Chapter 40: The Blood Falls
"Either I've caught a thief, or my Blade has returned." Arelius stepped into the darkened kitchen and allowed his eyes to adjust to the shadows, the windows having been shuttered and locked for the night. "Thinking about your favorite opponent?" he asked, moving to stand behind Tamil. The woman's back was facing him as she sat at the kitchen counter, fork lightly scraping a plate as she shoveled fried potatoes into her mouth. His eyes flickered over the bandage wrapped around her palm, but he quickly dismissed the possibility of a serious injury.
"He's human," Tamil said. "So that's one less complication for me to worry about." She finished her impromptu meal and turned in her chair, arms resting casually on her knees as she smiled. "Have you any idea what time it is, sir?"
"Far too late or early depending on how you look at it," he replied. She seemed amused by his casual trousers and loose tunic, for he rarely presented himself so informally, but he'd been in bed. It was Lucretia's spell that had alerted him to an intruder, else he would have stayed awake waiting for this report rather than sleeping. "Where have you been, besides the sewers?"
"I did not mean to keep you waiting, sir," Tamil apologized. "But I wanted to investigate my 'favorite opponent' as you so call him. Turns out that the fetcher drinks blood and practices some sort of arcane blood rites. He's not undead, but he comes damn close."
"I've seen a lot," Arelius contemplated. "But I've never heard of such a thing. Are you still confident that you can handle him?" Tamil quickly nodded, the spark back in her eyes.
"He won't escape me another time," came her confident promise. "After consulting an old friend, I went back to the sewers to lay some of my old tricks. Now I'm waiting for your command." Arelius knew that the woman was capable, but as he examined her hardened, determined face, he considered that she too was becoming too emotionally entangled in this job. Portia was already guarding against emotional responses, but Tamil was less cautious than her fellow Blade when it came to personal safety. She would see the ax falling and try to run beneath it rather than slowing to a halt, and Arelius knew that one day it would cost her.
"We're going after Mehrunes and Horace," he told her.
"Mehrunes and Horace?" she immediately questioned, posture straightening in interest.
"Cassius is an assumed name and body. Portia is convinced that he's Mehrunes, and I must agree that the evidence is compelling."
"And does a daedric prince bleed and die like everything else?" Tamil asked, voice low and uncertain as she stood. "I've heard that daedra are merely reborn and never die, but an actual god...? What are you planning to do, sir?"
"Arrest the two of them and see what happens. We can execute the Dawn members for treason, and as for the prince...if we force him to return to Oblivion, we'll have accomplished our task, but I'd be willing to try lobbing his head off along with Horace's. The evidence that you gathered from the basement will be enough for the watch commander to side with us on all matters, so I must congratulate you on that."
"We move tomorrow then," Tamil guessed.
"We move as soon as the blood drinker is removed. I can't use normal Blades or guards to arrest or hold Horace and Mehrunes until that man is killed. You know how skilled he is, and I won't needlessly throw away lives. Putting guards up against that would be completely irresponsible. You go to kill the man with first light when a night prowler like himself won't expect it, and once he's dead, I'll take care of the rest."
"Any directives on method?" Tamil probed, voice hanging expectantly.
"I believe that you know how best to handle the situation," Arelius admitted. She had experience in disposing of people that he lacked, and he'd already decided to give her free reign in this execution. "No witnesses, but I don't need to tell you that." He could almost feel Tamil morphing into a more aggressive and crueler person as she stood, her mind no doubt fixed on the dawn. This side of her was what had made his superior question the decision to accept Tamil, but through the years, Arelius had learned that the hard, calculating edge of an experienced killer was little different than his own behavior when hunting an enemy. They both accepted violence when necessary and would strike with preemptive bloodshed. He merely used the law and the emperor's sanction to justify his actions.
"I'm going to lure him into the sewers and finish him there," Tamil stated, almost whispering into the dark. "I'll return when finished, sir."
"Be careful, Tamil. If you're injured down there, help will be a long time coming, and if you stumble into a canal, we'll likely never even find your remains. You're on your own." He didn't allow his voice to soften or convey his genuine concern for her welfare as he extended a hand to clasp hers in a farewell gesture. "The Nine guide you, Blade."
"And you, sir. I'll not fail." She departed, and Arelius returned to bed, although he did not fall asleep. The next few hours would either be a great achievement or a tragic loss.
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"Four days, my lord," Ruined Cloak reminded the pacing prince, who twirled a dagger as the night hours drew to a close. "We know where we need to strike, and I yearn for your blessing to dispatch our enemies." Mehrunes stopped walking and turned to look at his servant, a slow, methodical rhythm set to his knife-work. He had long been waiting for this moment.
"I will be the one to seize Portia," he sharply reminded Ruined Cloak.
"I am well aware of that, my lord. I would never dream of touching one reserved for yourself, but there is another whose blood I crave."
"The dunmer," Mehrunes knowingly voiced.
"She is with them, my lord, and she will attempt to stop you from taking Portia. She might even return here for retribution." Mehrunes didn't really give a damn if the elf came after Horace once he was gone, but he did pause to consider Ruined Cloak's unspoken suggestion.
"You want her very badly, don't you?" he seriously asked, watching as Ruined Cloak's hooded head bowed slightly in acknowledgment. "Then she is yours. Consider it a reward for your services, but don't wait here. You suspect that she stays close to Arelius and Portia, so go find her. I want her dead so that she cannot interfere with my plans. Bring me proof of her death by tonight, before sunset, because I won't be here afterwards." He had plans to find and permanently detain Portia once darkness fell, for once the elf was gone, he knew of no one that would cause problems. Arelius could try, but the man had shown no inclination for breaking the law or violence as of yet.
"My lord, I am most gracious."
"How could I not honor another man's bloodlust?" the prince asked, lips twitching upward. "Enjoy her, mortal, and if you should kill others in Arelius's household while you are hunting her, I've no complaints. Just don't lead Arelius or his lackeys here."
"My lord." Ruined Cloak bowed and quickly departed with his customary silence and stealth, leaving Mehrunes to continue pacing. The last vestiges of night still gripped the city, and that gave his servant plenty of time to catch the enemy stronghold unawares. With any luck, the death toll would be high and force the Blades to retreat for a few days. That would give him ample opportunity to revel in the revelation that he would soon visit upon Portia. He hoped that she decided to fight rather than run, for he'd hate for her to disappoint him now.
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Tamil stood at the top of the stairs, and cracked a doorway open to stare into darkness. The sewers were quiet, and so was Horace's basement, for even rats avoided this area. She could imagine why as she risked stepping inside, knowing that any noise could draw out her prey. Maybe he was asleep, which would explain the lack of candles or lanterns, but as she dared to move deeper into the basement, she found no one. The entire floor was deserted, meaning that her plan to injure her enemy and then lure him into combat wouldn't work. Where the hell could he be?
Tamil retreated back to the sewers, wavering between waiting to see if the dark figure returned, or looking for him elsewhere, but where would he have gone in newly born daylight? She'd only ever encountered him at night, and at odd hours, convincing her that he was most active after sundown, but this...
She moved into another chamber and eyed three different archways. Each led to a different section of the city's underbelly, and if her enemy had left the basement, he'd have been forced to choose one of them. There was simply no other underground exit from Horace's manor, and so she moved to the first archway, finding a thin string that she'd loosely strung across the center of the doorway to still be intact. The next was also intact, as she well knew, for she'd ducked beneath it in coming here, having entered the sewers from the Market District where the sound of a moving grate was less likely to be heard by nearby residents. That left the last doorway, and Tamil's red eyes narrowed dangerously when she noticed the string laying on the ground. No rat had done that, for she'd strung the thread too high for them to reach.
Damn it. He wouldn't...
Tamil began running as she tracked her broken strings, each fallen thread marking a clear trail through the subterranean world with its echoing corridors and filthy, slick pathways. She already had her dagger unsheathed, and worried less about stealth as she moved at breakneck speed, her instincts telling her that something was very, very wrong. These corridors only led in one direction, and that was toward the aristocratic, residential areas of the city.
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Lucretia folded the last shirt and gently tucked it into a large box. The children had been ordered to remain with their grandparents for another week and a half, and she needed to send them heavier clothing for that time. The cool air would be biting through their thin cloaks by now, and the last thing she wanted was for them to catch a cold and be confined to bed while on a trip. Sick children were a full time job, and her boys more than others given their propensity for troublemaking when trapped in enclosed spaces for any length of time. Forcing that on her parents seemed rather cruel.
"I'm sure that the boys aren't causing too much trouble, my lady," her favorite maid assured. The old woman was helping to bring winter clothing out of storage.
"I should hope so. My father is an old stickler for punishment, and he does not deal with their shenanigans very well." The servant shook with laughter as she opened a wardrobe and began removing thin dresses. It was a lovely morning for work, with the morning sun helping to heat the room and brightly shining through the open windows.
"I remember when they threw flour all over the kitchen last fall," the maid recounted. "I could have killed the little terrors. Of course, I mean no offense, my lady."
"None taken. They can get out of hand when Arelius is away from home for long periods. Take this stack of clothing downstairs to the basement. There should be a crate that's already opened and half-filled."
"As you wish." The servant disappeared with her charge, and Lucretia finished tying her package shut with a distant smile, the edges of which were tainted with worry. She would never show or admit it before the staff, but she wanted her boys home as much as she wanted them away in the countryside. People were still watching the house, but less often as of late, and she only over sensed two individuals now. In her experience, reprieves like this were often deceptive, for the enemy might be slackening their vigil because they were closer to what they wanted. One servant girl had already been killed, giving much of the staff and that dear servant boy reason to watch their backs. Best that they did, for in this place, innocent mistakes could mean death.
Lucretia spun around and strolled to the window, her blue gown brushing the floor as she moved, and one hand moving to straighten the twine belt at her waist. She unconsciously put an extra swing into her hips to make her gait more feminine and striking, even in private, and she knew that she looked beautiful as the morning sun greeted her. She rarely awoke this early, for it was a time of day when only servants and workers were active, but Arelius had risen earlier than usual, and she with him. Now he was at the commander's office, preparing a cell for new and dangerous arrivals.
"And the sun rose to warm the earth," she recited. "But it's warmth was fleeting—always turning its back when the day was done." She wished that her spells could work during the day, but a barrier or detect life spell was all but useless when the entire household was up and moving. People were constantly in and out of the building, and Tamil might swing in an odd entrance at any hour, making for unnecessary alarms. During the day, she was forced to solely rely on eyes and ears.
Creak.
Lucretia's eyes darted to the door, which had begun to swing shut of its own accord, and she moved to prop it open. The heavy wood was always swinging shut on her. She simply had to get it fixed, or so she told herself for the umpteenth time as she pushed it outward against the hallway wall before returning to her wardrobe.
Boots, cloaks, velvet dresses, gloves...there should be a chest of shawls somewhere...
Creak.
"That door," she complained, hearing it close yet again. "I swear. The servants never know if they can enter or not with that thing." She moved to open it yet again, a bit annoyed with the situation, and prepared to call on a servant to fetch a doorstop, but the words never left her mouth. The door hit the wall, and her lips parted in surprise, a gasp escaping her as a figure cloaked entirely in black blocked her vision. Even his hands were gloved—every inch of flesh concealed.
"Who are...?" A hand closed around her throat and forced her backward into the room as the door closed with a shrill creak behind them. Lucretia fought for air, futilely clawing at the figure's arms as her feet stumbled backward, and then her back hit the edge of a circular table, the wood pressing painfully into her spine. Her fingers reached beneath her attacker's hood to scratch the man's eyes, hoping to blind such a vulnerable area and make him release her, but he merely used his free hand to swat hers aside.
"Where is the dunmer?" an even, almost monotone voice asked, the figure bringing his hidden face close to hers. "Tell me and I won't make you suffer." His leather gloves were cool against her throat, his fingers much stronger than she would have guessed from his slender build, and she knew that he could easily crush her throat with one hand. She feared that he meant to do just that as her windpipe was forced shut, but then his grip loosened enough for her to answer, and Lucretia frantically searched her mind for a spell that would remove him from her.
"Leave now, and my husband won't tear your limbs off," she hissed through her sore throat. She could see nothing beneath the hood, but she could smell the man's breath, and it reeked of blood.
"Woman," the man warned, a dagger dropping out of his sleeve and into his right hand. "I can make this very slow."
"There is no dunmer here," Lucretia boldly lied. "They're uncouth imports from Morrowind, and I would never have them staying at my home." The knife came up to her left cheek, the tip resting right against the corner of her eye, and then slowly sliding down toward her jawline, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. The cut wasn't deep, but it burned, an itching sensation creeping into her skin and making her want to claw at her own face, but she would not. Her head was held as high as she could manage as the knife reached her chin, the tip painfully twisting into her skin. And the man, he merely cocked his head to the side, as if intrigued by her response, and moved the knife to her stomach. The point pressed into the smooth fabric of her dress, easily severing threads as he opened a slit in the clothing. Creamy flesh peaked out from beneath it, and now the knife was resting gently against her bare body.
"You will tell me where the elf is," he carefully enunciated, as if nothing else could possibly happen.
"Fine," Lucretia swallowed, one of her hands moving behind the folds of her dress to grope for the object that she knew lay on the table behind her. "But only if you let me live." The knife pressed into her stomach, sinking in by but an inch as she resisted the urge to squirm. It would only widen the wound, and she was so very close to...
"My lady, look what I found!" The door flew open to reveal Pyrus, the boy's hands cupped to cradle a baby bird, but his joyful expression quickly turned to horror as he stared at Ruined Cloak, who stared back "Help! Portia! Portia! He has a knife!" Lucretia took her chance and whipped a candelabra into the air, the heavy metal coming down hard on Ruined Cloak's head as she pushed him away.
"Run, Pyrus!" she yelled, lifting her dress and running for the door. "Run!" But a hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her backward with such force that her eyes watered. She began reciting a spell, but was thrown to the floor, and she could feel the man standing over her, his dark presence seeping into her bones like a winter chill. On hands and knees, she looked up to see Pyrus frantically yelling for help as he ran down the hallway, and then the door began to slowly close, the creak tearing at her ears as pain overtook her body.
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Portia heard a scream as she dashed down the hall, her sword out and ready as panicked hands tore open the door to Lucretia's bedroom. There was a cloaked man there, one of his hands holding Lucretia off of the floor by the front of her dress, and the other thrusting a dagger deep into the woman's stomach. Portia watched the blade disappear into flesh as Lucretia's eyes widened in pain, blood running from her mouth, and hands beating weakly against the man's chest.
"Get away from her!" Portia roared, fear gnawing at her as she heedlessly threw herself at the cloaked man. He dropped Lucretia and dodged the wild, thoughtless blow that Portia sought to deliver, moving with unnatural speed for a human as she took another swing.
"I cannot touch you," the man stated, sounding utterly calm as he lifted a hand. There were unfamiliar words in Portia's ears, and then her vision deserted her, the sudden plunge into darkness sending her reeling in confusion. "You bear another's mark."
"Come near us and die!" Portia yelled, holding her sword aloft, but unmoving lest she do more damage to friend than foe in her current state. She didn't even have time to wonder if the blindness was permanent as she helplessly turned in circles, but there was no sound, and no one moved to attack her. She could only assume that the enemy had fled, and then she heard the heavy breathing on the floor near her feet.
"Lucretia!" Her sword clattered to the floor, and she fell to her knees, hands groping outward until they located the woman's body. She pressed palms against the wound in Lucretia's abdomen as true panic began to seize her, her breeches soaking up fallen blood as she worked. This was someone who had housed her without question, helped her, protected her, and there hadn't been a single complaint about the dangers that Portia's presence presented. Now...Portia could barely think as she felt warm blood seep through her fingers, and her throat constricted as she fumbled to tear a piece of Lucretia's dress to bind the wound.
"Is she okay?" a small, scared voice asked from behind her.
"Oh my god!"
"Fetch a healer, a potion, anything!" Portia ordered. "Find Arelius." Gods, but Arelius would be coming back soon. Would Lucretia live long enough to see him? Portia felt tears fall as she thought of costing the man his wife. Gilthan was already gone, and now this. At least there'd been no family to deal with when her friend had died, but this...
"Damn it!" Tamil's voice loudly cursed, and Portia heard a loud crash, as if a table had been overturned. "Fetching son of a bitch! Damn! Damn! Damn!"
"Lucretia," Portia spoke. "We're going to get you help. Just hang on a little while longer." There was no response as her fingers fumbled to clasp the other woman's shaking hands. Why was it always those least involved that suffered the most?
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Lucretia was laying on her bed, a blanket tucked up around her waist as her breath came in shallow bursts. Her cheek was discolored by poison, and she could barely lift her arms, but she was alive, and even with a face pale as fresh snow, she managed to lightly smile at her husband. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand enclosed over hers, and the other softly stroking her loose, black hair. The action seemed to calm her, as she titled her head into his touch, and every few minutes, Arelius would retrieve a warm, damp cloth from a basin beside the bed, and soothingly wash the wounds left tender by a healing potion.
Three potions, and one healer, Portia regretfully recounted. She walked into the room with two steaming mugs, the first herbal tea, and the second warm cider for Arelius. The servants could have brought it, but Portia couldn't stand the thought of merely sitting in her room while Lucretia wavered between life and death. The woman was incredibly weak from both the treatments and the attack, but four hours had seen her eyes open and a request for water. In that entire time, Arelius had not left her side once.
"I'll leave these here," Portia softly commented, refusing to make eye contact with Arelius as she set down the mugs. Then she retreated to the door as quickly as possible, pulling it shut behind her, and heading to her own bedroom. Tamil was nowhere to be seen, but the elf was in a fit of agitation the likes of which Portia had never seen. The dunmer had literally begged Arelius to allow her to leave and find the culprit, but his refusal had been sharp. No one was in any position to enter mortal combat on such recklessly hungry emotions.
Arelius, Portia sadly thought, leaning her forehead against her bedroom door as she shut it. Lucretia had almost died, and all due to her presence here. That man would never have come here if not for the chaos sphere, although he had refused to fight her. Another's mark, she recalled, one hand moving to rest on her scarred hip. So he had specifically come to hurt the others. Would he return?
"I can't stay here," Portia breathed, voice constrained as the sphere sent a soft warmth through her body, but even it could not distract her. She grabbed a bag and shoved numerous belongings into it before slinging it over her shoulder and marching downstairs.
"Where are you going, my lady?" a servant asked.
"I'm leaving." She was on the street in no time, unsure of where she was heading, but content to wander for the time being. She knew of no one that would offer a place to stay, and she would refuse them even if they did offer, but perhaps she didn't need a roof above her head. She could leave the city all together, and leave Mehrunes grappling for her location. Arelius would hunt down their enemies, especially after the attack on his wife, and since he knew where Horace and Mehrunes were, her presence was no longer needed. Yes, perhaps...
You didn't even apologize to him, Portia.
She stopped walking and blankly stared ahead of her, eyes unseeing as people passed her. She hadn't said a word to Arelius since he'd returned home to find his wife in the throes of death—not one, single word. But what would she say?
"Portia!" She spun, immediately recognizing Tamil as the dunmer came racing after her down the street. "What do you think you're doing?" The elf's red eyes were still fired, and she sounded more than a bit annoyed with her companion as Portia steeled herself for a confrontation. Tamil looked ready to lash out at anyone who messed with her.
"I can't stay there anymore, Tamil. You saw what happened."
"Don't be stupid," the elf vehemently protested. "I was the one to draw that bastard out, not you, and Lucretia wants to speak with you."
"She's already talking?" Portia asked, relieved. "How's Arelius?"
"You can come see for yourself."
"Tamil..."
"I'll drag you back, Portia, and whether or not you're conscious doesn't matter to me. Arelius told me to bring you back, and that's what I'm going to do, so get your ass moving. Lucretia needs to rest, but she insists on seeing you first." Portia knew that Tamil wouldn't ignore orders, and refusing the elf would be downright dangerous, comrades or not. Slowly, she nodded and followed the dunmer back toward the house. For a split second, the edge of her vision caught a dark, velvet dress on a tall, slim figure that looked decidedly out of place in this area, but then the woman was gone. Had someone in such attire really just gone into an alley? Portia dismissed the sight and the strange magic that she felt in the air as her feet drearily treaded onward, back toward the people who were suffering for her sake. Behind her, a lone mage watched her go, cursing that she'd just missed the perfect opportunity.
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"He stabbed me in the stomach when he could have finish me with a slice of my throat," Lucretia dully spoke, voice faint. "What a cruel man."
"We should be thankful that he wanted you to die slowly, or you wouldn't be here," Arelius soothed, sadly studying the black and green colors marring the cut on his wife's beautiful face. She seemed to sense his gaze, for she made a strange, choked sound within her throat that could have been a sigh.
"Will my cheek fully heal?" she whispered.
"Your face and vanity will recover, my love," Arelius lovingly smiled.
"You and your jokes," she weakly reprimanded, although she almost smiled. He was stroking the back of her hand with his fingertips, caressing her skin to comfort her as her eyes slid shut of their own accord. "Will she come?"
"She will," he assured. "Portia has a difficult time being involved in incidents like this, but she will come. Her sense of responsibility won't let her ignore your summons. She may have grown more independent and disillusioned over the years, but some things don't change." Lucretia made no response, tired as she was, but there was a knock at the door, and Arelius invited the person inside. He was not surprised to see Portia standing there, blood from wrapping Lucretia's stomach still staining the front of her shirt and the knees of her pants.
"Portia," he greeted, standing. "My wife wishes to speak with you." He walked closer to her and, without permission, grabbed the strap of her bag and pulled it from her shoulder. "You will not be needing this, Blade. Your duties are still here." She looked ready to flinch at his words, but instead, she met his gaze with only a moment's hesitation.
"I was doing what I thought best."
"Disappearing is never the best option. I'd have thought that you'd already learned that." Now her eyes lowered, and he hadn't seen her this open to his chastisement in a long time. He did not mean to sound hard, but he would not be soft on her for nearly making the same mistake twice. When Gilthan had died, she'd seemed to handle it exceptionally well, but this...he took in her beseeching, green eyes, and then laid a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, sir," she told him, eyes trailing over to the bed.
"There is nothing to apologize for," he told her, voice melting into a calming, steady tone. "What happened was beyond anyone's control. Rest easy, Portia. I have been blessed to see my family prosper unmolested for even this long." He stepped back to wait at a distance as the woman then approached his wife, sitting on the edge of the bed where he had been a moment before. He could barely make out the quiet conversation, but it reached him in the silent room, and his heart swelled with appreciation as his wife seemed to reach Portia in a way that he, in his station, could not.
"I'm sorry for bringing this to your home, Lucretia," Portia apologized. "I think it would be best if I leave so that nothing else happens."
"No." That seemed to catch Portia off guard as Lucretia's eyes fluttered open. "We will not cower." One of her hands found Portia's and gave a light squeeze. "I will not look weak for anyone—not a killer, not a god—and neither should you. Scars, Portia. What right do I have to avoid a single one when you and Arelius bleed for the empire?"
"I'm not doing this for the empire," Portia corrected her.
"You do it for people then—for yourself. It doesn't matter. They must never think that they've broken us. You will stay in this house." As if to confirm her words, Arelius was at the door, ordering a servant to take Portia's bag back to her room. Then he turned to find both women looking at him, but Lucretia only barely as her eyelids again threatened to close.
"What would you have me do, sir?" Portia asked, face downturned but stern.
"When was the last time you arrested someone?"
