Chapter 39: Calling on Old Friends
Blood.
She had expected some sort of potion, but the glass bottle that she now tossed between her hands contained nothing but blood, and dunmer blood at that. Tamil's thoughts conjured the lithe form that she'd studied earlier that day as she rounded an empty street corner and began her gloomy walk through Talos Plaza. The city's defensive wall ran along her left, and houses stood to her right, their doors adorned with ornate knockers that often alluded to family crests or history. This was, after all, one of the wealthiest sectors of the city, and as such, the residents were either aristocrats or commoners who imitated aristocrats by displaying familial pride, no matter how fabricated.
Tamil finally paused, her eyes raking scathingly over the doorway before her, and her playful tossing of the bottle coming to an abrupt end. Unlike the other houses, this one had a plain door, and it was the last place that she wanted to be. It was shameful really—this avoidance of one person whom she hadn't spoken to in years. In fact, she estimated that six years had passed since she'd directly encounter the man whom she now sought, and she would have gladly added another six years to that time, but alas, her options were limited, and so, with a scowl, she knocked on the door.
"Can I help you with something?" a slithering voice asked as the door opened by but a fraction. An Argonian peered out through the space, his reptilian face mostly red but for splashes of green around the eyes, and his forehead sweeping back into an array of horns. His eyes blinked rapidly, and he opened the door a bit wider as Tamil offered a brief greeting.
"Usheeja," she began, "I need to speak with your employer, and not the one that lives across the street." The Argonian kept a firm, clawed hand on the door, effectively blocking her way forward as his slitted eyes narrowed, and Tamil was not unaware of the sword strapped to his waist. Considering that he still wore a full chainmail outfit, she was assuming that he'd just come from work at Umbacano Manor.
"I live alone," Usheeja claimed. "I know not what you speak of, dunmer."
"Don't play dumb," Tamil replied. "I promise that I'm someone whom your housemate will be pleased to see. We're old acquaintances, and he's done nothing to hide his location from me." She was tempted to call the Argonian a lizard given her foul mood, but she refrained from doing so as Usheeja stepped aside and cautiously motioned her into his home. The faint, fading light of sunset filtered in through shuttered windows to reveal a fairly comfortable room with all the amenities of a wealthy household, but the space felt oddly cold and impersonal, which was all too fitting in Tamil's mind. She waited impatiently as Usheeja set aside his sword in good faith and locked the front door.
"He'll be awake by now, so I wouldn't suggest any foolish attempts to kill him."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Tamil sarcastically commented.
"Humph." The Argonian moved to the basement door and knocked before cracking it open. "You have a visitor, Ralyn. She claims that you'll want to see her." There was a pause, and then the Argonian jumped backward as the door swung outward with incredible speed, and slammed into the wall with a loud crack.
"Then by all means," a light voice echoed about the room, "send her down." Tamil held herself steady as she descended into near darkness, for there was but one lit lantern in the basement, which was hardly enough to afford her a decent view of the man whom she knew lurked directly beyond her vision. From the lone flame's limited aura, she could only spy a mismatched collection of boxes and chests, a single bed, and a desk piled sky high with books and loose paper. Apparently Ralyn was still very much the scholar.
"Tamil," a voice breathed, sounding surprised as the said elf boldly moved toward the desk and lifted an unfinished letter. She had never forgotten that voice with its airy, almost ethereal qualities, but the surprised tone was one with which she was unfamiliar. "Still reckless, I see." A hand snatched the letter from her, and although she recognized the angry cast to the man's word, she held her ground as she lifted her eyes toward a being that she'd vowed to wipe from memory.
"Ralyn," she acknowledged, looking up into the face of a tall dunmer. He stood a head taller than her and possessed the same, light gray, almost blue shade of skin as her own, but his hair was much different. The dark locks carried a faint, red tint, and were swept over the back of his head to reveal hawklike features. Like her own, his eyes were red, but unlike hers, his gave off a faint, hellish glow that all to clearly revealed his condition.
"I did not hope to see you again," he stated. "Did you come here with a death wish? Touching a vampire's belongings is stupidity at its finest." He was clothed in dark green robes reminiscent of a mage's garb, but he was no magic wielder. No, he hadn't an ounce of magic in his entire body, but he was cunning and quick—facts that Tamil was reminded of as she watched his eyes studying her.
"I did not expect to visit you," she honestly shared with a snide undertone. "Are you pleased to see me again?" He stared at her before stepping away, gloved hands folded behind his back as he adopted a cold expression.
"I have kept myself too busy to indulge in fantasies, my dear," he scoffed. "I'm afraid that one of Seridur's little pawns is actually dangerous."
"The Order of Virtuous Blood?" Tamil smirked, enjoying the man's disgusted curl of the lips.
"One day that fetching idiot is going to get himself killed, pretending to be human as he is, but our feud is none of your concern. What did you come here for, mortal?"
"Oh, it's mortal now, is it?" she tartly asked, causing him to shoot a dangerous glare at her. He looked more haggard than he had in a long time. "Don't worry. I won't take much of your time. I simply have a puzzle that I can't solve." She set the bottle of blood on his desk and watched as he uncorked it, tentatively sniffing the contents before running the tip of his tongue over the mouth of the bottle. Tamil couldn't look away as he sipped the liquid, his red eyes glowing brighter with hunger as he finally lowered the flask from his lips.
"Dunmer blood," he stated, reluctantly setting the bottle aside. "Nothing more, nothing less. What is the meaning of this? You know too well what can happen when I'm taunted with blood." His predatory vision engulfed Tamil, demanding answers, but she ignored him.
"You won't hurt me," she asserted, crossing arms over her chest. "So don't play the predator with me, Ralyn. Even if you wished me harm, neither one of us would walk away from a fight uninjured."
"So what do you mean by this?" the vampire all but hissed, waving a hand at the bottle. "And many years have passed, Tamil. I have changed in that time." She shrugged indifferently and watched with delight as his eyes lit with indignant annoyance.
"I saw a man drink this and grow younger, stronger, but he's not a vampire; he's mortal. I was hoping that you might have some answers." The vampire cocked his head to the side, staring at the bottle on his desk with fascination. Tamil had seen that look many times before when he'd been an ally of the guild, but that had been before he'd given her that false lead—before he'd slapped her in the face with his treacherous...
"There are rumors." Tamil snapped out of her thoughts. "There are mortals that worship vampires, mortals that hunt vampires, and then there are those that are...something else entirely. They don't wish to become undead and have a master, but they crave our eternal youth and powers. They are necromancers of a sort..."
"And?" Tamil pressed.
"And what?" Ralyn innocently asked. "Why should I tell you anything? Are you going to renounce your hate? In truth, I care not. You've nothing that I want." Tamil stepped closer, features as narrowed and aggressive as his.
"Oh, I have something that you want," she lowly insisted. "It was good enough to draw your attention last time." She whipped a dagger out from her belt, and ran it across her palm, causing a thin line of blood to rise to the surface, and an instantaneous reaction. Ralyn's nostrils rapidly drew in air, and his fangs lengthened as his crazed eyes fixed on the wound.
"Dangerous game, Tamil," he hissed, but he did not move. He stood rigid and closed his eyes, choosing to release an exasperated sigh as his hands tightened into fists. "There is reportedly a small faction of mages that mix necromancy with ancient blood rites to grow more powerful. They are mortal and yet immortal—like creatures of the night, but not dependent on blood and without our weaknesses. Their knowledge was stamped out centuries ago when the most powerful vampires held a crusade against their kind, or so we thought. Apparently not all of them were destroyed."
"There, was that so hard?" Tamil asked, putting her dagger away and holding out her hand. She didn't want to feel his tongue on her skin, but she owed him this after slicing herself in his presence, and if she denied him, he might attempt to forcefully detain her. So she offered up her bloody palm, and Ralyn was on it in an instant, licking her skin clean and sucking on the wound until she jerked her limb away. The vampire was still licking his lips as she examined the freshly cleaned, shallow cut, wondering how difficult it had been for him to not bite down. He always had prided himself on control, especially when prolonging a kill.
"This is goodbye, Ralyn," she stated. "I will not seek you out again unless necessary. And if you come to me, I swear that I'll kill you." The man held his head high as he regarded her, eyes still burning with bloodlust.
"Don't let your guard down, Tamil," he warned. "You and I have coexisted for almost two decades, and for most of that time, I've been watching you." Tamil rolled her eyes and ascended the stairs to leave her former friend behind, her head cloudy with memories that she quickly vanquished. Memories were part of her dead past, and they didn't get much deader than Ralyn, even if his lips hadn't always felt so cold. It was only her abandonment of the guild that kept her from ending his existence, even now.
"Goodbye, little one," his voice trailed after her, and she forced herself to not respond or look back. After all these years, she been convinced that he'd willfully forgotten her as she had him, but she'd seen her dagger in the basement—the very one that she'd used to attack him in Morrowind. He'd kept it in the open after all these years, while she'd barely spared him a thought. Ah, the fates could be cruel, but not as cruel as people—a point that she dwelled on as he was again forgotten in favor of focusing on her work. Part of her knew that he would not cope nearly as well.
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Arelius was still staring at her in silent contemplation as Portia gazed out the window, and she felt every ounce of his attention, the intensity of which would only increase with her coming comments. Of course, the realization that she was now slowly sharing would be far more stunning to him than her, for he hadn't spent time with both Mehrunes and Cassius, and so she was letting the implications of her words sink in before continuing.
"You're saying that you've seen that painting before?" Arelius questioned.
"There is no way that we're not talking about the same one," Portia sighed. "Jagged mountains, stormy skies...it's not exactly the ideal choice for a guest room, is it?" The sun was disappearing, and she wondered where Tamil had gone without so much as a word. It was odd that the dark elf hadn't yet reported on what she'd found in the sewers. She'd only dropped off the evidence and left.
"It was in your dreams?"
"Yes, and you know very well who I was with."
...
"Would you care for a drink, Portia?"
"I'd love one." She sat back down as Arelius handed her a glass of wine, and she took a long sip as he stared thoughtfully into space.
"You don't seem surprised," the captain noted. "How long have you known?"
"Not long," Portia admitted. "The possibility seemed farfetched when it first occurred to me. Now...now, Cassius and Mehrunes are so similar that it's a wonder I didn't catch on sooner." Or admit it to yourself sooner, you fool. She unconsciously relived the graveyard kiss, and again wondered about the extent of Mehrunes' plans for her. He'd been making sexually charged advances on her for some time now, and she wasn't even entirely sure when it had started. As with the sphere, she didn't understand everything that had or was transpiring.
"This will work for us," Arelius finally stated. "We can make it work."
"Yeah, at least we know where the bastard is, right?" Portia offered, making Arelius crack a slight smile. He lifted his glass toward her and then downed the contents. "So what's the plan that's formulating in that crafty head of yours?"
"You know me well, but I've nothing concrete at the moment. There are details that need worked out, and we can't do that until Tamil returns. Suffice it to say that Horace and Cassius won't be free men much longer if everything goes according to plan." Portia nodded and finished her alcohol, feeling warm and tired as she considered a second glass. It certainly helped calm the racing thoughts that were whirling about her head, and she needed something to slow the pace since she was suddenly reevaluating everything that Cassius had ever said to her.
"I'm sure that you have a lot on your mind," Arelius knowingly commented. "There is no reason that you need to wait for Tamil. She might not come back until morning, and I can always debrief you later. Get some sleep and be ready to work with the rising sun. There isn't going to be any rest for us in the next few days." Portia nodded and stood.
"We're closing in for the kill, but what do we do with the prince once we have him? How long will we even be able to hold him?"
"I don't have an answer, Portia. We might be incapable of doing anything." He bleeds, she reminded herself, so maybe he can die in his human form. "But we can corner his supporters and force him to retreat. He won't stay here once he's exposed and defenseless, and that's our best hope. At least it will protect the sphere from him, and the capitol will be safe."
"But he won't give up," Portia asserted. "As long as I have the sphere, he won't stop."
"I know," Arelius agreed, sounding coldly concerned for but a moment. "But you don't need to keep it once he's gone. We'll seal it away, perhaps in the Blade stronghold, and when the dragonfires are relit, there will be nothing that Oblivion can do about it." His words were reassuring in their own way, and so Portia took her leave with hope that there would eventually be an end to this, but what of the chaos sphere? No one but Mehrunes knew the extent of what was happening to her, and she couldn't fathom what would happen once the sphere was gone. Whenever she removed it, she felt a void, like something wasn't quite right.
More answers that will only come with time, she inwardly grumbled, finding her own chamber and flopping onto the bed. She was incredibly tired as her eyelids closed, booted feet dangling over the edge of the bed with their muddy soles. A slight headache was hounding her, and she blamed it on being out in the cool rain as sleep swallowed her. Such a long day, and the night would be far too short to rectify her fatigue...
"I'm too tired for this," she muttered, opening her eyes to the darkness surrounding her, and knowing that she was not alone in the dreamland. Hands ran down her sides, sliding slowly over her hips as hot kisses trailed down the side of her neck. It shouldn't have been possible since her tunic had a high collar, but then the realization that she was naked hit her, and her mouth ran dry.
"That's a new trick," she absently commented, earning her a chuckle that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Her thoughts were foggy as the kissing continued, and she wondered if this wasn't a real dream—not a result of chaos or damned connections, but a real, only-in-her-head dream. She wasn't sure as teeth lightly grazed the exposed skin behind her left ear. Hands wrapped around her from behind to rest on her abdomen, and she moved her own hands to cover them, her fingers sliding between the other person's as her head tilted backward to rest on a shoulder.
"What do you want, Cassius?" she asked, unsure of why she chose that name. The unseen kisser nuzzled against her neck, and she could feel his lips spreading into a twisted smirk.
"I've told you plenty of times," a deep voice promised.
"Stop," Portia commanded even as she leaned against his chest.
"Make me." Lips were on her mouth, her jawline, even her eyelids as she swayed with dizziness. She would have kissed him back if something nagging wasn't tugging at the back of her mind. She was forgetting something—something important, but her lips found his, and she quickly forgot about what had worried her so. More hands touched her, two on her hips, and two on her back, pulling her into someone. Were there two different men? No, there was one, but with four arms. That was odd, but she didn't object as she placed a kiss on the man's neck, right over his jugular. Her hands moved toward his waist of their own accord, part of her wanting nothing more than to prevent him from taking control of the situation. He couldn't be allowed to make the decisions, although she wasn't entirely sure why that was so important...
"Damn dream," Portia muttered into her pillow, still dazed. The room was dark, and she wondered how late it was, but she didn't care enough to expend too much thought on the question. She was sweaty and troubled, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Cursing Mehrunes, her eyes again slid shut, and thankfully, there were no dreams this time around.
*********************
First Ruined Cloak's assistants had died, and now Arelius had entered his home. The fork in Horace's hand tapped incestantly against the tabletop as he considered his options, remembering all too clearly the knowing, assured manner in which the captain had explored the manor. The man hadn't seemed hurried, anxious, or even curious, and if the nobleman could fathom a motive, he would have guessed that Arelius had taken his time, but to what end? Either way, he felt the walls closing in around him, and if Mehrunes didn't reclaim the sphere and leave soon, he was going to begin regretting his allegiance. Let Ruined Cloak die for religious fanaticism. He had better things to do.
Horace released the fork and stretched his legs, pleased that his newest servant had brought him a mug of warmed cider. The woman had asked about candles for the upcoming festival, and now he questioned exactly how much money he'd thrust into her hands. He hadn't counted due to distractions, and the girl had merely beamed with a blush and run off. She was a bit naive to think that he favored her just because he'd recently slept with her, but time would teach her that lesson. At least his cook couldn't forewarn and protect all of the females that periodically came and went in the city. Seasonal workers were a gift from the gods.
She could come back and lift her skirts, and I still wouldn't be interested tonight, Horace grumbled. What he needed was an emergency escape route, but how in the name of the Nine was he going to accomplish that? He finished off his cider and cursed beneath his breath as he kicked his boots aside, realizing that playing both sides against the middle would likely get him lynched. Still, he'd always gambled with both his money and name, and he would do so again as long as he could stack the deck in his favor.
"Have dinner sent to me room." Horace frowned, realizing that Mehrunes had returned and was speaking with a servant in the hallway beyond his bedroom doors. Where had the prince been all day? It was partly a relief that the daedra had left Arelius alone, but who knew what kind of grudge the prince might bear now that he was back. The captain was lucky that he'd walked away with all of his limbs attached after challenging Mehrunes, whose ideas of revenge were likely a total bitch, but still, he wasn't the only one for Horace to fear.
Horace listened for the faint click of shutting doors before retrieving several sheets of paper from his desk, and opening an inkblot. His quill worked furiously as he carefully composed a handful of letters to friends and family, all of whom were selected for their clear allegiance to either the Council or the imperial throne. He would, of course, be discreet, but his artful words were those of a man concerned about the loyalties of his visiting friend, who had pressured Horace into housing him by calling on old debts. He was sure that his story sounded convincing, especially since his debts—plus those that his mother had left him—were no secret among the court.
"Love letters, Horace?" The diplomat barely restrained himself from jumping as his bedroom doors swung open, and his quill slowed as he took in the sight of Mehrunes. The prince stood in his doorway, tunic loose and feet bare as a mocking smile crept up the man's features. "How long did our friends stay?"
"Not long, although longer than a search should have taken," Horace stated. "You seem to be in a better mood." He gingerly finished signing his name on the last letter and stood the quill in the inkblot. As much as his fingers itched to rush, he maintained his leisurely manner as he folded the small stack of papers beside him, each crease concealing his words and intentions.
"Today was...satisfying," Mehrunes allowed with a furtive smile, arms folded behind his back as he strolled forward to the edge of the desk. "I know that it's tempting to forget who I am when I look like this, Horace, but need I remind someone of your upbringing about proper etiquette?" Horace immediately stood, angry with himself for having failed to rise when Mehrunes entered the room, for when servants or others were about, they forwent protocol, but now they were alone.
"My apologies, my lord," he automatically sounded.
"I have been lenient, Horace, even if I am no fan of formality. Never forget that I am a prince, and you a low ranking aristocrat." How could I? "Have a seat. I'm not here to lecture you on your behavior," Mehrunes continued with a scoff. "I've come to remind you that the moon will be perfect in four days, and then we'll part ways, but not before I decide on your reward. Your services will not be forgotten if they're fruitful, human."
"Thank you, my lord. I am honored." Mehrunes snorted in disbelief.
"Your lies are such honey," the prince mused with a dark smile. "But don't be foolish, Horace. I may soon leave, but with the sphere back in my possession, I'll be more powerful than ever. The imperial line won't stand a chance, and Ruined Cloak will periodically visit the city to continue his assignments. You will house him."
"Yes, my lord." But Horace had never heard such a repulsive suggestion in his life. "Will we soon seize our enemies then, my lord?"
"But of course," Mehrunes grinned. "I always like to get in the first punch."
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I'm sorry for the long break in updating! I'll do my best to keep the wait shorter next time, and anyway, enjoy and leave your comments. Also, I realize that the scene with Tamil might seem a bit more in depth than necessary, but I like sliding in pieces of her past, and I'm considering spinning a much shorter tale on her and Ralyn when I'm finished with this story. Consider it me testing the waters for how I like the two characters interacting, and maybe some of you have comments on it as well.
