Here is another chapter at last! I apologize for the wait, but I wanted to finish my other Oblivion story, and then I moved, so I've been very busy. I actually don't have internet at the new house yet, but I'm using the wifi at my hubby's work since I dropped him off today. lol. Enjoy, and as always, please review. I promise that some...interesting interaction between Mehrunes and Portia is coming in the next chapter, but I can't rush to such scenes at the expenditure of plot.

Chapter 20:

Gilthan waltzed into the shop with all the natural grace of his race, and stood by the counter, waiting for the owner to notice him. He had not forgotten Portia's request that he investigate Horace, but he was having a difficult time finding leads on the man. Sure, there were rumors about the man's inappropriate advances on women, especially since the aristocrat had apparently gotten one of his maids pregnant last year, but that was only ordinary gossip. What Gilthan wanted to know was whether or not the Imperial was a threat to Portia or others, for he very much agreed with his favorite female when she suspected Horace and Cassius of ill intentions. Both were questionable figures, but unless Portia saw the possible connection between Cassius and Mehrunes Dagon, Gilthan failed to understand her desire to investigate the two. It wasn't like she was involved in politics or the legion.

"Ah, Gilthan, what can I do for you?" an old, female Altmer asked as she popped her head out from the back room of her store. Stray plant particles decorated her graying hair, and her hands held a bundle of herbs and a pair of cutters. "I just got a fresh order of arrowroot, if you're interested."

"Actually, I came to discuss a more personal matter," Gilthan openly stated. "And one that I'd prefer to carry on in private, if you don't mind. I promise to behave myself." He held up his hands for emphasis, and the woman's eyebrows shot upward.

"You? Being serious?" she tutted. "Now I've seen everything. How exactly can I help you?" She set her work aside and wiped hands on a stained apron as she walked closer to converse in low tones, eager to aid a younger Altmer. It was a response that Gilthan had anticipated given the closeness of the high elf community in the Imperial city, and trusting his elder, he prepared to confide in her as he spun a detect life spell in the back of his mind—just in case another customer unexpectedly arrived.

"I'm sure that you remember the rude Imperial that came in here a while ago," Gilthan began.

"Horace Pantrov," the owner scoffed. "How could I forget that one?"

"Yes, well, the University is keeping an eye on him, but that's between you and me. Not many know about Horace's little 'projects', and Traven would like to keep it that way."

"Is that so? Well, I've no reason to defend an Imperial when the university gives me better business. If I can help, I'm more than willing to do so. I'd love to see that arrogant brat knocked down a few pegs." And that was exactly what Gilthan had been hoping to hear.

"Wonderful," he smiled. "Do you happen to know what he usually buys?"

"Oh, nothing that a basic healer wouldn't need, but he almost always sends a servant to pick up orders, and not that often either. It's only recently that he's been gracing me with his person, and the items have been a bit...unusual." Gilthan crossed his arms over the counter and leaned closer.

"Like a daedra heart?" he questioned, clearly remembering the man's last shopping trip.

"He's waiting for another one," the owner shared, straightening and moving toward a small cabinet near the storage room. "I've got the order right here." She retrieved a piece of paper from a small drawer and glanced over its contents, cursing her failing vision as she did so. "Let's see...yes, one daedra heart, and a vial of ogrim blood, if you can imagine. Ogrim blood is hard enough to get on a good day, let alone when the empire is in general disorder with these damned assassinations! I told him that it would take a few weeks, but he insists that it arrive within two, and he'll pay double for the trouble. I told him that it will get here when it gets here. Impatient man!"

"Ogrim blood?" Gilthan didn't know of any spells or incantations that required such an off kilter ingredient, but the very nature of the item's source suggested dark magic beyond the usual. If anything, rare blood tended to be an amplifying agent in certain rituals or potions, but such magic and alchemy would be impossibly difficult for someone with little professional training... "Someone's being naughty," Gilthan concluded.

"I don't police what my customers are doing with their purchases," the owner defended. "I just sell what they request."

"But since the university has a direct interest in Pantrov, perhaps you could lose the blood or heart if the need arises?" Gilthan gave the wrinkled woman his sweetest smile, making her roll her eyes and cross arms over her chest.

"You know that I adore you, Gilthan, but whose authority is backing this? My shop doesn't handle personal favors. It hurts my credibility." Gilthan clutched a hand to his chest and sighed in exaggerated fashion.

"Dear, dear lady," he addressed. "The authority is higher than my own, I assure you, and since you don't care for this customer, how can this be disagreeable? I will pay for the items if you don't deliver them to him, and the man badmouths everyone who makes him wait for more than five minutes, so anything he says against your fine establishment will be dismissed by the more intelligent. So tell me, what are the chances that his items will be lost in storage?"

"Fairly high," she relented. "But only if you pay for them, and you won't charm your way out of this one either." Casting a pleased expression against her glare, Gilthan winked and swung toward the exit.

"I knew that I could rely on you," he called over his shoulder as he opened the door. "And I look forward to your beautiful company on some other, bright day." The snort that followed him out the door might have been due to his flirtatious tone or the fact that the so-called 'bright day' was actually quite overcast and promising rain. It was a perfect day to stay inside and read or dabble with a new spell, and that was exactly what Gilthan planned to do as he returned to the university. If he grew bored, he could always bother that new recruit that kept casting eyes at him, for she was a very pretty example of his race, and not as snobbish as most. She would have even proved an irresistible distraction, except that Gilthan was feeling less amorous lately since another had captured his fancy.

Slow down there, Gilthan! The elf chuckled to himself as he walked along the wide, white pathways of the Arcane University. It wasn't that he was interested in courting Portia, but he admitted that he found her attractive, and she was intelligent and an instigator, which were both traits that he favored. As such, spending more time with her was desirable, and there was also the matter of the chaos sphere and Cassius to consider, for the endangerment that they presented brought out a more serious and protective side of Gilthan. He wanted to ensure Portia's safety, and maybe, when all was said and done, she would be interested in being more than friends.

Gilthan reigned in his imagination as he entered a small, rarely frequented hallway that connected the kitchens and food storage. He often came here to sneak baked goods from the head cook, who more often than not, ended up throwing dough at him, but the challenge of avoiding assault was half the fun. And the poor baker thought that flour in the face would deter him. Foolish, foolish woman. Feeling mischievous, Gilthan was about to creep into the pantry when soft voices drifted to his ears from down the hall.

"I was wondering why you wanted to meet in private," a female voice teased. "We're both far too old to be sneaking around in storage rooms. I do have private quarters, you know." Well this could be interesting, and so Gilthan paused with a hand on the door, eavesdropping on what he assumed to be two lovers. His sharp ears strained to catch snippets of conversation before he heard a distinct moan that made him rethink his decision. Perhaps he'd better leave before the show got too graphic for an audience.

"I'll come for you later tonight, and we can discuss our mutual interests," a male voice whispered. "Meet me outside so that Traven doesn't see us."

"Until then, and I expect to be repaid for the inconvenient hour."

"In more ways than one, my dear. Some people simply don't appreciate the beauty of your art." Two people emerged from one of the rooms near Gilthan, and the elf nearly fell over when he realized that he was now facing the very Imperial who he'd been requested to investigate. He was further shocked to see that Horace was half-holding a female, who although older, was still very attractive and shapely with her slender form and dark tresses. Caranya? She was one of the few necromancers remaining in the public eye after Traven's ascent to power, and Gilthan suspected that she was only allowed to remain at the university due to her long-held prestige and monetary contributions. Traven would have a difficult time disposing of her, and so he willfully ignored her magical specialization, which although granting job security, did nothing to prevent others from avoiding an association with the woman. By the Nine, even Gilthan disliked the bossy necromancer, and what was she doing with Horace Pantrov?

"I bid you good day," Horace farewelled, planting a kiss on the back of the woman's hand as he gave a brief nod toward Gilthan. The man's expression said everything that the elf needed to know about his intentions toward the woman, and while it disgusted him, Gilthan returned the nod with a forced smile, as if acknowledging the man's good fortune. If Horace wanted to assume that he too was a sexual conquistador, let the Imperial think what he wanted. Gilthan wondered how many women had been seduced by the snob before him, but then again, Horace's presence here, and his choice of companion in a woman who despised the university's policies, might be more than it appeared. It would be best to keep an eye on the two if possible.

"Gilthan! How many times have I yelled at you?" The elf jerked away from the door that he'd unconsciously been pulling open as a broad woman nearly forced the wood into his nose. Near disaster adverted, he found himself face-to-face with a very grumpy cook who was much thicker and physically imposing than himself, even considering his naturally tall stature. "Get out, ruffian!"

"Just one roll," he pleaded.

"Now, Gilthan!" The elf chuckled as he quickly departed, the threatening wave of a rolling pin hastening his pace, yet he managed to glance over his shoulder at the two lovers, who were traveling in the opposite direction. The necromancer glared at him, silently ordering him not to mention her tryst, but he made no response as he tried to figure out why the woman would go after Horace. She didn't strike him as the romantic kind, but then again, she was a bit of a predator, and he was willing to bet that she'd 'devoured' her share of men over the years. Women who liked lording their power over others tended to be aggressive in pursuing their desires, and he wouldn't put sexual manipulation passed the dark lady of the university. That plus her already deeply embittered attitude toward Traven made Gilthan distrust her as innately as he did Horace and Cassius. Yep, he definitely needed to keep his eyes on her.

***************

This was one of the better tasks that he'd been assigned, and Horace was determined to enjoy it. After hours of pouring over possible, university candidates, he'd finally found Caranya with her rumored background and clear disdain for Traven making her perfect. So he'd turned on the charm and hinted at his desire to harm Traven for some unnamed wrong, and she'd seemed interested enough, but that didn't mean that she'd fallen for his trap. No, she was a woman who took her time, and Horace had almost opted for a simpler route and gone after a more naive mage when the woman had finally responded to his advances. That they both found each other attractive was no secret, but he had a feeling that this one needed to be handled carefully, for she wasn't as nearly gentle or innocent as many of his amorous targets.

"Here," he softly spoke, catching the eye of a figure cloaked in purple. Caranya was a sharp dresser, and the type of woman to tease a man with subtle flashes of skin or the small jolts of magicka that she laced through her fingertips with such ease. All in all, Horace liked the enticing attention, and if she desire more intimate activities before he let Mehrunes deal with her, he certainly wouldn't object.

"How long have you been waiting?" her silky voice questioned as she drew closer, hips swaying from side to side.

"Long enough to demand this as payment," and Horace pulled her against his chest, lips seeking hers as she wrapped slender arms around his waist, one hand running tauntingly across the top of his belt. She took control of their movements as they briefly pressed into one another in the dark of an archway, Horace wondering why she was so eager. He had expected more resistance in convincing her to accompany him home, even with their mutual interests, but now, after only three days, they were about to spend an evening on his mattress, and such a pace was much too fast for his suspicions not to be aroused along with other things. Why was she so eager? Either she hadn't been taken in a very long time, or she wanted something more from him. He was, after all, playing an infatuated fool, so coercing him would not appear difficult.

"This way," he instructed her, taking her hand and leading her deeper into the city until his house came into view. It was an interesting trip to say the least, and by the time that they were on his doorstep, his hands were fumbling to accomplish the simple task of inserting a key into the lock since she was all over him, kissing his neck, lips, and cheeks. By the grace of all that was good in this world, her hands were already at his belt buckle, stroking the metal. Had someone slipped her a lust potion or something?

The door practically slammed into the wall with their combined weight pressing against it, and Horace stumbled as his companion gracefully regained herself and tossed her cloak onto a nearby stool. Her blue, velvet dress grazed the floor as she took the liberty of leading the way upstairs, even without knowing exactly where his bedroom was, and Horace trailed behind her, happy to enjoy the view from the back as she laid a hand on the first door.

"No," he told her, and she shot him a sly smile before moving onward, reaching for the next door handle. "You're cold." The game amused Horace as he watched and responded to her every move, finally telling her that she was getting warmer when her hand touched the doors to Mehrunes' chamber. "Warm, but not there yet." He stepped beyond her and opened the next door, the barrier swinging inward to reveal the master bedroom with its wide bed and ornamental furniture. He moved inside and discarded his shirt onto the floor, followed by his boots.

"Not so fast," Caranya ordered, her hands wrapping around his middle from behind. "You're well-muscled for a diplomat," she observed, long nails tracing light patterns on his abdomen. They were painted purple, like her cloak, and he wondered if they were capable of cutting him. He liked trying new things, but he did not find pain stimulating like some, and who knew what this siren was capable of doing.

"I like what I see," she purred in his ear, and he reclaimed the evening's direction as he placed hands over his buckle and finished the job that she had started. With a dull thud, his belt hit the floor, but she wasn't done playing with him yet. She urged him to turn around and face her as her hands pressed against his hips, and he obeyed, more than willing to prolong the process and enjoy completing his assignment. It didn't bother him in the least to know that Mehrunes and Ruined Cloak were probably in the next room, waiting for his signal and about to gain an earful of earthy moans and gasps. They could wait until after he'd serviced this lovely necromancer.

"Do you have something specific in mind?" he asked her, kissing her as he pulled her against his body. The move elicited a small smile from her as she slipped fingers beneath the rim of his trousers, promising more stimulation as he left a wet trail of kisses down her neck. She really knew what to do with her hands, or should he say hand? He noted that only one hand was slipping into his pants, and the other was conspicuously absent. He was wondering how she was going to surprise him when he heard a faint, metallic click. Damn, but he knew that sound.

Instinct saved him as he shoved the woman away, eyes traveling to the swift movement of her left hand, where a dirk glinted in the light from an overhead fixture. His hand snapped outward, gripping her wrist and barely stopping the weapon's deadly passage toward his heart, but she was stronger than she looked, and a struggle immediately ensued. A hand struck his temple, but he tenaciously held her left wrist, knowing that if he released it, he'd soon be bleeding.

"Bitch," he growled, squeezing her delicate arm to force the dirk free, but with a shriek, her fingers clamped over the metal with amazing determination. Horace was about to punch her when her other hand lifted to cast a spell, the words almost complete as he swatted the threatening limb to the side, sending the spell into the wall where it promptly ignited a tapestry into flames.

"A little help please!" Horace shouted as he finally threw the woman down and slammed a foot onto her left hand, causing her to snarl in pain as she released the dagger, which Horace promptly kicked aside. "Stay down," he commanded her. "And if you even think about casting a spell, you'll find yourself on wrong end of my sword."

"Or mine," a dark voice seconded as Mehrunes Dagon entered the room. "Put it out," he ordered the man beside him, and one of Ruined Cloak's concealed hands lifted and muttered a few words before the fire in the corner vanished, leaving the room tense and smoky as Horace stepped away from the necromancer. She lay propped up on her hands, dark hair cascading over her shoulders and neck in a messy mantel of black

"We were wondering if you weren't taking your time," Mehrunes commented as he eyed Horace's disrobed state. "It was hard to tell whether the two of you were fighting in here or simply being loud." The Imperial merely grunted and retrieved his tunic while the necromancer glanced between the two.

"This was a set-up?" she cautiously ventured. "For what purpose?" Somehow she managed to sound indignant rather than scared as she scathingly viewed the odd assembly around her, daring them to lay a hand on her.

"I might also ask what your purpose was," Horace countered. He retrieved her fallen dirk and examined the blade, finding a small button on the pommel that retracted the deadly edge. He often carried a similar device, although he'd hardly been expecting to encounter one tonight.

"You wanted to play," Caranya sourly noted. "I merely decided to take advantage of that. I was not expecting you to involve friends." She sat up while the fingers on her left hand rubbed together as if eager for action, magicka flaring gently at the tips.

"Don't think about it," Ruined Cloak softly warned, his deadpan voice a ghostly whisper from the sidelines, and the necromancer studied him with a calculating expression before her hands stilled.

"We don't wish to kill you," Mehrunes informed her. "But if you refuse to cooperate, we might."

"If you wanted my aid against Traven, there were simpler ways of asking," the woman noted, readying to stand when Horace extended a hand toward her. She glared at him as she accepted the offer and was hauled to her feet, hands quickly moving to smooth over her dress's velvet folds.

"It would have been simple enough, and perhaps a bit more enjoyable for both of us if you hadn't tried to kill me," the Imperial coldly stated. "But perhaps later..."

"Don't count on it," she said, cutting him off. "So the plan was to screw me and than introduce me to your accomplices? I'm not a woman to be trifled with, boy." She sounded genuinely offended, which made Horace smile to further infuriate her.

"And here I had the bed prepared especially for us. It's a shame that the effort will be wasted, but it's your loss." With a mocking bow of his head, the Imperial stepped aside as the woman fumed, her posture straightening in haughtiness as she narrowed her eyes at her almost lover. For his part, Horace would still have taken her right then and there if she wouldn't have turned him into a human torch, but with some maneuvering, maybe she'd come around.

"You can stop acting self-righteous," Mehrunes noted with a trace of amusement. "How rich that you're offended because this man wanted to use your body, and yet you would have aroused and then murdered him for your experiments. I believe that such women are referred to as black widows on this plane." The daedric prince laughed as he noted Horace's perturbed expression as his comment's significance sunk in.

"Damn necromancers," the Imperial muttered beneath his breath. Nice backyard though.

"What exactly would you like me to do?" Caranya probed. "And will I leave here alive if I refuse?"

"A smart question," Mehrunes said, sitting in a chair and resting one ankle across a knee. "After I tell you about how our deal will work, you won't want to decline the offer. Ruined Cloak." The shadowy figure disappeared to return seconds later with a large object wrapped in brown cloth. "You'll find a dead Khajit inside for your own disposal if you agree to help us."

"I can't have the Imperial?" Caranya sarcastically asked.

"You can always have me," Horace smugly replied. "Just don't bring a dagger next time." Mehrunes grinned as he noted the necromancer's stance change into a less defensive one, even if she kept throwing dirty looks at Horace. She was interested now, and the body was probably the freshest that she'd seen in months.

"The body is in exchange for...?"

"Your cooperation," Mehrunes stated. "I want you to find out if any powerful artifacts have recently come into the University's possession, and if so, where they are being held. I'm look for anything along the lines of jewelry, or perhaps someone who knows more on the subject. Depending on your findings, we will move forward from there. Horace will be in contact with you."

"My lady," the Imperial smiled.

"I don't suppose the silent one is available," Caranya scoffed, but she received no response. "Very well. I will find the information that you seek, and for another body, I might even be willing to guide you into the university should you desire it."

"Wonderful," Mehrunes nodded. "If you prove useful, Ruined Cloak will deliver more packages for your use, but only at my discretion."

"You better give me a reason to supply good reports then," Horace added in what sounded to be a thoughtful tone. "We may be seeing more of each other." The woman turned murderous eyes on him before lifting the bottom of her dress to walk toward the door.

"If we are done here, I will be going. Perhaps one of your men could carry the luggage." Mehrunes chuckled at her word choice and motioned for Ruined Cloak to assist her, his amusement growing tenfold when Horace continued to stare at the woman's shapely body. It must have been a disappointing night for the man.

"And what is your name, sir, in case I have need to seek you out directly," the necromancer continued.

"It's unimportant," the prince dismissed. "But you know where to find Horace, and," he stressed, "If anyone else hears even the slightest mention of what we've discussed, our next meeting won't be as pleasant."

"I have survived in my position for this long because I am intelligent," Caranya tartly replied. "Don't belittle me." Ruined Cloak closed the door behind himself as he accompanied the lady out, leaving Mehrunes and Horace in the master bedroom to discuss the situation.

"You made a wise choice," Mehrunes commended. "She's greedy and cold."

"And deadly" Horace added. "She'll never utter a word against us since we have dirt on her, and Arch-mage Traven is already after her because of her profession. She won't risk negative exposure."

"I'm assuming that you chose her for other reasons as well," Mehrunes suggested, standing to retreat to his own room.

"I'm a man of leisure at heart, my lord," Horace replied. "But I find myself less fond of her now that she's burnt one of my favorite tapestries."

"You'll have a more restful night then anyway," the prince smirked.

"Indeed. Goodnight, my lord." Mehrunes didn't bother to respond as he exited and moved to his room, planning to call on Portia's spirit and see if he couldn't ensnare her. She'd been more careful as of late, and so he had yet to force her presence since he'd last cornered her. Somehow she skirted around his grasp, which while making him appreciate her willpower even more than he already did, was beginning to annoy him. Maybe he shouldn't have threatened her so acutely during their last encounter, for then he'd be able to observe her spirit in a calmer setting, but with knowledge of her secret identity.

What was done is done, he decided, and with a little effort, he was sure that he'd get his way. So he readied himself to channel the power that always lay directly beneath the surface, the chaos sphere amplifying his abilities as the night grew darker. Balancing his emissions with the limitations placed on him by possible observers like the university was tricky, but the reward would be worth it. He wanted to see Portia again, and when the prince wanted something, how could a mere mortal stand in his way?