There are Lythandases hanging on one of the walls of Frostcrag, and no, I don't mean I nailed a family of Dunmer to them… this time. They're divine works commemorating the Oblivion Crisis and associated troubles, reminders of what I've been trying to stop. They're also fakes, since I borrowed the brush and painted them myself. Technically, all of Rythe's works are also fakes—the Brush of Truepaint is doing most of the work—and the true painter is Dibella.

Yeah… I think we're better off pretending Rythe is a talented painter. Who knows what might happen if it became known that one of the Nine Divines (or her hair) painted all those works?

Anyway, there are pieces depicting the major events of the Oblivion Crisis, Umaril's Uprising, the Greymarch, and so on and so forth. They're just a bunch of insignificant pictures, but apparently, the intruder looking at them thought otherwise.

"The Dragonborn's Sacrifice… huh, I never knew Lythandas was there." He paused, holding up a finger to stop me. "On the open market, it would fetch fifteen hundred gold easily. Double, if you sold it to a collector. If only you weren't so lazy."

"Well, hello to you too, sir," I said. "They're ready?"

"Yes," he stated, "and they've been ready for the past three days. When are you planning to take the hwa—"

"All right, let's not get ahead of ourselves," I reminded my visitor. "At the moment, a few hundred Nord soldiers are pushing north from the Silverfish, up the Yellow Road. Our part's coming up soon." I removed a bag from a chest and handed it to him. "Your pay, sir. The advance for your second mission is included. You ready for it?"

"Make it quick. Who could you want that dead?" The Redguard asked as he opened the bag and inspected the gems and gold within.

"At this point, half the damned world," I half-joked, "but even I can't afford that; I'm not the government. No, this isn't a Brotherhood or Tong accounting or anything; not exclusively, at least. I just need the goods hidden at Cedrian after we secure it. Is that possible?"

He scoffed. "Anything's possible, but are you planning on taking your sweet time again?"

"For a man in your profession, sir, you sure are damned impatient these days." I remarked.

"And for an idol of youths, you certainly curse a lot," he retorted. "Do I have to spell it out for you? The longer this conflict drags on, the more money it costs me. Gold doesn't grow on trees!"

Good old Jon, a very short-tempered and unpredictable man in these chaotic times. Not that a trader and economist like him doesn't have reason to be mad, but he's no ordinary man;

he's a major financier of this war.

He's also an associate of Wulf and Madame Nin, two of my other backers. But that's a different story.

"You're moving too slow," he warned. "Either we start seeing results, or—"

"Or what, Jon?" I interrupted. "You'll repossess my Realm? Please. Believe me, I've tried to sell; ain't no one stupid enough to buy. Madness moves at its own pace, not yours. Be patient. Your investment will pay off."


I warped out of Frostcrag Spire and into the charred ruins of the Bruma Mages Guild. Why, I didn't know; maybe it's that I'm too stupid to label the teleporters. The place still hasn't been rebuilt, what with the reconstruction efforts in Kvatch and the Imperial City taking precedence. Almost immediately, I remembered why I rarely teleport here voluntarily.

A wooden beam fell and struck me on the back of my armored head. Wait, that was a staff—oh, not good!

"You are a fool for coming here, Sheogorath," my attacker warned. The voice was deep and heavily distorted, yet the local accent made it somehow familiar. "This war doesn't concern you. Abandon your delusions and go home while I still allow it."

I rolled, kicked his legs out from under him, and hit him with a paralysis spell. I'd learned from fighting Mannimarco to neutralize all threats before engaging in unnecessary conversation. It's still not second nature for me, but like I said, I'm learning.

Once the situation wasn't so dangerous, I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. It was time to loot this fool's armor; there was no need to kill him myself when the freezing cold would do my job for me. I tried to pry his helmet off… but fell back from a powerful electric shock as my hands touched the ebony.

The electrified armor, the distinctive emblems, the familiar voice… now I recognized him! So much about him had changed, but underneath it all, my attacker was none other than the vigilante responsible for all the opium smuggler killings in the Highlands—the one I'd personally evaluated and hired two years ago. I scoffed, shook my head, and left in disgust. There was no loyalty these days!

Guards had surrounded the structure, probably drawn by the scuffle. I jerked a thumb at the door as I strode past them. "In there, guys," I said, not bothering to explain further.


I ran to the Imperial City like I'd done some major skooma. I think I even ran Shadowmere off the Red Ring as she was taking one of the greenhorns to a job. It was time to fetch Gooey and the mages.

Finding them was easy. Gooey had a match against a challenger, and my students loved to watch the Blues' young champion take down people twice his size with his bare hands. Simple deduction placed them all in the Arena.

Or, at least, he was in the Arena.

I watched in disbelief as my apprentices filed out with heavy sacks of money in their hands. Damn. He'd won already.

As usual, I didn't find Gooey; he found me. Kid would've made a great scout, but putting food on the table comes first.

"Get down!" he whispered as he dragged me behind some crates. "If my fans see you, they'll know I'm nearby." A chameleoned finger pointed at my students. "You see the Orc and the Khajiit in the green robes? They're the 'adoring' fans I've been telling you about."

Say what?

"You mean Rughash and his thugs?" I asked. "About that… they're my students."

He gave me a weird look. "Eh?"

I tried to refresh his memory. "The Arcane University?" No luck. "The other fools on our team?"

"Oh." Then the words sank in. "Oh, HELL, no!"

My thoughts exactly, boy.


"Let's skip the introductions for now, shall we?" I asked the gathering. "I mean, all of you know Gooey here, and while he may not know you by name, you can believe Gooey knows you all."

We'd gone to the former Umbacano Manor for our meeting. Sure, it was a Thieves Guild safehouse and drop-off point for goods that "fell off the back of a cart," but officially, it was the residence of a successful Bosmer teenager.

Yes, Gooey is also a member of the Thieves Guild. I would've been insane to let his talent for camouflage go to waste. Wait…

"Let's get down to business," I continued. "You may not have heard, but there's a force of Nords massed on the east bank of the Niben and making its way north. In total, it's about company strength, but they're well-equipped—we're talking ebony and above gear here. Also, they have Daedric support—Golden Saints and Dark Seducers."

A gloved hand—paw—of my Khajiit apprentice shot up. "This one has questions."

"Go ahead," I said.

"What is company strength?" he asked.

Oops. I'd forgotten that Tamriel uses a different table of organization. Call it two hundred personnel… and a cohort is around four-eighty…

"A little less than half a cohort," I replied. "No more than two hundred men, even if you count the Daedra."

"Two hundred of them against us?" Gooey crooked a brow at me. "I appreciate your faith in us, but please, count me out. Even I'm not stupid enough to fight that many Nords at the same the time."

"Fight them?" I asked. "I think there's been a misunderstanding here. Those are our allies. We're going to rendezvous with them, not fight them."

"Oh, good," Rughash sighed in relief. "For a minute there, I thought you'd gone crazy. Nords, you say? They'll get the job done."

"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" I continued. "Those Aedra-heads we're up against? There are an estimated nine thousand of them. Most likely more. And they're all coming to pay 'Saint Martinus' a visit. The good news is they're making individual pilgrimages here—most are still scattered across Tamriel."

"Oh, joy." Gooey buried his head in his palms. "More cliff racers masquerading as people. You weren't kidding about the partisan warfare. Shall I open the liquor cabinets now?"

"Yeah, I think it would be best if you did," I muttered.