Chapter 42: Welcome Back
He was as fast as she remembered, but Tamil judged her timing perfectly. Each blast of magic was dodged, the spells tearing apart the inside of Horace's house, and furniture offering convenient protection from physical attacks. She was biding her time in hopes that the wound to his stomach would drain and leave him open to assault, but as she parried one of his thrusts and smashed a vase onto her enemy's head, he barely seemed fazed.
Crack!
"Horace won't thank you for that," she commented, seeing the table that the cloaked man had pushed aside. How the hell could he still be moving so fast when he was losing blood?
"You're running out of places to run, elf," he stated, slow, measured steps prowling closer. His ease did not sit well with Tamil, and she both admired and hated his ability to change pace so quickly. One moment he was savagely assaulting her, and the next he melted into a thoughtful, sneaky stance, his figure almost disappearing at times in the dark rooms. Tamil thanked the gods that she had plenty of experience in fighting under such circumstances.
Red eyes shifted to the short sword in her hands—the only weapon that remained in her possession, for this inhuman opponent had already disarmed her once, and she'd thrown all her daggers. How long had they been fighting? She could feel the physical strain of their combat as she considered the nearby stairs, constantly moving as she reviewed her options.
This man was stronger than her, and just as fast, but he was also confident of his win. He would chase her wherever she went, and although she didn't consider retreating for even a moment, she knew that something had to be done, for the numerous small cuts that peppered her body were beginning to drain her. If only she could have him follow her somewhere more conducive, or somewhere that she could surprise him. If he was prone for just one second...
"Blood loss will eventually take its toll, necromancer," Tamil hissed. She charged, exchanging a few swings with him before pivoting and running for the kitchen. This was so simple that it might actually work.
*******************
"He can't be found anywhere, sir," the guard stated, standing at attention as Arelius looked out toward the rest of the city. Horace was securely locked away, but Cassius was still missing, his men having futilely searched the whole of Talos district to find the daedra.
"Look again," he ordered. "And be discreet." He didn't want to disturb the people who so solemnly went about the holiday, and the flames of their devotion reflected off of his polished breastplate as he stopped to consider the candles that lined the base of Talos' statue. For such a mesmerizing night, he could not find it in himself to think beyond finding Mehrunes. And Portia, he added. She hadn't shown at the prison, and now he had additional men searching for her.
"Sir, shall all of us search the district again?" a man asked.
"No," came the curt reply. "I want four of you to come with me." He highly doubted that Mehrunes was in Talos, especially since the man was known for shunning the advances of courtly women. If they were lucky, the daedra had already called it quits and left the city, but Portia's absence did not bode well for that idea. Both she and the prince were missing, and Tamil had warned him of the fixation that Cassius seemed to have with his Blade. No, he was intuitively sure that something had gone terribly wrong. He would go to Horace's home and see if there was any evidence of the two having been there, and beyond that, he could only pray that the gods and tenacity would lead him in the right direction.
******************
Tamil entered another room at breakneck speed, her pursuer's footsteps directly behind her, and grimly smiled as she prepared to put her plan into action. They were back in the living room, and she sprinted forward as if heading for the kitchen, but instead, she slammed to a jarring halt, body twisting to lift a small, side table as her momentum nearly carried her beyond it. She didn't even stop to gauge how close her enemy was, but simply lifted the table and swung it with a force and speed that would deny reaction time.
Crack.
Wood connected with a forearm, the table shuddering as the cloaked man barely managed to blunt a strike that would have hit his skull. Damn, Tamil cursed, angry that her plan hadn't gone completely according to plan, but she still saw an opening. Ruined Cloak had only just caught the table when her free hand slashed downward with her sword, the blade slicing deep into the man's shoulder, and continuing down across his robes and chest. She could not be sure of the wound's depth, but no one could walk away from something like that. No one would survive unless receiving immediate medical attention, and she would deny this man such a nicety.
"How's that, you..." Tamil gasped, the table dropping from her grasp as she quickly stumbled backward, one hand clutching the knife that was buried in her chest, its blade resting directly beneath the sternum. Ruined Cloak made a sharp, dismayed sound as he too pulled away, steps no longer smooth, and hands now weaponless.
"You're done, elf," he stated, voice still a chilling monotone. "The poison will finish the job this time." Tamil was leaning against the wall, the dagger that had wounded her held loosely in one hand as she found breathing increasingly difficult. Had the slender blade gone the whole way through? She wasn't sure as she watched her failing opponent.
"So are you, necromancer," she painfully commented, satisfied that if she did not get help in time, neither would he.
"You are mistaken." Ruined Cloak turned, moving in the direction of the basement, and an image of blood and youth flashed through Tamil's mind.
No.
"Bastard," she yelled, running toward him, dagger raised. He fired a spell at her, and although she screamed, the pain didn't stop her attack. She slammed into the man, knocking him to the floor and landing on top of him as she hacked at his raised arms, seeing nothing but his blood as she ensured that he would not survive. She could already feel herself fading, but she would not suffer the humiliation of dying and losing. That could not happen to her.
Breathing heavily, she stopped fighting to stare down at Ruined Cloak's mutilated form, his arms lying uselessly on the floor, and his hood thrown back to clearly reveal his face to her for the first time. He looked so normal as his eyes shifted to stare at her, his mouth parting, and a tongue darting out to lick blood from his chin. Tamil only then realized that those crimson specks had fallen from her face where he'd scratched her, and she silently watched his tongue sweep over them.
"Just a taste," came his dying comment, and then he was gone, eyes fixed in a blank stare that still held its intensity as Tamil jerked off of him, blood running down her leg to mingle with his. Maybe she could still get help, but then again, maybe not. She'd always suspected that she'd die young, and really, it should have been years ago when Ralyn had cornered her in that inn. At least this fetcher was now dead. She'd done exactly what she'd told Arelius she would, and she was quite pleased with the painful end that Ruined Cloak had suffered.
Tamil wasn't sure how long it took, or when she stepped out onto the street, but suddenly she was slumping against the outside of Horace's house, her back sliding down the wall and leaving a bloody smear as her strength abandoned her. Candles flickered all around, and she heard someone approaching, her eyes still sharp as they darted toward the sound. Surely she would be noticed, and so help might be forthcoming, but she wasn't one to hold out for optimism.
"Ralyn?" she curiously questioned, sure that she'd caught a glimpse of the vampire as her vision swept across the street, but then there was nothing except the sound of metal boots running across stone, and she knew that it was Arelius as a man crouched beside her.
"Send for a healer!" he yelled. "And confiscate any potions from the neighbors!" Tamil rolled her eyes at his professional tone as he removed a glove and wiped blood from her face. "Tamil, can you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"We're getting help for you. Just hold on a little while longer."
"This is the most concerned that I've ever heard you speak to me," the elf replied with a slight smirk. "Not going soft are you?"
"Save your strength, Tamil." She nodded, but didn't listen as she surveyed the open and lit windows of each house. It was almost like staring into the night sky with its hundreds of stars.
"I killed him," she proudly stated. "His body is inside."
"Good work, Blade." Tamil sternly agreed, her eyes finding his.
"I never failed a mission, sir. Never."
"Never," he agreed. Tamil closed her eyes, exhausted, but still aware of Arelius's presence as the worldly noises around her began to fade. "Rest, Tamil. You've done more than your duty."
"I bet you tell that to all your Blades...make sure that you don't leave my daggers in there."
"Rest, Tamil. You've been one of the best that I've ever served with." She didn't respond as he stood and stared down at her body, which would have looked leisurely if not for the blood and gashes. Arelius had a distinct feeling that the dunmer wouldn't survive this one, and that she was in fact, already gone when her eyes closed, but he refused to pass that judgement as he walked a short ways to raise a hand and motion toward the healer that he saw running down the street. The woman's white robes billowed behind her in her haste to reach the injured.
"The cost of my duties," he lowly commented to himself. "No victory is without its cost."
"Where is she?" the healer asked.
"Here. Quickly," he stated, turning to point, but he froze as he eyes alighted to the place where Tamil had been sitting. The blood remained, but the body was gone without explanation. "Tamil?!" he called, but he knew that she could not have moved on her own. Who would have taken her, and with such stealth? Her body deserved a proper burial with all the trappings accorded to a Blade that died while performing her duty, and now she was gone, just like that. His sadness at seeing his friend and colleague pass into the next world was partially waylaid and denied by her disappearance, but his logic told him not to expect her survival—wherever she'd been taken.
"Shall we look for her, sir?" someone asked. Yes, Arelius thought and almost said, for his upbringing demanded that the burial and body be treated with respect, and whatever else Tamil had been in life, she deserved recognition for her service. Someone was obviously preventing that, but still...
"No," he gruffly ordered, feeling the weight of his work bearing down on him. "We must find Cassius and Portia. The dead can be attended to later." Even he did not like the pragmatism of his statement, and questions lingered heavily in his mind as he put on his glove. Maybe she was still clinging to life somewhere, but he knew that Tamil would be disgusted with him if he wasted valuable time searching for a dying body, even her own.
The Nine guide your soul, Tamil.
Whatever crimes and murders she had committed in life, he would never see her as anything less than one of his best and most trusted friends.
Portia's chest rose and fell, the blanket resting beneath her breasts as she dozed, and Mehrunes was partly surprised that she wasn't attempting to turn him over to her allies, but only partly. With a pensive expression, he sat in a chair beside the bed, bare feet propped on the edge of the mattress as he lounged in nothing but trousers. He was hardly tired, but even he'd been surprised by the energy that had exerted itself during his recent coupling, for the chaos spheres had crackled with power, draining the human woman and leaving her sated and sleepy. Now she broke in and out of sleep, sometimes turning to look at him with lidded eyes that made him want to crawl back in bed.
He privately smirked in the dark, feeling more than ever that she belonged solely to him, and having her sleep beneath his watch reminded him of the power that he held over her. Oh yes, he could break her now if he wished, having just used her to gratify himself, and she probably wouldn't even be surprised. She'd fight his hold on her neck, maybe even scratching at him, but never begging or asking for mercy because of what they'd done. Truly, Portia was a remarkable woman, and in her case, he supposed that he hadn't actually broken her with this. She would still refuse to bow to him, but this concession was something at least, and it stroked his ego to no end.
"He doesn't want to kill me, but what will he do?"
Mehrunes stood and moved over to the bed, dark hair falling about his shoulders as he sat on the edge and leaned over Portia. Some of her thoughts filtered into to his mind, and there was a definite shift in her aura as he ran a fingertip over her jugular—a shift that immediately recognized his presence and inadvertently entwined its energy with his own. It was an unexpected result of bedding her that their spirits overlapped so much, for he'd felt the change as he indulged in her, having been aware of it the moment that Portia had stopped resisting and could think only of him. It'd been like consuming her entire being, and that's when he'd seen the sphere.
Fingers gently lifted the orb that hung from Portia's ear, its insides swirling orange as he held but did not remove it from her. During their coupling, it had become visible, and he could tell by the line of her sight that she too had seen the one that he wore, one of her hands also reaching to touch his. It had been quite the revelation for both of them.
"Oblivion?" Portia questioned, the room they'd been in suddenly gone. Instead, they were in his bed, lost in its sheets as the red sky outside rippled with lightning, and he felt her arms tighten around him.
"Sherkyn," he breathed into her neck, face buried there as he moved, and she was oh so accommodating, shocked as she was. Was it real? He wasn't sure as he recognized his chambers, for the entire setting reeked of his magic, and even the sheets felt like folds of power, but not her. She was the only thing that contrasted with the space, but only because her own signature power was emanating from within her, and although it shared kinship with his, it wasn't exactly the same. He found that intoxicating as he breathed her in, wondering what it would be like to actually have her in his chambers.
Even now, he was drawn to her, aware that he'd made a critical mistake in bedding her, but not feeling regretful since there was always a way to get what he wanted in the end. Still...He released the earring and pondered his situation. The power that permeated the air around Portia did not come solely from the sphere, as he'd first concluded when it became visible. That would have explained everything, and yet, the power came from inside of her also, and he could now pinpoint its source at her core, which had so infused itself with daedric energy that was rightfully his alone, that taking the sphere would make small difference in the end. Part of it had imbedded itself within her, which explained why channeling the sphere's power hadn't killed her. And now...
"Damn mortal," Mehrunes huffed. The sphere had resisted her at first, even hurting her, because he'd wanted it to do so. Then he'd started to want her in ways beyond being her executioner, and the sphere had responded in kind, drawing the two together, and slowly welcoming Portia into its hold. True, she could hardly make use of the power as she wished, but for a while, he had completely dropped his guard when inside of her, and the overlap had been startlingly potent, resulting in her fatigue, for the sphere had sent more of itself into her, just as he had. He wasn't even entirely sure what he'd done to her, but he could scarcely keep her aura away from his own, and when he'd attempted to remove the sphere, it had resisted him. Resisted him!
Oh, he could physically take it from her, but its power was bound to both of them, meaning that physical possession meant little. Perhaps resistance was a poor word to use, for with the overlap between hunter and prey, Oblivion might not entirely differentiate between their spirits. The thought annoyed him to no end, and yet, there might be a way to reclaim her small partaking of his world, even if it did cut her out of his consciousness or kill her. What he needed was to concentrate and rip the essence free from her by asserting his full mastery of Oblivion, which would likely solve his problem, so long as she willingly complied. If she resisted him, he wasn't entirely sure what would happen, but then again, how could a mortal bear the brunt of his will? He'd been tamer and less overtly aggressive when in disguise, but those days were gone.
"Warm," Portia's mind whispered as he pressed his body against hers. He planted an image of Oblivion in her mind to see her reaction, and she cautiously approached it, seeing the throne room as Mehrunes imagined every detail. It had been too long since he'd roamed those hallways in his full glory, and Portia easily discerned his fondness. "You're ready to go home," she commented.
"You make it sound sentimental when it's not, mortal," he warned, as if daring her to suggest something so utterly weak and human. "But I'm ready to be out of this body."
"And here I rather liked it," she spoke aloud, eyes opening. She was clearly confused by her fatigue, but he refused to explain it as he stood and dressed. The less that she knew about her situation, the better.
"What are you trying to hide?" she asked, one hand playing with the chaos sphere beneath her hair.
"Get dressed," Mehrunes ordered, tossing clothing at her.
"Who says that I'm going anywhere?" she demanded, also standing, and Mehrunes ogled her naked form with appreciation. Dremora skin was rough and thick, but hers was soft and belied her inner strength, which he found most fitting. "You're still in mortal form, and I've already defeated you once." Mehrunes bristled, turning on her with baleful eyes at the memory of his humiliation. Admiring her skill was one thing, but having it rubbed in his face...intolerable.
"I've had beings killed for lesser offenses than that, Sherkyn," he warned. "And I suppose that you'd like to be caught naked in bed with your enemy?" Portia immediately began dressing, and he wondered if she could sense his double motive. Uncertainty as to what came next rolled off of her in waves, and she had to know that he wasn't done with her since she still had the earring. If she knew that he was taking her out of the city, she'd no doubt fight him, and he couldn't have that now, when his game was exposed.
"How very convenient," he mused. "I planned on taking you with me anyway, but with no definite way to find Ruined Cloak or even know if he's alive, you're even more instrumental." He didn't allow her time to react, for he hit her head, knocking her unconscious as he slung her over one shoulder. Striding like a hunter returning home with his kill, he joined the darkness, moving with the utmost confidence, and before long he was outside of the glowing city.
***************
This definitely wasn't her bedroom, for Portia could feel damp grass brushing her cheeks, and birds were chirping in the trees above her. Damn her body for this inexplicable fatigue, and damn Mehrunes for always forcing her into these situations. With a groan, she sat up, surveying her surroundings with both interest and apprehension as she realized that she was on a hill overlooking the imperial city. The white tower shone in the morning light, and she wondered what Arelius and Tamil were doing—whether they were looking for her or not—for she had a feeling that she could not get out of this one on her own. She wasn't sure how fast Mehrunes could run, but he wouldn't restrain his powers out in the countryside, and running the entire way back to the city would be a challenge.
What an idiotic thought, she chided herself, tenderly feeling the bruise on the side of her head where she'd been hit. I really am desperate if my only clear option is running like hell. The warmth and pleasure that she'd felt in the arms of the daedra seemed distant as she contemplated her situation, not even bothering to turn around and look at Mehrunes, for she could sense him there, his eyes devouring her. He was probably waiting to pounce when she attempted to move, but she had no intentions of giving him that satisfaction.
"Regretting your foolishness?" he asked, breaking the silence when it was clear that she would not.
"If you're asking whether I regret sleeping with you or not, then no, I don't," she immediately answered. After weeks of circling each other, their joining had felt natural, as if doing so had affirmed the strange affinity that they'd come to share. Nor did his demanding nature in bed disturb her, for he was a daedra, and she well understood his drive to dominate and own her, which was the instinct that had driven them to a mattress to begin with. As far as her part, she could admit that she'd wanted to have physical influence over him, and to know that he had maddeningly wanted both her body and soul had been oddly alluring. In short, their encounter made sense to her, even if she couldn't articulate what had led to their union, or the fact that it could so boldly exist while they still struggled against one another.
"What are we doing out here?" she asked, feeling naked without a weapon.
"We haven't concluded our business yet," Mehrunes drawled, and she heard his footfalls drawing closer. He grabbed her by the back of the neck and lifted her into a standing position, making her glare in protest as she detached his hand from her person. He had no right to manhandle her!
"Our business?" Portia questioned. "You came for the sphere, but you haven't taken it from me even though it's right here. There's nothing that I can do to stop you from reclaiming it."
"Would you give it to me willingly?" he probed, human face serious as he regarded her.
"No," she quickly answered. "I know what you'll use it for, and I will never willingly be responsible for innocent deaths again. But how can I stop you, prince?" Her sword was strapped to his waist, and she didn't like seeing it there as something dangerous flashed through his eyes. He was thinking, and she knew it, yet she remained unsure of the frustration that boiled within him. "What aren't you telling me?"
"I'll be blunt, mortal," he replied, obviously unhappy with the situation. "The sphere cages the energy that I poured into my dimension so that it's easier for me to mold, but that energy can escape. Somehow, part of that power has leeched into you—choosing you as its host. The sphere is incomplete." Portia blanched even though she was not particularly surprised by this revelation.
"What are you saying?" she warily asked.
"I'm going to take back what you took." She stepped away from him, disliking the dark tone of his voice, as if something ominous approached. "Don't resist me, Portia. It might kill you." Then she felt it—a tugging deep inside of her that made her emotions and nerves stir uncomfortably—and she knew that he was inside of her, fishing around with unseen hands as he searched for what he'd lost. At first, there was no resistance, for she merely stood staring at the prince, who hadn't physically moved an inch toward her, and marveled at the strange sensation, but then the pain came.
Portia doubled over as something was torn, and the sphere began glowing, its hum sounding like an endless scream as she felt her insides twist in ways that shouldn't have been possible. It wasn't physical, she knew, but it felt physical, and she immediately resisted the pulling, hating the empty gap that seemed to suffuse her spirit as pieces of her were shredded. Was the sphere's influence what she was losing? She knew this empty feeling, and as Mehrunes pulled harder, she screamed and frantically grabbed at what he was attempting to take.
"Stop fighting me!" he roared, silencing the wildlife around them, but Portia couldn't stop. He was standing right in front of her, yet he seemed to become more distant with each passing second, and it unnerved her. Her spirit felt alone and cold, but the sphere infused her with heat as she fought, pleased that the energy clung to her.
I'm going to pass out, she realized, angry with herself for the weakness, but the pain was becoming unbearable. Mehrunes, stop! Why couldn't she sense his response and aura? She gave a shrill scream, and her vision exploded in orange, someone's deep curses shattering the world as she withdrew into herself, cradling the familiar presence of the sphere as she began to calm down. The pain had stopped, and she felt secure again until Mehrunes lifted her chin to make her look at him.
"Damn you," he hissed, furious. "You've become too close to Oblivion—taken too much of my world into your body. Either you give it back, or I will kill you." Portia blinked, forcing herself to stand and face him defiantly. Something was bothering her—a memory whose significance she only now placed.
"This your own fault," she tartly told him. "I felt what you did." His dark eyes shifted directly to hers, his face taut as she pressed forward. "You widened the connection, and...and sent more chaos into me. You wanted me to remain strong enough to hold my own against your force when I was laying beneath you, because you didn't want me to merely cling to you. I could hear your thoughts, Mehrunes, and I felt what you wanted."
"Are you accusing me of doing this to myself?" he ground out, fury building and fists tightening.
"You like my tie to Oblivion," Portia asserted. He grabbed her forearm and forced her closer, eyes burning dangerously as he breathed on her face.
"I'm going to give you an option, so listen carefully, Sherkyn. If you willingly return what's rightfully mine, I will allow you to stay here, in your world, but if you refuse, you're coming with me as I'd planned. I might not be able to undo what's happened, and maybe I don't want to break your ties to Oblivion, but I will not allow what is mine to be held by another. Do you understand?"
"You'd let me go?" Portia incredulously asked.
"For my power, yes," he reluctantly agreed. "But you'll never run far enough to be safe from me in the end, Sherkyn. You are mine as much as the sphere is." Having to compromise on this must have been killing him on the inside, and Portia wisely kept that thought to herself as he dangerously jostled her, as if he could force an answer from her.
"And if I don't cooperate?" she asked, earning herself a growl. "I don't know if I can let go of what's happened," she explained. "When you started ripping the sphere from me, I...I had to fight. Do you understand? Something compelled me to cling to it." Mehrunes crowded her senses as he studied her open face, for she was telling the truth and willed him to see that. She truly did not know if her spirit would allow her to simply let go of the what it'd bonded with.
"Then you are coming with me," he growled, sounding neutral, although Portia could feel his inner conflict, which raged between pleased and bloodthirsty anger. "You will help me open a gate to Oblivion, and accompany me into the Deadlands, or I will go the nearest village and kill everyone—man, woman, and child." Portia's jaw clenched, and yet, she was leaning forward against him, drawn to his spirit and knowing that she wouldn't risk the ramifications of refusing him in this instant.
"I will help you," she finally breathed, unsure if her move was for the best or not. On the one hand, she was limiting his power by keeping the sphere, and on the other, she was helping him escape justice. What kind of justice could a human court deliver on him? Yes, she supposed that this was her only and best option, and part of her felt Oblivion calling as both she and the prince began releasing the power trapped within the spheres.
There was a loud crack, and the sky flashed red, fire seemingly consuming the forest as Portia's eyes widened. Dark mountains rose in the distant, dry, craggy earth stretched beneath her feet, and heat seemed to rise from tiny cracks in the ground. Black stone, she noted, staring at the sleek sides of an obsidian wall that reflected a lava flow on its polished surface. Her stomach clenched, and she turned to find Mehrunes smiling, the prince's mood elusive and taunting as she glanced over to her shoulder and saw a green forest through a small tear in space. The opening was rapidly shutting, and she could only watch as the last view of her world was stolen from her.
"Welcome back, Lady Augustine," Mehrunes mockingly offered.
