Chapter 26
Time was running out, and Tamil could hear the clock betraying her as she crept out of her hiding place. Keeping to the shadows, she listened for something—anything—that would give away the men who stalked about the manor upstairs, but silence reigned. She'd waited for an advantage or signal as long as she could, and now, if she didn't move, Horace and Cassius would return, which wouldn't bode well for keeping her dagger clean.
Red eyes narrowed, Tamil kept her back to the wall as the basement's dark outlines became more distinct. One of the men was in the room beyond, or so she sensed, but she couldn't confirm her suspicions with detect life lest they recognize the use of magicka. It was best to do this the old-fashioned way—the way that she'd first been taught: rely on lighting, instinct, and reflexes. Take each step gently, and let hands be eyes in the darkness. It was basic advice, but putting it into practice became a true art once honed, and Tamil considered herself a master.
Your face.
Tamil reached toward her neck and grabbed the bundle of black cloth that sagged around her collarbone. Unlike other agents, she rarely covered her face, for only people who were about to be permanently silenced inadvertently saw her features while other, surrounding people remained ignorant of her presence. This, however, was not a similar scenario, and hands quickly pulled black cloth over her lower face, the fabric annoying Tamil as she adjusted it. Such a damn hassle, but for all her natural inclination to neatly slit an enemy's throat, this was not Morrowind, and there was no official contract to protect her from retribution—no guild to embrace her upon returning, but rather a strict officer who prided her eyes and ears, not blood on her dagger. That wasn't always the case, but here, tonight, she was only a passing shade and not an executioner.
A hand clasped the metal of the basement door and gently pushed, only opening the pathway wide enough for for slender body to squeeze through. Then she waited, stepping sideways along the wall as she searched for signs of danger or servants, but the servants were long gone, and whoever the two remaining men were, they were also of the shadows, for there was no light in the manor. There was only darkness and the occasional beam of moonlight through a window, and under such cover of night, predators waited.
If only I'd gotten a clear look at them!
The failure to do so annoyed Tamil, for if she'd seen the enemy, she'd be in a decent position to report, but right now she had nothing, and while slinking about the house with stalkers present wasn't impossible, she was on a time budget that had been compromised by her brief concealment. It was time to go before her luck ran out, and the muddy footprints in the basement gave her something with which to work.
Creak.
Tamil froze, narrow features bleak and alert as she crouched behind a table. Someone was at the top of the stairs, perhaps looking in her direction right now, but she couldn't tell as she watched the dark figure stand, barely visible, against a black backdrop. A hunger to search the upper rooms seized the Blade as she considered the possibility, for she'd never left a mission incomplete, but the figure was growing harder to discern from his background, and the longer she stared upward, the more difficult it became to gauge the man's movements. Eyes returning to her own level, Tamil decided that these phantoms were evidence enough for the time being, but what to do about reaching the front door? Moonlight would be streaming through the cylindrical window in the foyer's ceiling, which would leave her exposed if she chose that route.
Creak.
This time the sound was louder, and it came from a different direction, sounding so incredibly close that Tamil only remained motionless through years of experience. Her vision traveled toward the noise's source, quickly dismissing a nearby doorway and sweeping along the walls as the realization of the other man's location dawned on her. He definitely wasn't upstairs, and peering around the table, Tamil noticed a dark outline in the far corner, unmoving, but possibly waiting for her to betray an exact location. How hadn't she noticed him there? Well, the bastard could kiss her ass if he thought that he could fool her so easily; although she commended his ability to stay silent for so long. Had they been waiting for her to come upstairs this entire time? Again, the desire to draw blood and get it over with was tempting, but duty came first and foremost.
Tamil's hand snaked over the top of the table above her, lifted a small bowl from its surface, and threw it into the next room, the dish clattering somewhere against a wall. Immediately, the shadow moved, gliding with ease toward the open doorway, and a spark of light gathering at the man's fingertips. It wasn't enough to reveal his identity, but Tamil caught sight of abnormally pale skin that was almost sickly in appearance.
Now, she thought, using her bought time to cross the room and enter another where she was alone. Hands quietly unlatched a window, and she hauled herself over and out of the house, her feet dropping onto the street outside. Window shut, freedom gained, and some dirt to share with Arelius—Tamil was pleased that the night wasn't a complete waste, but she wasn't clear of the fire yet. She ran across the street to hide in darker corners, and scanned the area, but apparently her escape had gone unnoticed, for the manor remained still. Now she could wander about the city to lose any possible pursuers.
And not a moment too soon, she noted. Cassius was approaching the house now, but without Horace. Where was the other man? Tamil waited until the lone diplomat was inside, her mind inclined to simply refer to him as 'the bastard' since his name was false, and then her fleet boots were walking along the edge of the street. She didn't feel the need to cast another spell as she went her way, but for a second, she could have sworn that she heard something smack the pavement behind her. No, there was nothing there, but she moved faster in caution, her instincts having kept her a live a long time, and a lone pair of eyes watching her from beneath a black hood.
***************
What an interesting development.
Ruined Cloak allowed the body slung over his shoulders to drop to the ground as he braced a hand against the wall and pulled himself further into the light of the streets. His fingers dug into the mortar between stones, causing loose chunks to fall free as his blank face barely altered but for the hardening of his gaze. That dark hair falling sideways over a purple face...his permanently damaged hand twitched with its frayed nerves as he his breath stirred the edge of his cowl.
Yes, it was her, down to the expert grace of her step in the night, and he would follow her. Cassius was home, so the captive could be left with him, and that freed Ruined Cloak to pursue this mysterious dunmer with the facial tattoos of a killer. Oh yes, he remembered the three dots beneath her left eye, the alignment familiar to someone who'd once destroyed an entire guildhall for taking contracts against the Mythic Dawn. The symbol had appeared there, and it meant death to those who understood its importance: stealth, speed, solace.
The damage that he'd suffered could be rectified in a matter of seconds, and Ruined Cloak was faster than the elf. The distance between them shortened as his robes billowed behind him, body remaining completely concealed but for a brief glimpse of golden eyes as he jumped over a squat wall that encircled a dragon statue. There he crouched, vision unrestricted by stone barriers as his prey paused to look for him. She was good, if she had already detected him, and even wiser if she had the foresight to watch her back on a seemingly peaceful night.
What had she been doing outside of his master's home? The ship had been no accident, and neither was this, but he had to be careful with this meddlesome elf. She was a natural killer, like himself, and so the night embraced her with its cool touch. Perhaps she was a kindred spirit, and for that, his blade would be honored to take her life. Unbelievers were all the same, but a few might be worth special attention, and his master would be pleased with the woman's death. Then the elf was moving again, and Ruined Cloak checked the inside of his heavy robes for a glass vial to collect her sweet essence. His lord would appreciate the power contained in the blood of someone so tainted by death and survival, for such sacrifices had always been well received at his shrines.
Now the nameless woman was entering a small side street, which provided the perfect opportunity for murder. Blade unsheathed, and appetite for death whetted, Ruined Cloak abandoned cover for a direct assault on the woman's back. She didn't turn as his knife raised, poisoned edge glistening green in the starlight, and its deadly point aimed directly at the base of her neck, where it would kill or paralyze her.
**************
It was the barely audible sound of rustling cloth that made Tamil turn, her eyes widening as she caught the glint of green above her head.
Shit!
She was in no position to block the attack, and so she jumped backward, the blade cutting air centimeters from her face, and giving her a rude shock. The curve of the dagger's handle as it swept by her was familiar, and coupled with the black outfit and silent approach of this opponent, Tamil found her gut tingling with the memory of poison. The pain had passed, but it left one pissed off dunmer in its wake.
"Fetcher!" she cursed, ducking under an overhead swing as she lashed out with her own knife, but the man's defense was as impeccable as his assault, and he pulled away so that the knife only sliced through the front of his fluttering robes. His body was heavily wrapped, but Tamil didn't think that he wore armor under the clothing given his slight frame, meaning that he was as vulnerable as herself, and that meant that she only needed to best him in speed. Anywhere she struck could disable him if the wound were deep enough, and after what he'd done to her, she intended to pay him back tenfold.
How the hell did the blighted bastard find me?
Two knives collided and loudly glanced off of one another as the man attempted to force her weapon aside and reverse his blade's direction for a swipe at her throat. Again, death's fingers brushed across Tamil's skin as she barely dodged, her mind warning that she needed to quickly dispatch this man before someone arrived and got himself killed. One guard already lay beneath the earth, and another wasn't going to join him.
Tamil glared as she used one hand to swat aside an attack, the other to drive her dagger toward the man's neck, but suddenly he had two weapons, and the second dagger was much longer—one of those slender blades favored by wood elves, and Tamil lifted a leg to kick the cloaked figure in the chest, her boot making contact with his hard body. The man didn't make a sound as he stumbled backward, the hood somehow remaining in place despite the conflict, and preventing Tamil from understanding what she faced. Nothing seemed to phase this combatant, not even her follow-up charge, her blade seeking blood and advantage over his recoiling form.
Feet across stone, eyes hardened for the kill, she was sure that she could strike before he recovered from the kick, but he moved far too quickly for a normal person as she neared her target. A bright light appeared in his hand, and realizing what it was as the sound of crackling sparks overcame her, Tamil desperately redirected her path. Her speed and momentum couldn't be stopped so abruptly, but she managed to jump to the side, body painfully connecting with a hard, stone wall as fire erupted beside her. The heat fanned across her face as the attack sped by and illuminated the street in a flash and roar of flames.
A long shadow stretched behind her attacker, his robes whipping about behind his outstretched hand, and the light brightly reflecting off a pair of golden eyes. What in the name of Oblivion was that? Golden eyes? She'd never seen golden eyes, and now she had the additional problem of a nearby house's shutters catching on fire. Already people were shouting and calling for guards, the heavy footsteps of metal feet approaching as Tamil considered being caught in such a scene.
In a desperate attempt to end this before help arrived, she threw her dagger, the ebony blade flying through the air as the dark figure spun in retreat.
"Fetcher!" she angrily repeated as her weapon bounced harmlessly off of the opposite building, enemy fleeing into the night like a gust of smoke. That left a very frustrated dark elf with the heat of a spreading fire at her back as she skirted around arriving guards. She went unnoticed in the commotion, and watched as civilians formed a human chain from a nearby water outlet to the fire, buckets passing down the row in rapid succession. Soon the fire would be reduced to a smoldering pile of ashes, and even sooner if a mage happened to help.
"Next time he won't be so lucky," Tamil grumbled, retrieving her weapon and leaving before anyone connected her to the incident. Was it coincidence that she'd been stalked by her nemesis directly after leaving Horace's home? Her dark skin helped to conceal her as she continued on her way, more convinced than ever that Arelius couldn't wait to broaden her directives.
Mud in the basement.
With a small, savage smile, Tamil counted her blessings. Sometimes the most common things could be the nail in the coffin.
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Portia sat on a chair beside her bed and perused the daedric text before her, eyes drooping as she attempted to concentrate. She was tired, but couldn't possibly sleep before speaking with either Tamil or Arelius to assure that the mission had gown as planned. She wanted to know where Cassius stood—badly, and the more she remembered the feel of lips against hers, the more concerned she became. If he was the enemy, why would he kiss her, and why hadn't she done something about it? She was protective of her body, and for someone so subliminally threatening to touch her with such boldness without receiving even a slap in return...why hadn't she stopped him?
Portia recalled how he'd once looked at her, the lidded stare making her nervous, and then tonight, when he'd practically been on top of her, talking about her scars like they were something fascinating and attractive—not an unrefined history of pain as she saw them—she'd wanted to let him continue touching her neck, his appreciation unlike anything she'd ever encountered. Cassius was an unusual man to be sure, yet she'd liked the way that he preferred her conversation at the table, and how he'd sarcastically commented on Flora's makeup while eating. She'd perfectly agreed with his sharp criticism of women who overly colored themselves, and his chuckle had been so deep and steady.
"Imagine the brightest whites and blues sparkling behind a curtain of red silk."
Portia glanced outside and considered the night sky as he'd suggested, and she wondered what could cause such a sky since the man could hail from anywhere with his false identity. Ash storms made the sky reddish, or so she'd heard, and there were rumors of stranger things, such as the Bloodmoon. What did a crimson sky with stars look like? For a moment, the fiery sky of the Deadlands came to mind, but she'd never seen stars there, only crackling ripples of red on darker red, and she'd only noticed it once when she'd found Mehrunes observing his domain.
Returning to her studies, Portia noted that Sherkyn was mentioned on the page before her, but the book only speculated over what the term meant and how female dremora behaved.
"As fearsome and deadly as their male counterparts, females can and do hold equal rank in any of the clans, and assuming that the classes operate somewhat like mortal ones, mating would be restricted to class. This seems likely according to the account of Filius Caius, who was known for summoning and attempting to coerce information from dremora and daedra in exchange for their freedom." Portia recalled the Imperial name from somewhere else, and it seemed to her that the man had eventually been killed by one of the said daedra when he'd tried to teach a clanfear to balance a ball on its nose.
"A male churl is reputed to have said that females were warriors but spent more time training the newly born, caring for the revived, and guarding forts rather than hunting and patrolling as the males do. What he meant exactly by 'the revived' is unclear, but he did mention that mates are chosen by rank, are often fought over, and require males to prove themselves before chosen or forced submission. Forced submission is apparently an acceptable means of claiming a female."
"How interesting," Portia sighed, closing the book and remembering another passage that had used Sherkyn. Apparently the term only applied in the Valkynaz ranks, which made Cassius's compliment more elevated than she'd originally realized. Had she seen a single female in Oblivion? No, not that she'd recalled, which made her wonder where exactly females stayed in Oblivion. Perhaps Cassius would know something about it.
Click.
Portia automatically reached for her sword and drew it as she warily eyed the closest window. Something had moved outside, and assuming the worst, she neared the softly swaying curtains as the night air freely encircled her.
"You can put the sword away," Tamil's voice whispered, causing Portia to lose her defensive stance. Within seconds, the elf had swung into the room with her disheveled clothing and a dagger in hand.
"You seem to prefer windows to doors," Portia commented with a relieved smile as she set her sheathed sword at the foot of the bed. "I'm glad that you're still in one piece, but what happened to your hair?"
"Hmmm?" Tamil moved toward a hanging mirror and frowned, fingers brushing over the tips of her bangs, which were scorched. "I ran into a problem," the elf explained.
"At the manor?"
"Outside the manor, although I can't be sure that it wasn't just lousy luck on my part. Damn, fetching mongrel..." Turning away from the mirror, Tamil tucked her dagger into her belt and cautiously looked out the window. "I was attacked by same person who poisoned me."
"The very same?" Portia questioned, surprised.
"I'd know the bastard anywhere," Tamil snorted. "And I didn't even land a cut on him. Is Arelius in? I'm sorry to burst through your window like that, but I didn't want anyone to see me coming into the house."
"It's fine," Portia answered, troubled by the news. "And I'm also waiting for Arelius. He hasn't arrived back yet. What about the manor? Did you find anything?"
"Oh, I found something," Tamil smiled. "But we've known that Horace and Cassius weren't innocent from the start, so that's no surprise. Perhaps these men even know where Mehrunes is. Vivic is smiling upon us." Maybe, Portia darkly countered. The prospect of encountering Mehrunes or being attentively sought by one of his personal assistants was not comforting.
