They are soft and coaxing, like a snake before it constricts.
"Three doses, Saber." She murmurs kindly over my near panic attack. "I can hardly imagine how that feels. But I didn't come all this way for nothing. So let me tell you what we're going to do: As a wielder, magicka is both heavily engrained in your soul and mind. Since these idiots have flooded your system with counteractive agents, you're having a hard time remembering things." Suddenly her fingers snare and wrench my head back. "So we're going to fix that with a magicka potion!"
As I yelp a large bottle forced into my mouth, its dark blue contents drowning my senses. I splutter for air, but the liquid keeps coming, forcing itself into my stomach and lungs. I jerk from the bottle, retching and shaking as the contents of the potion take hold. The woman talks somewhere above me, her words incoherent as the potion courses through my veins. My organs surge with renewed life, so powerful they feel they might explode.
Fires erupt from my hands, scorching the ground and causing the people in the room to scramble and scream. I open my eyes not to see the warden's office but a lavish apartment, people screaming, blood spilling, and threats launching like arrows.
For a moment I wonder where I am, what I am seeing, but the answer arrives instantly.
I am at Thonar's home, the Silver-Blood estate. Vorstag is by my side. We are confronting him about his ties to the Forsworn. We are prepared to die for this meeting.