Chapter 15:
"An impressive performance, Cassius," Horace applauded. Mehrunes turned toward the man that stood in the shadows of the training yard, and wondered how long the aristocrat had been watching his duel. The prince might have appreciated Portia's skill, but the idea of someone having witnessed him receiving a hit to the gut did not appeal to him. So here was Horace, elegantly striding toward the yard with that half-smirk that others might call charming but which Mehrunes thought conniving, and the Imperial had better have collected worthwhile information. Mehrunes was not known for his patience.
"Any sign of your artifact?" Horace asked, and Mehrunes joined the man, the two moving into a more secluded area where eavesdropping was unlikely.
"She's not wearing it," the prince answered. "Have you discovered who she's in contact with?" He was depending on Horace for this, for Ruined Cloak and his friends were useless in ferreting out personal information on people. It was an unavoidable limitation given that their presence in the capitol was unknown, and so socially orientated tasks would be left to the master and his host, but Mehrunes was still learning the political game of this world. He understood how to manipulate people, but making contacts and knowing who to contact was beyond him with his ignorance of the local populace.
"There isn't much to say about her," Horace stated. "Most people don't know more about her than a name, and she's not very socially connected, so she's slipped through most social circles unnoticed. I did, however, find out that she's living with Captain Arelius Herano of the royal guard and his wife Lucretia, and her date last night was Gilthan Lorenlee, a mage at the Arcane University. She's been seen with him on several occasions, but beyond that, she spends little time with other people."
"Is the elf her lover?" Mehrunes bluntly asked, making Horace chuckle.
"No, my lord. I don't believe so, but if he is, I know where to find him. Are you thinking of blackmail? I could easily facilitate such a course."
"It's a possibility, but I don't want to alert people to our hunt unless necessary," Mehrunes mused. Blackmail was tempting, but he couldn't jump into anything, not after what Ruined Cloak had told him. "Before we do anything, I want to know as much as possible about Portia, and find out what you can about this Arelius. If she has contacts in the University and in the palace, the sphere could be in either one's possession. Let's not chase after the wrong target."
"A wise choice, but are you so sure that she simply isn't hiding it?" Mehrunes said nothing, but began walking out of the palace, and Horace knew better than to fall behind. His master was thinking, and he would allow the contemplative mood to pass before he revealed his best piece of intelligence.
"She is the type of woman to keep her prize, isn't she?" the prince seemed to ask himself, eyes glittering with some emotion that Horace could not classify. "Of course she might have it, but why is she living with a captain of the royal guard? Perhaps she is under someone's protection because of the danger that she's in."
"A man did mention to me that she used to be a member of the guard, and—you'll find this very interesting—from what he remembered, she often vanished for days at a time and was promoted quickly even though she rarely seemed to handle normal duties."
"So there is more to our resident swordswoman than anyone suspects," and Mehrunes smiled. "Lady Augustine grows more interesting by the day, but you said that she used to be a guard. When did she leave service? I need to know if she was working for the palace when she 'visited' my home."
"She left over a year ago," Horace explained. "She disappeared one day and no one heard from her until recently. Arelius might be an old friend of hers from the guard, which would make sense since he is offering her a place to stay."
"And he invited a friendly woman to live with him and his wife?" Mehrunes questioned. "Either the captain is benevolent and his wife exceptionally tolerant, or there is more to that than meets the eye. Find out, and be discreet. This woman is obviously intelligent and connected, whoever she works for now." The prince was beginning to consider that the palace had sent Portia to Oblivion, for surely she would not have come on her own. He had at first suspected the Arcane University because of the scroll that she'd carried, and he wasn't ruling them out, but with Portia's personal history, the Imperial government was likely to blame for the theft against him.
Then again, perhaps her presence had been an accident, yet her actions in his chambers had seemed too methodical for that—like she was hunting for something specific, and she had taken Sable, which any fool would have recognized as dangerous in his hands. The Imperial family would not have wanted Sable at Mehrunes' disposal, for he could have used it to find the last heir. So then the Blades were the natural choice to suspect of a mission to reclaim the artifact, but that said nothing about the chaos sphere, which he was much more desperate to reclaim than Sable. And he had a nagging feeling that the sphere was in Portia's possession despite her superiors, for he was certain that taking it had not been her original intent, and so perhaps no one even knew that she had it. Perhaps she didn't even realize what she had stolen, and if the university or palace had confiscated the sphere, they would probably have tried to study and unleash its power by now, yet the familiar pulses of destructive energy were missing.
"Finding out who her employer is should not be difficult, my lord," Horace was saying, and if the Imperial hadn't been so accustomed to flattering people, he'd have been annoyed by constantly addressing his companion as 'my lord'. "If I may, there is someone who might know more about Portia, but he will be difficult to reach." Mehrunes paused, clearly interested in the topic.
"Who is this person, and why would he know her?"
"His name is Raig Varn, a Redguard that used to be a member of the palace guard. He was involved in the first assassination attempt, but he was found guilty of tampering with the locks that allowed the Mythic Dawn into the palace, and now the fool's rotting away in the depths of the Imperial prison. He wasn't the smartest recruit, but he claimed to be part of the Blades, and his knowledge made us believe him. He's still alive, and if anyone knows whether Portia was connected to the Blades, he'll be our best source."
"Do you know where he is in the prison?" Mehrunes demanded, eager to reach the man.
"Not exactly," Horace admitted. "He's in the lower levels, but reaching him will be..."
"Done by tomorrow morning," Mehrunes finished, making Horace falter in his speech.
"My lord?"
"Don't sound so surprised, human," Mehrunes grinned. "Ruined Cloak is good for more than opening portals. Can you describe the Redguard?"
"He's tall with a strange circular tattoo on his left shoulder. That's all I know, but he shouldn't be difficult to locate once inside—if the guards can be avoided in the hallways, that is. There are few prisoners in the lower chambers, but I've also heard that it's like a maze down there." The Imperial did not like Ruined Cloak, but if the man wanted to rush into a prison filled with aggressive guards, let him. His death would not be objectionable to Horace, but then again, how would Mehrunes get back to Oblivion without the mage to open another gate? Nothing convinced Horace that Ruined Cloak was dangerous more than that simple realization. Mehrunes didn't even talk as if failure was an option, and that made a man wonder just what kind of creature Ruined Cloak was beneath his disguise.
"You are rather silent, Horace," Mehrunes sarcastically noted. "I did not know that your tongue ever faltered." Horace wanted to glare but kept himself in check, knowing that Mehrunes was not human despite his outward appearance. And he can fight, Horace thought, having witness the prince's match with Portia.
"I am merely wondering how Ruined Cloak will sneak into the prison," Horace admitted.
"You forget that the emperor was assassinated in the prison," Mehrunes chuckled. "How fitting that my jailor should die in the filth and grime of his own prison. But the point is that the Mythic Dawn knew of the prison's secret passages then, and they still do. Raig will be receiving a visitor tonight." Horace hadn't known where the emperor had been murdered, and so this latest news was most surprising and fortuitous, for if the Mythic Dawn had the run of secret passageways, then his allies were indeed more influential and capable than he'd imagined. This was very good news for an ambitious traitor.
"In the meantime, I shall see if I can't arrange for us to meet nobles with Mythic Dawn sympathies," Horace offered. "I've already contacted several, but they're worried about being exposed. I imagine that we'll be invited to their homes on the pretense of courtesy, so other guests will remain a problem for more intimate conversations, but the groundwork can be laid."
"I trust you to make the arrangements," Mehrunes replied. He had only been half-listening, for he was far too occupied in imagining what sort of political webs Portia was involved in, and why she had left the guard. It was a fascinating subject, and one that would preoccupy him for the remainder of the day. Well after Ruined Cloak had left to handle his mission, the daedric prince stood pacing in his room, a knife twirling between his fingers, and mind focused on someone who was shaping up to be more of an adversary than he'd ever expected.
*************
The shadows wrapped about him with their comforting arms, and cradled in their depths, a cloaked figure stalked the silent, stone hallways of a nearly empty prison. The guards were easily avoided, for torches announced their presence long before they came close enough to detect an intruder, and little did they know, but they were participating in a game not of their own choosing, for the intruder often passed within several feet of them. If they had been straining their ears, they might have detected the faint, nearly inaudible rustling of fabric, but their heavier footsteps blotted out softer noises, and no matter how hard they might stare into the darkness, they never noticed any movement.
It was their loss, but their ignorance also saved their lives.
Ruined Cloak seemed more wraith than man as he navigated the labyrinth that was the Imperial prison, but he wasn't even employing the use of magic. Natural skill kept him concealed as he searched for his target, and when he found the man...? Well, that depended on how helpful the person was, and even then, Ruined Cloak was almost certain that there would be blood tonight. He could not leave the man to possibly tell the guards that he'd been interrogated, and freeing the Redguard was out of the question, for that would lead to unwanted rumors. No, death was always the quickest and most convenient course, and Ruined Cloak was an absolute supporter of efficiency.
Had master forbidden killing? No, the man reasoned with the coldness of the prison itself, and this prisoner had failed in his duties anyway. He probably wasn't even a true supporter, but some greedy guard that had thought he'd gain from using the Mythic Dawn. Ruined Cloak smugly smiled within the folds of his hood, but no one would ever know. No one had seen his face in a very long time, and he preferred it that way.
He crept along, peering into cells and noting occupants before advancing, his mind solely on his task and service. It was an honor to serve, and even better to escape the sewers for some action. He was patient enough, and of his companions, he handled isolation and darkness better than they did, for all he needed was the soft hum of magic between his fingertips to keep him occupied and content. He was not a demanding man in any sense of the word, and his natural inclinations had made him ideal for long, lonely missions, which had in turn deepened his reclusiveness. He didn't even particularly like to talk anymore, but he didn't strongly object to speech either. He merely avoided human company if possible.
This must be him.
Ruined Cloak found himself looking at a pathetically emaciated man who was sulking at the back of a cell amounting to little more than a hole in the wall. He could just make out the man's slouched figure, but it smelled like a Redguard, and that was enough for him. Deft fingers unlocked the door and slipped inside with silent expertise. The prisoner didn't even notice his guest until Ruined Cloak's hand was over his mouth, and the man's neutral, near monotone voice at his ear.
"Are you Raig Varn? Don't try to speak. Just nod your head." The prisoner answered in the affirmative, and Ruined Cloak smiled at the man's obvious apprehension. "I'm going to remove my hand, but if you make any sudden movements or noise, I'll kill you." Again, the man nodded, and Ruined Cloak released him.
"Who are you?" Raig asked, his voice hoarse and defensive.
"You were working for me when you were found guilty," came the enigmatic reply, and now the Redguard looked hopeful.
"You've come to release me?" he desperately asked.
"Yes," and Ruined Cloak was again smiling, loving his own honest yet cryptic response. "It depends on how useful you are. What do you know of a woman named Portia Augustine? Was she in the Blades?"
"How can I trust you?" the Redguard suspiciously countered.
"You can't, but I'm your only chance at freedom, so tell me what you know of this woman."
"I was never directly told, but I'm sure that she was a Blade. I answered to Captain Arelius, and she was always close to him. He gave her orders, promoted her, met with her in private—everything to suggest that she was a Blade."
"But she is no longer a Blade?" Ruined Cloak suggested.
"No, she left after some accident. I heard that she killed one of her own men on a mission, and after that, she resigned and turned in her armor. I don't know where she went, but she wasn't around here, and Arelius definitely wasn't pleased about it. He kept her position vacant for several months. I guess that he hoped she'd return, but I never saw her again." Ruined Cloak digested the information and subtly removed a dagger from his belt.
"Do you know anything else about her?" he checked.
"No, so are we leaving now? You said that..."
"Oh yes," and with one rapid stroke, Ruined Cloak had slit the man's throat. He quickly rose from his position over the body, his work finished, and the edges of his robe skimming across the widening pool of blood about him. If he noticed, he didn't care, and so thin lines of red trailed behind him as he departed, their irregular patterns nearly invisible in the prison's dim light. No one noticed one figure's passing, and the dead inmate's body would not be discovered until morning. Ruined Cloak was quite pleased with himself, and why should he be? The information that he'd gained would delight his master.
***********
Portia was lying in bed, the blankets tossed aside as the temperature of the room seemed to scorch down her back. This was ridiculous. It wasn't hot, but then why was she so damn uncomfortable and sweaty? Sleep did not come easily, and when it did, she tossed and turned, the chaos sphere that had been reattached to her ear shining like a pinpoint of fire in the darkness of her room.
Hands.
Portia tried to pull away, but someone was firmly holding her right hand, and warm lips softly pressed against her knuckles, kissing her with a gentleness that she did not expect. This was not the sort of dream that she was accustomed to, and as she wondered where Oblivion was, she found herself drifting further into a blackness, led by an unseen hand. She knew who the hand belonged to, for the presence could belong to no one but Mehrunes, yet she could not see him, and why he should be showing her courtesy through a kiss lacked reason.
"Where are you?" she asked, fear rising in the back of her throat, but there was no response—only another kiss, and then the figure was pulling her closer. Gods, Mehrunes was pulling her closer! She unconsciously began praying to the Nine, calling on each one in rapid succession as a hand landed on her waist, the other rising her remaining arm into the air. This position was familiar, and although this was uncharacteristic behavior on his part, she instinctively knew that it was Mehrunes' chest that she brushed against as she began turning. They were...dancing? Had Sheogorath come to visit her? She didn't think that she could handle the attentions of two daedric princes at once, for she'd surely snap from the stress.
No, this can't be. I need to see where I am.
Portia concentrated as her body moved with his, and the entire time, she was aware that his fingers were tracing the hidden scar on her hip. He knew that it was her, so why was he being polite? In utter bewilderment, Portia began to summon her willpower and force her release from the prince. She wasn't going to be led through the darkness by her adversary, and being touched by him in such a close, almost respectful yet demanding way was highly unnerving. It reminded her of someone, but she was too busy concentrating on conquering her dream to make the connection that dangled before her.
"Enough!" she yelled, and with a flare of energy, she was free, but not in the way that she imagined. She was now standing in a spacious room that contained the furnishings of an aristocrat, and judging by the style of the objects and building, she was in Tamriel—the capitol to be exact. Was that the palace that she could see through the window? She thought so, but it was difficult to tell since night had fallen, and the room was barely lit with several candles on a central table.
"That is all, my lord," a voice spoke in the darkness, and Portia nearly jumped when a cloaked figure brushed by her. She carefully moved toward the edge of the room where she could keep an eye on her surroundings, and with the reassurance that she was, in fact, still dreaming and unseen by other people, she began studying the room more closely. The bed was large and covered with rich, green blankets and sheets, the canopy above it matching in color. She touched the material.
Expensive. Where am I?
Movement caught her eye, and so she moved back into the shadows, surprised when a man walked out of a corner and toward the table where the candles sat. She could not see a face, but she knew who it was when a hand extended to snuff out the flames, for the skin was undeniably reddish in hue, designs branching out over its surface.
Mehrunes Dagon. The name went through her mind rapidly, and she stared as his fingers squeezed one flame after another into nonexistence. Was his hold over the sphere so strong that it summoned her unconscious body to him here, in her own world? She didn't understand how that was possible as he began moving toward the bed, but even as she warily backed away, she noted that something about Mehrunes was different. Something was...wrong.
He did not have four arms, but two, and as he reached the bed and began laying down to sleep, she thought that he was perhaps smaller than he had been when she'd last seen him. He was more human in appearance for certain, but she could still see his natural skin color and small horns as he relaxed, and then it struck her as odd that he was relaxing. He looked so normal in the dark, when his features were hidden and his body shifted across blankets to make himself comfortable. True, she had seen his bed before, but he'd never actually been in it, and here he was, preparing to sleep.
Here, her mind emphasized. In the capitol, Portia. She stepped closer to him, forcing herself to double-check and ensure that this was indeed the prince of destruction. She needed to confirm that this was not just a random dream, but reality, for otherwise doubts would hinder her ability to cope with this newfound evidence. So she lifted a hand and gently pulled back the curtains that dangled, half-closed, about the head of the bed, trying to gain a better view of...
"Here?" Mehrunes suddenly bellowed, shocked, shooting up in the bed to sit upright, and if she could have seen in the dark, Portia was sure that his mouth would be hanging open. "I don't believe this." Portia began backing off, now more certain than ever that this was Mehrunes, for no one could mistaken that voice for anyone else's. "Being, what the hell are you doing here?" Portia had no answer, and she left before Mehrunes finished getting out of bed to pursue his inquiry further.
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So, does anyone have a guess as to what Ruined Cloak is?
I hope that you enjoyed it, and thank you for all the reviews!
