Chapter 18:
"I don't like this, Arelius," Lucretia commented in a near whisper. She stood to the side of the window, her sheer, purple nightgown alluringly draping over her barely hidden body. The bedroom was devoid of light as she used the stars above to view the streets outside, her proud body refusing to shiver as a cool breeze touched her skin. Her husband lurked behind her, and only strode closer to wrap his arms around her and share his warmth. She felt the familiar curve of his jaw resting against the side of her face, and leaned into his touch as his mouth moved to her ear.
"You've seen them again?" he asked.
"No," she admitted. "But I can feel their eyes watching us, and this is the third night in a row. I tried casting a detect life spell, and for a few moments I saw three figures behind the building over there, but they've vanished. My spell skills are not to blame either. Something else is at work, blocking my magic." Arelius pulled her further into the room, and she could tell by his silence that he was concerned and thinking over the situation.
"I notified the watch captain yesterday," he spoke. "Hopefully he has news for us tomorrow, but I wouldn't hold my breath. We're in the middle of something very dangerous."
"Does Portia know?" Lucretia asked, removing gold earrings from beneath her hair as she sauntered toward the bed. "If we are being watched, surely she is in even more danger than we are. I dread to think what could happen if we aren't careful." Arelius pulled a curtain over the window and moved to join his wife, sitting on the edge of the bed with her at his side, his hands finding hers and caressing them.
"She knows the dangers," Arelius assured. "But there is never any way to guarantee safety. Are you thinking of sending the boys away?" He could barely discern his wife's outline in the darkness, but he felt her hair brush his shoulder as she nodded.
"Yes, if the situation worsens. I would love to know whether the mages or someone more sinister is watching us, but I've heard no news, and you clearly haven't either if you haven't told me." She began untying the front of her robe as she turned to crawl onto the bed, her toes running over her husband's thighs as she did so.
"Dear?" Arelius soothed, lying down and gently guiding her to rest against his side. "You haven't forgone your usual precautions, have you?" She smiled slyly in the dark and nestled closer to his warm body.
"I still know how to defend myself, and you're being ridiculous in asking. I've never stopped my exercises, and I still sleep with a knife under the pillow. Your work for the empire is more important than worrying about me. You know that I'll be safe."
"You never know, but I admit that I wouldn't want to be the man to try and grab you in the dark," he chuckled, causing Lucretia to plant kisses along his neck.
"I believe you tried that once as a joke, and it ended poorly."
"I called you a banshee."
"And I'll never forget that." The two held each other and slowly fell asleep, but even in relaxation, the slightest disturbance in the house caused both to awaken. To know that someone was watching their home lent a menacing chill to every shifting shadow, and Lucretia stiffened more than once on an impulse to go to the children's room, but Arelius told her to rest. It was his watchful eyes and soothing voice that finally laid her fears to rest and caused her to sleep deeply, for he would keep his senses alert in her stead. It was in his nature to protect his family, and he'd shouldered the extra responsibility well, knowing at the alter that he was more vulnerable with children about; however, he never regretted his decision to settle down, and like the self-appointed guardian that he was, his patient manner waited through the long hours of the night, daring any intruders to foolishly enter his domain.
***********
Ruined Cloak hunkered down in the alley and waited, his two companions behind him and so silent that their breathing didn't even give them away. They were watching the manor across the street with its locked gates and bolted lower windows, merely observing the manner of the house's occupants as the day disappeared. It was a fruitful watch, for they had easily discerned household patterns by watching candles float by upstairs windows, and servants going about their tasks. Like clockwork, the manor was secured at 9 pm, all but two servants were dismissed, the children would light their room and stay up late until forced to bed, and sometimes the room in the left corner of the courtyard was lit well into the night, as if someone were working late. Much was left up to speculation, but Ruined Cloak was pleased to have what he considered the most valuable information: bedroom location.
His lips curled into a smile as he saw a figure appear on a balcony above the manor's courtyard. Her features were lost in the dark, but it was not the wife, for the woman's hair was pulled back, which the wife never did once the servants were gone. Rather, it was the other woman that he knew lived here, and the one that his master so wanted. She often spent time on the balcony before bed, undeterred by passing guards that might notice and disapprove of her nightly attire, but master had said that she was different. She had to be if she had stolen from him, which although Mehrunes had never explicitly stated, Ruined Cloak was safe in assuming. His master's anger and almost uncontrollable urge to shadow and confront the woman was evidence enough, and the chaos sphere would never have left Oblivion with permission. No, she had stolen from a prince, and now she would suffer for it.
Sometimes Ruined Cloak saw a similar woman leaving the house well after nightfall, and for some time, he had assumed that the thief and this night stalker were one in the same, but that couldn't be, for the latter was smaller and had short hair, as he'd discovered on closer inspection. He hadn't managed a direct view of the woman, but that was one of his priorities, for he wanted to know who else was in that house, especially if infiltration was in the imminent future. Horace was working on gaining information from the Arcane University, and if the sphere wasn't there, then either the thief or the Blades in general possessed it. Arelius, according to his source, was a high ranking Blade, which meant that even if he didn't have the sphere, he likely knew who did, and if he wouldn't talk, there were always children and a wife to use for persuasion. That would be entertaining.
"Magic..." one of his comrades lowly hissed. Ruined Cloak too felt magicka settling over their bodies, and with annoyance, he quickly began uttering a counter spell. Detect Life. Who would suspect their presence? Then again, they were dealing with Blades, so perhaps his prey was more alert than he'd given them credit for, but he found that difficult to believe, for he'd never been uncovered in his subterfuge before. Deciding to play the situation with caution, he had his men move to another alley while he remained where he was, now keeping an eye on much more than the house. He remembered what had happened the last time he'd been caught off guard...
Her knife lashed outward, its swiping motion catching the back of his right hand and causing him to drop his own weapon—not that it was a problem, for he'd simply use destruction magic on this damned dark elf. He muttered a spell and lifted his hand to throw fire at the woman's grim face, her red eyes flashing in determination as the magic flared in his fingertips. She would die and pay for attempting to stop the Dawn, but instead of fear, she displayed a smirk of dark satisfaction as he threw his spell.
She ignored him in favor of fighting one of the sailors that had spotted her amid the ship's chaotic environment, and that too was her fault, for she'd set fire to the planks. Ruined Cloak did not understand why she exposed her defenseless back to his spell, but too late he realized that her body was warded. The spell reversed upon touching her, and so it turned on its master, shooting back into his already bleeding hand and searing his nerves. He'd never known such pain, although it was almost welcomed, for bleeding over the cause was an honorable infliction, and it was nothing that he couldn't handle. He didn't scream, but his body trembled with the magic that had devoured his primary hand, and his fingers were so mangled that he resorted to his left hand in retrieving his poisoned dagger and chasing the elf. She would die by his hand alone...
Ruined Cloak felt no anger as he continued watching the manor, fully aware that his right hand would never wholly recover. Sometimes it jerked uncontrollably, and other times it tingled with the reminder of past pain, but he never let anger consume him. He calmly imagined murdering the elf in her sleep, even drinking her blood, and it was with almost detached contemplation that he decided to kill her slowly. He appreciated her for having given him his first real battle wound, and as a man who favored the idea of being a martyr, he couldn't hate her for granting him a taste of immense pain. She would bring him honor through her death, and her blood would be used for the gate to send Mehrunes back to Oblivion, where he could organize his armies for the coming dawn of a new era, but first Ruined Cloak had to find the elf. He had a feeling that they would meet again, for the lady had been working for someone when she attempted to kill him, so it was only a matter of time before fate again brought them together.
"You there, what are you doing?" The voice jerked Ruined Cloak from his thoughts as he peered into the darkness and noticed a guard standing near another alleyway's entrance. It was not possible that the man had noticed them of his own accord and without magic, so perhaps someone had tipped him off to their presence. The spell caster? Maybe. "Come out with your hands up," the guard ordered. Either the man had to be disposed of quietly, or the spies needed to escape, the latter being the preferable and even easier option since they wished to remain undetected; however, Ruined Cloak was not gifted with the most controlled of companions, and after weeks of being cooped up in tight spaces with nothing to do, they were decidedly anxious to express their disgust with the empire. Hence a guard proved a tempting target.
"Fools," Ruined Cloak growled as he began darting toward the guard, actually hoping to move and save the man's life, but he was too far from the alley.
"There's more than one of them!" the guard was yelling when his windpipe was torn open by a single slice of curved metal. Ruined Cloak wanted to rip the ears off of his assistants for their indiscretion as he neared the scene, the guard's body now on the street for all to see.
"Idiots!" Ruined Cloak grabbed his guilty subordinate and roughly slammed him against the nearest wall. "You've compromised us."
"We've got a man down!" a voice called in the darkness, causing Ruined Cloak to sneer. He pulled the man before him away from the wall and propelled him further down the street, his other assistant sulkily bringing up the rear of their hasty exit. No time was wasted as they ran for cover and cast invisibility spells that allowed them to neatly bypass the rush of guards that appeared to inspect their murdered friend. There was cursing and orders to fan out, but the culprits were already gone, keeping well ahead of their pursuers.
"Master will not be pleased," Ruined Cloak reprimanded his men, and he was pleased to see that they acted sufficiently chastised. They would answer to the master, and hopefully the prince allowed their punishment to be distributed by his most faithful of servants.
*************
Mehrunes Dagon sat in a chair in the corner of his bedroom, peeling an orange and listening to Ruined Cloak's soft footsteps nearing his door. Ah, Ruined Cloak, someone that he could count on. The man was subservient to a fault, and so it was only natural that the murderer knocked several times and soundlessly waited to be acknowledged, unlike Horace, who almost always wore an air of impatience when dealing with others. The Imperial's humble attitude was a veneer over his true intentions, which Mehrunes fully realized, but not because he was a great observer of others. No, he was actually less perceptive than either Horace or Ruined Cloak when it came to everyday life, but he was in no way dense. He simply didn't care enough to pay attention most of the time, but even he knew that Horace was pragmatically ambitious, for he recognized a kindred spirit when he saw one.
"Enter," Mehrunes stated, and the door to his chambers opened, revealing the carefully cloaked form of his subordinate. The man quickly sealed the door and approached with a small bow.
"They have been properly chastised, my lord."
"Good. I do not want another incident to occur until we're closer to our goal," Mehrunes said while running a hand through his black hair. It was still odd to reach up and feel hair on his head, for he rarely used his more human form, and sometimes he grew rather annoyed at having to worry about ebony strands dangling before his eyes.
"They should have known better," Ruined Cloak commented.
"The mistake is done," Mehrunes dismissed. "And I'm sure that they won't forget their lesson." He finished peeling the orange and began eating the slices one by one, his tongue carefully moving over the fruit's texture. He slowly decided that he liked the fruit, but it would be difficult to obtain on a regular basis since it came from the furthest reaches of the empire.
"How much time do we have left?" the prince asked as he searched for another orange.
"The stars will be aligned in another three weeks, my lord. That would be the optimum time to open a portal," Ruined Cloak explained. "It will be more difficult than before since the dragonfires are weaker."
"Shouldn't that make your task easier?" Mehrunes questioned.
"Not necessarily. The dragonfires create a counter balance to Oblivion, and the tension between the two was once so tight that locating and widening a tear was not difficult since they were in such contrast to the general magicka field, but now the tension is lessening. The spell itself will be just as easy to cast, but locating an adequate gap in space on which to cast it will be harder. The tension made them easier to find, my lord, but I will still be successful, I am sure. I merely wish to wait for the most auspicious time to conduct our efforts."
"Do you require anything for the task?" Mehrunes pressed. "I'm sure that our dear friend Horace would love to accommodate you." Ruined Cloak smirked beneath his hood and was tempted to laugh but did not.
"We will need blood, and I've already found the perfect donor."
"Then there shouldn't be any problems," the prince mused, confident that their plans would be executed with hardly a snag. "Keep inside for the next few nights. I don't want the authorities to trace the murder to us. Discovery would be an annoyance that I will not tolerate. I trust that I've made myself perfectly clear, and tell your men that if they make another blunder of this magnitude, I will deal with them personally." He was thinking of Portia and how inconvenient it would be if she saw him as linked to a guard's murder. There would certainly be no more time for fun and games with his precious, human thief.
"I understand, my lord," Ruined Cloak said with another bow. "Please let me know if there is anything else that I can do. I am yours to command."
"And you'll be rewarded for your efforts when I return with my armies, servant. You may go." The man obediently left Mehrunes alone in his chambers, making the prince nearly rolled his eyes at the loyalty of the Mythic Dawn. They trusted him to remake the empire with them at its helm, but he didn't give a damn about creating a new government, for he knew that the other princes would never tolerate his ruling of the entire world. Even if the other heir was found and killed, his stay would not be permanent due to his brothers, but the effects of his brief reign would be, and he planned to use this window of opportunity for such an end.
Mainly, he looked forward to seeing his armies sweep across the land and claim it in his name, wreaking havoc and destruction on the poor unsuspecting humans. It would be satisfying and renew the fear and respect of mortals for not only himself but the daedric princes in general, and it was about time. And after his fun? Well, he'd probably be content to return to Oblivion for a few decades and listen to his fellow princes gripe and complain about his annoying tendency to interfere with Tamriel. They should expect that since he was the prince of destruction and ambition, and it wasn't like they never played with mortals, the hypocrites.
Mehrunes leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to doze as he thought about the future. He never apologized for who he was or what he did, and he wouldn't do so now. Soon he would be returned to the pinnacle of his power, and all he needed to do so was the heir's death and his lost chaos sphere. Where did you hide it, thief? The only response was a brief presence passing over his own, and he again wondered if he couldn't somehow force the spirit to reveal itself. He needed to work on that.
