Beware the Butcher!

Brynjolf and Léta have been in the business of crime for a very long time. Him a lot longer than her, but she didn't raise in ranks quickly for nothing. And there were two things they agreed on without question: that they had to get inside the city and leave completely unnoticed and that one way or another, the Summerset Shadows had to be dealt with before they could regroup. And dealt with permanently.

The best way to spin that for them would be to take them by surprise, for which they had to be discrete. They were taking a risk going as a pair, but the grouping did raise their chances of survival. They weren't naïve enough to believe that the Summerset Shadows were entirely useless, and one slip up could mean serious consequences.

Before they reached Windhelm, they got off their horses, leaving them near one of the farms. The sun had set an hour ago, and if all went well, they would be finished before dawn, and no one would notice them.

Next they 'borrowed' one of the tiny boats that the residents of that farm used to transport goods to the docks, and without lighting a lantern, made their way across the river. Swimming in the icy northern water was not an attractive prospect even for Argonians, who were in no less danger of freezing into original ice sculptures.

Léta never did get used to the cold of Skyrim. Small shivers ran through her body, and she kept her teeth clenched to prevent audible chattering. It was only the side-effect of inaction, though. A bit more paddling, and she'd warm up again. But it wasn't just the cold that was bothering her.

"You alright?" Brynjolf asked when they were halfway to the docks, noticing her fidgeting.

Léta looked sourly at the surface of the water, and then returned to staring at the distance. "Don't like water."

"Since-?"

"Yes." Brynjolf made a surprised huff, and let the subject drop. She would swim if her survival depended on it, but she didn't have to enjoy it. The next fifteen minutes were spent in silence. She didn't mind that- preferred it, really. People didn't ask questions or expect answers when they didn't talk.

It was safer to enter the city through the side gates that lead to the Gray Quarter- not as many witnesses, virtually no guards. The Dark Elves preferred to stay inside during the nights, just in case. It was no secret, or even an empty rumor that the Nords in Windhelm were particularly suspicious towards other races, and some took it to bitter extremes. If it ended with empty talk, there was no trouble. But sometimes one or two of the drunkards got a bit brave and righteous, and people got hurt. It was when looking at the tiny narrow streets of the slums that Léta favored the Empire over the Stormcloaks, though thieves and assassins, as a rule, preferred to stay neutral.

Their target was not in the Gray Quarters, though. Torsten's house was on the other side of the city. Two shadows traveled through the streets, keeping away from the guards and stray citizens. It wouldn't do to get noticed in their gear, and there were questions that they didn't have the time to answer. The roofs were a plausible pathway, too, though Léta still remembered when she slipped on the ice and took a long and nasty fall that broke her arm, put her in a bad position with the guards, and out of the game for a month. Traveling by streets was slower and more open, but safer.

Surprisingly, the city was dead quiet tonight. In the entire trip, they passed only two guard patrols, one drunkard that was swaggering home, and a courier getting rid of his last deliveries. The emptiness was almost unnatural.

"It's quiet," she commented very quietly when they were crossing over the cemetery. "Where is everyone? It's only been a few hours since dusk."

"There was trouble here, a few women got butchered," Brynjolf indulged. "Pretty brutal, I hear. Most will be keeping to their houses after dark."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?

"Clear streets are in our favor, lass. Why, is something-"

Léta suddenly stopped, Brynjolf turned his head to her and made a questioning gesture with his hand.

She looked back to the passage they came through, on the other end of which the windows in the Candlehearth Inn windows were lit. The priestess that took care of the dead was usually diligent enough to keep the lamps and candles lit, but tonight it was surprisingly dark here. And for once, the darkness didn't bring the comforting shelter. It felt as cold as the dead under their feet, and as deadly silent as the arc of a blade.

Something was off. Léta got the feeling that everyone was right to stay inside.

Brynjolf must have felt that unease as well, because he was suddenly tense, his hand resting on the dagger at his belt. They didn't speak a word, just looked at each other from underneath their hoods, nodded, and split up. He quickly ran between the tombstones and pressed himself into the opposite wall. If thieves expected trouble, they ran in different directions and hid separately.

Léta remained on her edge, a black shade against the wall. It was a clear and dark night, and only the tiny edges of the Masser were visible, Secunda hiding somewhere behind it. Gray clouds were advancing from the west, and it would likely snow in an hour, and by morning, citizens would be once again knee-deep in snow, despite the autumn time of the year. There shouldn't have been anything strange about this night.

The strange weight in her stomach just wouldn't stop dropping. It felt as though any second the ground would begin to vibrate, and rotting hands would reach from the ground, though Léta knew it was impossible- city builders were not idiots, and if they buried their dead inside the walls, they took precautions. Usually in the form of heavy stone slabs placed over the coffins, or, if resources were scarce, just a few bars. Mages sometimes earned good coin in making sure the dead would stay in the ground, and amulets that turned undead were either buried or placed on those offering altars... Unfortunately (or fortunately, considering her profession), those did nothing against murderers and other threats, like rabid animals.

Now? It was only a few paces to the rich districts. There was definitely light there.

No, just a bit more. Light had never meant safety to her; shadow was her friend and partner, the one that hid her from danger, the one that saved her skin more diligently than any of her brothers.

Danger? It was nothing more than a shift in the wind. She was just paranoid. Whoever it is, it can't be that much of a problem. There were two of them, and both were dangerous enough to survive.

Would they? If this threat came from behind, could she save her back? Or his?

Just a bit more.

Brynjolf was invisible. The master didn't flinch even a muscle, blending in with the thick darkness on his end. There wasn't ever a wisp of white breath that could have given him away.

Something was close. Léta could almost imagine the soft crunching of the snow under someone's prowling footsteps, though the graveyard remained empty to her gaze.

Léta, following an impulse, started sliding down the wall. The feeling of eyes on her was almost unbearable.

And then, just like that, the weight dropped and shattered. Léta took a breath, and shut her eyes in relief for a moment. Brynjolf touched on the wall beside her the next second, making her jump, and motioned to keep moving. She was more than happy to oblige.

"What was that?" She asked very quietly.

"I don't know and I don't want to stay long enough to find out," he breathed in return.

Despite her habits, the brightly lit mansion street was a welcome sight. They didn't need to go far- the Cruel-Sea family house was located close to the Hall of the Dead, separated from the tombstones by a thick stone wall that rose above the roof.

"So, window or front door?" Léta looked over the house with a professional eye.

"He's expecting us. We could just knock." Brynjolf reminded her, opening the unlocked gate in demonstration.

"I don't think I've knocked on a door in three years," she hummed, letting out a slightly hysterical giggle, her nerves still acting up a little. "Except once- I hit the man on the nose with it as soon as he unlocked it. He didn't live long enough to protest, though."

"You're forgetting- this is a client, not a target. We want to make a good, civil impression."

"Oh, so we're trustworthy criminals tonight. Well, by all means." The words were quiet so that if there was an unnoticed guard trying to make his career around the corner, he wouldn't take the bait.

Brynjolf didn't really knock on the door- he just pushed the door open and walked in. Léta stayed behind for a moment, her eyes searching both of the streets for any menacing shadows. When her paranoia was satisfied with the emptiness of the streets, she followed her partner into the house.

The house was warm and smelled of food, dust, and mourning. It was also surprisingly dark- only one candle and the fireplace was burning. There were no flowers, no bright colors in the room, and on the first glance, it was empty. Though soon she saw that in front of the kitchen fire, a man was sitting. He was turned away from the door, his back hunched and unmoving.

"Torsten?" Brynjolf asked when he came closer. The man jumped.

"Huh? Oh- you, er-"

"Delvin said you needed something to get done," the thief, without waiting for permission, lowered himself into the second chair. Léta came to stand behind him, her eyes carefully looking over the client.

He was an older Nord with graying hair and thick lines on the face. Grief and resolve was written in the furrowed eyebrows and redshot eyes, a stubborn curve of the mouth- everything expected of a grieving father out for revenge. A lot of her clients were like this- bitter, lost, and willing to pay big money to return something, or to remove someone from existence.

He caught her stare, and looked back to Brynjolf.

"I didn't expect there to be two of you."

"Ingrid is my partner," Names were slippery business. They couldn't harm someone like her, who spent her life on the move across the edge anyway, but certain complications could come up, even if one has only a name. "Now, if you would just like to fill us in?"

The man nodded, and looked back into the fire. He started speaking immediately, as though he had already gone over the words a million times in his head. "My daughter, Fjotli was… killed for her valuables recently. The girl always wore too much jewelry in public…" his forehead bunched in pain.

"Our condolences," Léta offered in monotone. The home did have a dull, funeral feel to it- no bright colors aside from the fire, all vases contained simple white winter composition, and the overall atmosphere was that of grief.

"It wasn't one of ours, I'm sure of that," Brynjolf didn't look at Léta as he said that, but a cold mouse ran up her spine for that statement.

"I know your guild's ways, don't worry. I suspect it was those Summerset Shadows, the cutthroats that call themselves thieves." There was anger in Torsten's voice now, and his hands clenched on his thighs. "All for a bunch of trinkets… Look, I don't care much for most of what they took, but among it a silver locket with the Cruel-Sea mark."

"So you want it back," Léta stated, and he nodded.

"Do you know where we can find them?"

"No. But that rat, Niranye, she's one of them, I know it. You'll probably find her in her house, or running her stall at the market place."

"Niranye?" Brynjolf scratched his chin. "I know her. She used to be a fence for us before our little fall from grace. Peaceful enough lass. Hard to think of her as a cutthroat."

"People change," Léta shrugged. "Let's go. Hopefully we will have a location by morning."

Brynjolf nodded, and stood up. Torsten didn't even watch them leave, just continued to stare into the fire.

The chill hit Léta on the face when they were outside again, and she shivered. The fire was warm, the smell of food and candles was welcoming. Out here, it felt like the cold was trying to claw its way to her bones.

"This was a bad idea," she breathed quietly to herself. Brynjolf heard, though, and looked at her from underneath his hood with surprise.

"What?"

"Nothing," she got a move on. After a minute, though, she suddenly felt it was necessary to add "I didn't kill Fjotli."

"I never said you did."

"You thought it, back there."

He turned his head towards her, and sighed without disagreeing, which only confirmed her suspicions. The professional silence returned between them soon after.

Niranye, by Brynjolf's words, lived exactly where they had just come from- across town, under the southeastern wall. This time, they decided to shortcut through the palace courtyard despite the risk of detection. Whatever was hunting in the cemetery was none of their business, and they wordlessly agreed that guards in plain sight were a better than a predator in the shadows.

"Spare a coin?" Silda whispered to them when they passed her scrap of the wall, right before the palace. She was huddled in a cloak that looked surprisingly new, looking at the pair with knowing eyes.

Léta gave her five gold coins without hesitation. The beggar grinned widely when she wrapped the money into a cloth and hid it away in the snow, and then scrambled away from them, and into the firelight of the braziers in the courtyard.

They waited.

"You again?" The tired, frustrated voice of one of the guards sounded. "I thought we warned you to find another place to sleep!"

"But sir, it's warmer here, less wind!"

"This isn't an alms house- Hey, you little-! That's my purse!"

"What purse? I ain't seen no purse!"

"Get back here!"

"That's our cue," Brynjolf took a quick look around the grounds, and nodded in satisfaction.

Beggars have always been considered one of the most useful resources to any thief. Just a few coins, and they will give a minute-by-minute breakdown of a dock worker's child's schedule. But the best part was that the authorities have never managed to catch on to that simple wisdom, giving the underground a major advantage... hm, hard to imagine what would happen if the guards ever realized that...

Niranye was in a bad mood, that much was obvious. She walked inside her house and slammed the door behind her. Not bothering to light any candles, she walked up the stairs in the dark, and then nearly collapsed into her bed with a small groan.

"Tough night?" Léta wondered from her spot on the desk.

The voice in the dark made the Altmer jump up in alarm. She grabbed for the dagger on her table, only for her fingers to scratch the surface.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Niranye, it's nice to see you well." Brynjolf softly stepped in front of the door.

"Wha- wait, I know you. Brynjolf? Is that you?"

"The very same. Relax. Now, what do you know about the jewelry that was taken off of Fjotli Cruel-Sea?"

The woman didn't even think about relaxing. When she began speaking, her voice was more angry and surprised than it was afraid. "The girl that was murdered? You broke into my house to ask me about her? Look, it's a shame for the poor thing, but I really don't know what you want from me-"

"Horrible acting on your part," Léta interrupted her. "Look, you tell us what happened to her, and where her jewelry went, and I won't have to hurt you. Everybody wins, no?"

Niranye began fidgeting nervously. "If I tell you anything, they will hurt me. They're not sane, you know. Thinking themselves thieves, bragging about things that they steal off corpses…"

"Did they kill the girl?" Brynjolf asked.

Niranye shook her head in the darkness. "No, no, that was someone else. They don't kill anyone, just pick them off like vultures."

"Someone else has been going around murdering people?" Léta asked out of curiosity. Niranye was getting chatty, and it was in everyone's best interest to take advantage of that.

"Yes, they call him the Butcher, because of what he does to those girls. And another was found just twenty minutes ago in the cemetery!"

Léta and Brynjolf exchanged meaningful glances.

"But these Summerset Shadows," Léta steered the topic back into place. Niranye flinched as though she wasn't expecting them to know the name. "What do they have to do with you?"

"They approached me one day and said if I didn't fence for them, they'd kill me. I had no choice, even though their merchandise is even riskier than what I usually get."

"Have you, by any chance sold a silver Cruel-Sea locket?"

"No, no. Look, it has the Cruel-Sea crest on it. They are pressuring me to get a buyer, say it's too hot to hold onto, but-"

"Where can we find them?"

The Altmer sighed heavily, finally deciding that it really was for the best to go all the way. "Only on the promise that you will kill every single one of them."

"We intend to. They did some damage that needs to be repaired quickly." Léta shrugged.

"Uttering Hills cave. It's to the west on the southern side of the river. You should find a passage just after you pass the lumber mill there."

"Perfect," Léta got to her feet, and walked towards Brynjolf and the doorway.

"If you do manage to get rid of all of them," Niranye suddenly called to them. "I heard the Thieves Guild is back on its feet. If you're ever in the area, I can sell any hot merchandise you have. At least with you I never worried about getting my throat opened…"

"We'll keep that in mind. Let's go."

Thorm sighed under his helmet. It just wasn't his night. First the beggar stole his purse, leading him on a merry chase through the street, before abandoning that same purse in the snow on the steps to the cemetery for him to pick up. Now there was yet another woman butchered, and that has gathered quite a bit of attention from the townsfolk that appeared out of thin air as soon as he called the alarm and summoned the Priestess of Arkay.

Then, as you would have it, two shady men show up and start poking at her in their so-called "investigation".

"Who was she?"One of the men, his face hidden by a hood and scarf, asked him. He was shorter than his companion, and his voice was hoarser, but aside from that, Thorm couldn't even figure out which race he belonged to.

"Susanna, she was a waitress at the Candlehearth Inn. Look, maybe you should just leave the-"

"Well, looks like your lead got us somewhere." The man called to the other, no longer listening. "Poor woman. Looks like the work of a psychopath, doesn't it?"

"It's not her work," the taller man, who was still examining the body, replied with obvious disappointment. "Too sloppy, too focused on the mutilation. Plus her purse and necklace are still on her."

"So?"

"She is cold-blooded and precise. She would have done it quickly and quietly, hid the body and then taken the valuables."

"Maybe she's trying to lead us off her trail. Distract us, make us think she had nothing to do with it. Don't you think it's a bit strange that the night she comes to Windhelm, there's a murder?"

"Exactly. She's smarter than that. This is the work of a sadistic amateur, no more."

The shorter man growled. "Less admiration for the killer, partner."

The taller one picked up a bit of snow, washing the blood off his hands. Thorm was listening with curiosity, and they seemed to have forgotten he was still there. He was also getting more and more angry- the men had no concern for the murdered girl, only that she wasn't killed by the right person. Though if what they said was true, there was another murderer in Windhelm.

It was all Aretino's fault, he decided for himself. He was the one that performed that disgusting ritual, and now there were killers on every corner. They really didn't pay the guards enough to keep this at bay, especially not with the war on…

"You read the same file I did."

"Except I didn't obsess over it, unlike you."

The taller man got up, pulling on his gloves and beginning to walk away. "I'm not obsessed. Someone of her caliber will take more than guesswork and blind darts to catch. I only want to bring her to justice."

"That's not all you want to do," the shorter man muttered with irritation, turning back to the guard. "Thank you for your cooperation."

"But- what about the-"

"Good luck to you," he interrupted the question, and went to catch up with his partner.

Thorm stared at their back, and then spat at the ground at his feet. "What a waste of time. Helgrid, we can take her away now. I don't think there is anything more to be done here."

"Wait a moment," someone else suddenly spoke, and the guard nearly groaned. He turned around, but it weren't the two men coming back, but a massive, armored Nord that was looking at the corpse with sadness. "Maybe I can help…?"

The two thieves made it out of Windhelm before sunrise, as they had planned. Their horses were still in the same place, luckily, so as soon crossed they river back to the shore, they wasted no time in setting off west along the coast, making a hook out of sight of the stables, just in case.

The snow had stopped falling somewhere in the middle of the night, and was now laying peacefully undisturbed along their path. They could do nothing about the tracks, but neither cared too much about that. In the pre-dawn hours, everything but the stiff flow of the river was silent and dark.

"Do you hear that?" Brynjolf asked suddenly, just as they were passing the mill on the other side of the water.

"What?" Léta perked up, twisting her head around.

"That sound. Like an echo," he pulled the reigns, making his mare stop. Léta followed his example.

"It's probably nothing. There's a lot of echo in these parts. Mountains and all," she shrugged. "Or it could be a dragon. Either way, let's keep moving."

He nodded, though he was still tense. Léta sighed, and jumped off her horse. "I'll go scout the area. You stay here and watch for dragons. Scream if they start eating you."

"You're hilarious," he took the offered reigns, and watched her fold two fingers into her mouth and let out a loud whistle. "Whatever happened to discretion?"

She didn't dignify that with an answer, looking around instead. Two minutes later, there was the fast sound of hooves, and her demonic horse burst from somewhere around the bend. She slowed down near them, and gently nudged Léta's shoulder in recognition.

Léta greeted Shadowmere with a friendly pat on the neck, and went immediately to the saddle, where she had left her bag from before, when she was just trying to get into the Nightingale Hall as quickly as possible. Aside from the bag that contained most of her usual supplies (food, water, potions, a few papers and warm clothing), there was an ebony bow strapped to the saddle. It was not the best weapon, unlike the one she returned to Karliah right after she came back from the Sepulcher, but it could get the job done. She also took out a bundle of steel arrows from her bag.

"I hope your archery skills are better than what they used to be." Brynjolf commented, and she smiled with the corner of her mouth.

"I picked up a few tricks in the last year," she reassured him as she strung the bow, though he doubted it. The girl was talented in almost all areas of thieving and sneaking, but her archery and blade skills always left much to be desired. There was a reason she never took direct combat- either one hit death, or "goodbye all, thanks for playing, this time tomorrow". "I won't do anything exciting without you, I promise."

Léta let out a small, silent laugh to herself. Brynjolf didn't know half the things she learned while since joining the Brotherhood…

…hold breath, and fluid release…

The arrow missed the throat when the elf took a step away from it at the last second, and punctured his back between the shoulder blades. She missed the heart that way, too, but it toppled him over. There was a shriek of shock, then a shout of concern, and then everything went quiet.

She got another arrow without drawing, and carefully made her way down from the overhang. She relaxed as soon as she saw Brynjolf wiping his knife on the dead man's sleeve.

"You missed." He glanced at the corpse lying at the camp. The Altmer was still twitching, his fingers clenching on snow.

"It happens," she shrugged, not very crushed over the fact because he was still visibly impressed. Last time he saw her shoot an arrow, it made an awkward twirl in the air, bounced off the target and hit Cynric on the head. He wasn't too upset with her (too busy laughing) but she, embarrassed and frustrated, shoved the bow into Niruin's hands (who was at least trying to conceal a grin), and declared that she would rather sneak up and stab the arrow straight through their backs instead, and they could shove their archery where the sun didn't shine. "The arrow was poisoned. He'll be dead in about three more seconds."

The elf stopped twitching. Léta picked up the key from the one Brynjolf finished, and unlocked the door to the cave. The mechanism was half frozen, and didn't give easily. Her fingers were beginning to numb even with her gloves, but eventually it clicked and turned.

"We don't know how many of them are in there," Brynjolf told her when she got ready to get the door open. "Keep to the shadows."

She looked at him blankly. "Leave the lessons for R'aija, Bryn. I know what I'm doing."

"Well, we can have this promising conversation about your arrogance now, or we can got rid the world of these cutthroats that dare call themselves thieves."

"Well, you know me, always trying to make Tamriel a better place for all," she muttered dryly, finally wrenching the door open. Very carefully, though, ready to freeze at the slightest tension of a trap.

Cave. An ice cave, to be more precise. Blindingly white from all sides, only a tiny island of gray where a table was standing. Less than ideal location for a hideout, to say it loosely. The Summerset Shadows were like common bandits, just taking the first abandoned hole they could find. And while Léta was never very fond of the Ratways perfumes and the Sanctuary's chill, it was still preferable to this.

"It's probably connected to the buried ruins nearby," Bryn whispered close to her ear to avoid the echo.

"Good," she breathed under her mask. She put away the bow, too- she wasn't going to risk missing again so close to the group. The Blade of Woe fell into her hand instead.

The ground under their feet was icy, but not slippery. The packed snow provided a texture to walk on. They worked their way through the tunnel, carefully, and trying their hardest to avoid making noise. The echo that their light footsteps created was unavoidable, but it blended into the loud wind that travelled the hall, so the first pair they took by surprise. They were patrolling the two parallel paths down, coming together at one point. As soon as they turned around and made a few steps, the intruders swept up behind them in an almost routine gesture.

One hand over the mouth, the other wrenching a blade through the throat. Fast, simple, and quiet. Until the body drops down, that is- the woman didn't even bother trying to soften its fall. Brynjolf looked at her, questioningly pointing to the passages. She pointed to the right. He nodded in agreement, and moved in the direction she supplied.

The next patrol was sitting by a fire, though it didn't look like it was doing them much good.

"I hate this duty." One of them grumbled. Léta pressed her back to the frozen wall, though she barely felt it through her armor. Brynjolf was two steps behind her, allowing her to take the lead for the moment. "I'm freezing my ass off here."

"Go cry to Nimwe, then," the other one sneered.

"Don't tell me you aren't cold."

"Patrol is patrol. Boss is pissed we messed up the job, so we get to sit out here while they're in there. Now stop moaning."

"It was a stupid job anyway." The first one grumbled, rubbing his hands together and moving even closer to the fire. "We didn't get even one of them. They're too good."

"Horseshit. They got lucky, is all. Next time I see that white-haired bitch, I'll-"

"You'll do what? They won't let us within a hundred yards next time," the elf snorted. "I say it's time to abandon ship. Either Nimwe lets us freeze out here, or they will come looking for revenge."

"Don't let him hear you say that, or he will murder you on the spot."

"Pfft. Come on Marcon, admit it. This job is pathetic. You're all kissing his ass, claiming to be master thieves, but what was the last thing you stole?"

"Would you shut up?"

"No, come on, say it! You snuck into the Hall of the Dead just to get a silver ring off a corpse!" There was evident disgust in his voice.

Marcon's mouth opened, and his face twisted with fury, but he didn't seem to find anything to respond with. So instead, he jumped up, grabbing at his dagger.

A moment later, Léta released her hold on the string, and the arrow lodged itself in the elf's throat. His hand flew up and tried to grab the shaft, but he was dead before his fingers even grazed it.

She put another arrow in, but suddenly noticed that the remaining elf didn't even bother getting up- instead, he looked relieved.

"Finally," he said. "I've been stalling him for a while now, what took you so long?"

"You knew we were here?" She asked, motioning to Brynjolf with her shoulder to stay in place for a moment.

"What a beautiful voice. Come out from hiding, I heard you when you killed the idiots patrolling upstairs."

She carefully stepped from around the corner, the arrow still fixed on him. The mer didn't seem to be too put out by that.

"Never liked any of them anyway," he shrugged. "So, am I dying today, or do I get another day? If it helps, there are five of them in the ruins through that door. You'll find Nimwe in the dining room, it's just through the hall."

"Just five?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Not including myself and the five you've already taken care of," he smiled charmingly, but you don't play a player. Under her stern gaze, he shrugged and explained. "Some are out trying to salvage the situation we screwed up. There weren't many to begin with."

"The locket you stole off of Fjotli Cruel-Sea. Where is it?"

"Nimwe stole that one, and he's probably keeping it in his room with the rest of his loot. You'll find it there."

She nodded. "Get out of here. I see your face ever again, I'm putting a blade through it. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," he grinned, and picked up the bag that was lying next to his chair, and an apple from one of the barrels. Then, humming a little song that echoed off of the icy walls, he headed up the tunnel.

"You let him go?" Brynjolf wondered when she relaxed her stance.

"Out of this entire bunch, he was the only one with any sense," she shrugged. "Let him have at it, I don't think he'll try anything by himself."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then he'll be dead within a month. Let's keep moving."

Voar didn't get very far with the "investigation". Looking at the body just made him feel sick, disturbed, and angry that someone would do this to a woman. He wasn't sure who to question, or where to find them; this was his first time in the city. The trail of blood ended on the snow in front of one of the mansions, but he didn't know how to get in. So he just sat down on the bench next to the inn, and started thinking.

His thoughts didn't leave Léta- was she the one to do this? Then he got here too late, and he couldn't stop the murderer. If he had moved faster, maybe…

The fact that the two criminals were heading to Windhelm was easy enough to figure out while he was following them. When he was stopped at Shor's Stone, he discretely looked at the notes that the mage kept while everyone was distracted by a civilian trying to sneak out. There was only one entry with a Nordic and an Imperial name, listed as husband and wife. It was a solid bet that they were paranoid enough to use false names.

And yet, he was still behind them for at least an hour. And when he arrived here, there was running, commotion, and the guards stood rigid patrols, which was very unlike them at this hour.

"Sir?" someone interrupted his train of thought. He looked up to find a woman dressed in rags, but with a warm cloak around her.

"What is it?"

"You're searching for the Butcher, right?"

"Do you know something?" he perked up.

"I heard the screaming, but when I got there, she was already dead. I was so surprised I dropped the pur- I mean, I just ran."

"A purse? You're a pickpocket?" Voar furrowed his eyebrows.

"No, no, sir, I'm an honest beggar." She backtracked. "I don't have much, I'm just trying to survive…"

Sympathy flooded him. He realized what she was hinting at, though, and despite his thoughts on bribes and informants, he gave her a few coins.

"So at the scene, did you see the killer? A woman, perhaps?"

"There was a woman tonight," she nodded, and stared at her hopefully. Then that hope fell when he realized that the girl he was hoping to catch managed to get away with the murder of the Emperor. There was no way he'd be able to put her behind bars for this. "She was with a man. They were sneaking around- paid me to distract the guard so they could go east." She waved her hand. "But I heard the screaming later. I didn't see the killer, it was very dark in the cemetery."

He had noticed that- while the guard was trying to figure out what to do with the body, the priestess was relighting the candles with irritated grumbling. What the beggar told him complicated things, though. The "Butcher" was once again a mystery. But at least Léta and her partner behaved. He heard of no other murders in the city, so perhaps they were there for something different.

Another dead end. Almost ironic, he suddenly thought. No doubt if the Thieves Guild wanted to investigate the murder, they'd have the killer within an hour. He didn't know much about them aside from the things that any self-respecting Guild needed: resources and an information network. And they likely had both, as well as fast fingers and silver tongues. They would waste no time getting into the locked house...

"What's your name?" he asked the beggar.

"Silda the Unseen, sir."

"Can you do something for me, Silda? Just keep an eye out for this Butcher. I don't know where to look, but I have a feeling you do."

She smiled. "I'm scared too. He kills only women, and I don't have walls around me. I will help you."

"I'll pay you for anything you can get me. I'll… talk to a few sources as well." They could still know something. They didn't seem too inclined to talk to him, and like hell they'd want to help him, but he really wasn't sure where else to go. He didn't even think about giving the investigation up because of the setback- if he didn't find the Butcher, who knows how many more women he'd kill before someone finally caught it...

"Last question for you, Silda. Do you know where the woman and the man went?"

"East, to the Gray Quarters. They probably left the city now. I don't know anything else."

Left out the gates, likely. Smart, it was less guarded than the main gate. But where did they go from there…?

The plan hitched right when it was going smoothly. Léta managed to sneak up snap the neck of the elf that was patrolling the lower level of the fortress without him noticing her. Everything remained silent except for the sounds of talking from somewhere deeper inside the fort.

And everything would have stayed quiet, had the damn corpse not fallen onto the corner of the alchemy station, thudded, and completely sunk to the floor. The next second, there was the shattering of a potion bottle that seemed ear-splitting in the echoing halls. The talk downstairs paused, and the next tones were much more alarmed.

The two thieves shared a disgruntled look, and took out their blades, taking cover on either side of the door frame.

Footsteps. Two men were approaching their position. They didn't see the body yet because of the steep angle of the stairs. Léta quickly checked to make sure the emergency vials were still in their usual place, because it was obvious that they weren't getting out without a fight. And as far as her strategies went, they all came down to the same bottom line- she either fought dirty, or died.

"What the he-" the first Shadow to make it through the doorway chocked when her knife stabbed twice quickly through his side and throat. She then shoved the dropping body onto his partner, causing a moment of confusion before her weapon found his eye. She drove it in deep into his skull, and then kicked him off. The corpses tumbled down the stairs.

Brynjolf didn't even have to move- she took both out in fast succession.

The three that had stayed behind didn't waste time, now, and they approached smarter than their friends. Two of them had bows, so Léta hurried in returning to cover.

"Now what?" Brynjolf asked her as two arrows whistled past.

"I can take them," she said with confidence, but he just stared at her as though she had announced the plan to be "bring in the ponies".

"The hell you can! I'm not dragging your carcass out of here."

"You know," she ground out when she risked a glance over the corner, and had to retreat as another pair of arrows was released. "It really wouldn't hurt-" she reached into one of her pockets, taking out a small pellet. "-for your to trust me every once in a while."

She whispered an incantation, making her hands flare with fire. The next moment, she threw the flaming ball down the stairs towards their enemies.

There was a quiet explosion, and smoke burst out, hitting the narrow corridor and angrily spreading out, seeking more room.

"Now!"

Brynjolf didn't hesitate this time, but jumped all the steps, landing quietly. He didn't charge into the thick, blinding smoke though. She, on the other hand, did. Orienteering herself on the frantic coughing and movement, she flew right past the three elves without truly seeing them, and ended up on the other side of the hallway, flanking them.

And came face to face with Linwe, who looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

The confusion didn't last longer than a fraction of a second. He raised his blade, and so did she. At the back of her head, she make a quiet correction to the previous plan of action- it was naïve to believe that Linwe himself was doing anything other than throwing orders from the back.

"You!"

"Me," she agreed with Linwe, sidestepping his blade. Behind her, she heard Brynjolf engage with the two remaining elves.

"I am going to carve that face into ribbons," her opponent snarled at her angrily. Have they met? Or was he one of the men she led on a chase through half of Skryim? It didn't matter, she remained completely calm, her steps and movement carefully calculated.

"Your men are dead," she told him coolly. The Blade of Woe in her hand was humming with anticipation- it loved the taste of blood more than Babette, and that feeling was enough for her to confidently continue the dance without fear. "And you will be too. But not before you tell me who paid you to attack my Guild."

"Think I need to get paid? Your guild is worthless, and it was only a matter of time before someone puts you down! And as soon as I finish you and your partner off, I will end the rest of them!"

She furrowed her eyebrows in a brief moment of confusion. He was telling the truth, no one paid him to do anything, he was acting out of his own arrogance.

Then there was no purpose in delaying it.

Her free hand got out a small white vial from one of her many pockets. She jumped a step away from the arrogant elf and pulled the cork out with her teeth.

"Cheers," she smiled, drinking the contents.

Invisibility was a funny feeling. The potion itself tasted like bitterness and cold, like she swallowed a mouthful of snow. That feeling started spreading through her body as soon as it hit her throat and all the way down to her stomach, moving along her bloodstream almost instantly. And then, there was just the feelingof weightlessness and slight euphoria. And still, the cold. She had to tell Babette to find something other than ice wraith teeth to add to her potions, though the girl was always understandably averse to using vampire dust instead.

Fifteen seconds.

She moved quickly, ducking under the blind slash of his blade.

She caught a glimpse of Brynjolf as he opened the throat of one of the elves, and without pausing his momentum, turned to the other. Him and Vex were two of the best fighters in the Thieves Guild, it was common knowledge amongst them, and she did not worry about him, instead focusing on the Linwe.

That was harder than she anticipated… she had eight more seconds of invisibility, and the grave robber was smarted than she gave him credit for: instead of trying to stab thin air, he retreated into the dining hall. She instinctively followed him, and only then realized that he drove her through the doorway for easier picking.

His knife grazed her side, and the invisibility popped like a soap bubble. Her blood came off on his blade.

Léta took a leap away from him, her empty hand coming up to clutch at the side of her stomach.

"Worthless," Linwe repeated with maniacal glee. She really must have pissed him off, he was obviously losing his last nerve. She glared at him, and then leaned onto the wall, gasping with pain, and began to slowly slide down. "That would be the poison. It'll work too slow, so I think I'll just finish you off now…"

When Brynjolf came into the room, Léta was already digging through the chest where the Shadows piled all their loot. She was in the process of appraising the circlet in her hands, studying it critically as though trying to figure out if it was worth carrying or not. Linwe's body was in the corner, his mouth gaping open in a final surprise, his hand still clutching at his throat.

"Arrogant idiot," she muttered. "When you buy poisons, don't be cheap, Brynjolf."

"You alright?" he asked her.

"Yeah, he grazed me, but it's superficial," she shrugged. "He didn't know that, though. Copper, jade, no mark of maker," she muttered, tossing the circlet into her bag. "Hm."

Her partner picked up the blade that dropped from Linwe's hand, and sniffed it. The smell of burnt sugar hit his nose, and he grimaced. "And the poison?"

"Please, I have a Master Alchemist in my family," she shrugged. "She pours poison and spell resistance down my throat every two weeks. Tastes like sewage, but it's worth it."

"I'll say," he chuckled. "Found anything worthwhile in there?"

"Only what you'd expect from grave robbers who specialize in butchered maidens. Oh, here it is…" She lifted a silver locket on a thin chair from the chest. "What should we do with the rest?"

"Take what we can carry, leave the rest and tell Delvin about. He'll have someone clean it out properly."

"Sounds good." She nodded, picking up her bag.

"We wanted to question him," he reminded her suddenly, glancing sideways at the corpse.

"Pointless. If someone stroke a deal with him, they cleaned their trail. He was convinced that the attack on our guild was completely his idea."

"And you couldn't break whatever illusion they had on him?"

"You're forgetting the fact that I'm an amateur at magic. What I can do equals to the cheap tricks that amuse children on the streets. If it really was the Thalmor, then it's way out of my league."

"So not one of your contacts could…?"

"Dead, dead, across Tamriel, and dead. Besides, it's too late now. Come on, let's get out of here before the situation gets any more complicated. Your bad feelings make me paranoid."

"We contained the situation, and everything went a lot more smoothly than I-"

"Don't say that!" she hissed at him suddenly. "Every time someone says that, something lands right on top of our heads!"

"Really?" he cocked an eyebrow, amused. But she was serious.

"The second I got out of the fortress in Solitude, I thought that, and then the damned Watchdogs swooped in and raided the sanctuary! And before that, when Mercer and I were hunting Karliah!"

"So, what, you think the Thalmor are about to swoop in?" he was starting to get a little worried now, as well. They both subconsciously sped up through the halls, retracing their steps. "You don't think this was a diversion or something, do you?"

"No, even without us, the rest can hold their ground. But this entire damned job felt as though someone was watching our backs and contemplating where to better stab the blade."

"We should split up, then," he nodded. "If there is a tail, we can ditch it on our own."

She nodded in agreement, the logic being very sound. The job was done, united force was no longer necessary, and alone she could very well lead another merry chase across the country without problem.

"I'll head back to Windhelm to return the trinket, and then to Riften to announce business as usual," Brynjolf threw one last glance around the main staircase of the fortress before catching up to her in the ice caves. They didn't bother sneaking now, their paranoia simply driving them to get as far away from the hideout as possible.

"And I'll return to-

Only a few steps away from the final door, her voice suddenly trailed off into a strangled moan of surprise.

It wasn't the Thalmor that dropped on their heads this time.