.

SIARI

Mourning Never Comes

Sanctuary

"Awh, Festus, you're talking crazy again, you old codger."

"Not so much of the old there," the old mage retorted, "you ancient crone."

Babette laughed. "At least I still have my looks. So anyway, you all think dying of poison is less painful than a dagger through the heart?" Siari stood in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb with her arms crossed, listening to the conversation.

"Well," Gabrielle said back, "it depends on the poison, but yes." The Dunmer had arrived a day after Siari's enlistment, and during her five months of training, Siari had gotten along rather well with her. Well, if you could call it that. Gabrielle found Siari's silence her best quality, and wasn't afraid to say so.

Babette chirped. "You guys are so short-sighted. Just because a person isn't screaming and flailing, doesn't mean they're in pain."

"I think you're all full of shit," Nazir said, shouldering past Siari and sitting down at the table, picking up an apple by stabbing it with his knife. Because why use your hands when you can use a knife and feel impressive. "Only one not talking nonsense is her over there," he pointed his chin at Siari. "And if she could, she'd probably make just as little sense as you do." Heh, Nazir always wanted to give himself the air of the Only Sane Man. They all indulged him usually, because it made it that much more fun to act childish.

Babette rolled her eyes. "Sound the alarms," she said in a bored voice. "Party Pooper Nazir has entered the building."

"Speaking of party pooping." Nazir said, ignoring the ridicule, "It's been five months now, hasn't it?" He was speaking to Siari, and she nodded in return. Nazir bit the apple and said with his mouth full, "means you're ready for your first pro contract. I've spoken to Astrid and she's given me the go-ahead. Means you're off my back tomorrow."

Siari knew he was just giving himself an attitude. The man, along with the others, had trained her in just about every aspect of assassination, Babette teaching her how to blend in, how to act inconspicuous and get close enough for the kill, Gabrielle teaching her about potions and poisons, and Nazir sparring with her to teach her to handle herself if she did get found out. Veezara had taught her to sneak, and she'd taken to that surprisingly well. The Argonian had joked that she was quiet in the two ways that mattered. Festus had tried to teach her magick, but a few frustrating days later, they'd both concluded she had exactly zero magickal aptitude.

Getting to know everyone had been a bit of an ordeal in the beginning, especially having to 'explain' to everyone why she was so quiet, and then being guaranteed to be asked to show it, rolling her eyes every time and opening her mouth, being treated to a grimace from everyone who saw the remains of her tongue in the back of her mouth. Well, except Arnbjorn, but she assumed nothing could faze him. Arnbjorn scared her. Really scared her. Not just the werewolf thing. Sometimes she saw him looking at her with a look of unconcealed suspicion. The fact that he always addressed her as either 'rabbit leg' or 'chicken breast' or 'veal cutlet' (or the withering 'nub-tongue' when he was angry) didn't help either.

Astrid had made sure everyone accepted her though, and in most cases, it was pretty easy. Almost impossible to offend people if you couldn't speak. Babette had taken her under her undersized wing immediately, calling Siari her 'young protégée', and Festus, in his psychotic way, seemed to be the type to get along with everyone, just like Veezara. Gabrielle had been a bit more reserved, but she'd thawed after a while. And Nazir, well, Nazir kept giving himself an attitude of not caring about her at all, but his diligence and patience while training her showed he cared much more than he let on.

But her first professional contract tonight. She felt herself going all giddy at the prospect. A bit nervous too, but killing the beggar had gone easily enough. She'd never been worried about hesitating, or growing soft-hearted, but she worried all the more about botching the job, or making it sloppy and unprofessional. She wanted her new brothers and sisters to be proud of her, not to think of her as an embarrassment, or worse, a failure. She refused to lose this family now that she'd finally found it.

Still, no reason to think things would go south. She'd been well trained, and the gear she'd gotten would help immensely. It was enchanted. Enchanted! She had never in her life dared to hope she'd possess something enchanted. The supple leather chestpiece had a strange texture, as if it adapted to the background when she was hiding, and the gloves and boots could cling to just about any surface if the wearer focused enough and made her hands and feet make contact just the right way. She'd trained enough to be able to climb walls without fear, and if she trained more, she was certain she'd make the skill of climbing ceilings her own. The boots and gloves were unique, Astrid had told her. Everyone had the same chestpiece, but boots and gloves were all different. Astrid's gloves, for instance, let her throw daggers with jaw-dropping accuracy, tailored to her preferred method of killing. Babette's boots let her leap fast and far, good for either a surprise pounce or a quick escape. And these were Siari's: the leather gloves with studs on the knuckles and the second halves of the index, thumb and ring finger removed for better manipulation, and her fortified, but still completely noiseless boots that fit so snugly around her foot and lower leg that they hurt if worn longer than eight hours. And then there was her mask, the same mask they all had, enchanted to muffle breathing sounds while still letting air through comfortably. Every joint of every piece of armour was treated with a dulling compound and padded and muffled to minimize sound. It was assassin's garb if ever there was any. And it was finally Siari's turn to put it on, not for training, but for real.

Nazir saw her enthusiasm and smirked. "Well, good to see you're eager. I can give you the details now if you don't mind people hearing?"

Siari shrugged. Of course she didn't mind. They were family.

He bit another chunk off the apple. Good for him that these apples weren't like the ones in Cheydinhal, used to poison an entire Brotherhood chapter. They'd died in horrible agony, killed by their newest member, who'd declared to have been following the commands of the Night Mother, a shadowy and enigmatic spirit or goddess or demon commanding the Dark Brotherhood. Though belief in the Night Mother was absolute, opinions were divided as to the veracity of the recruit's claim, including here, in the Skyrim Sanctuary. Whatever the case, the entire chapter had been wiped out, and the new recruit had disappeared.

"Someone in Markarth performed the Black Sacrament," Nazir said, again with his mouth full, taking Siari back to the present. "Young apothecary's assistant. She'll be found in, you guessed it, the apothecary. Again, it's the assistant you need, not the owner." He bit the apple again. "Shouldn't be difficult. Owner's old and ugly, assistant's young and supposedly one of the prettiest women in Markarth."

"That so?" Festus said. "Perhaps I should accompany our young fledgling, to make sure she does the job well?"

Siari grinned, Babette let out a knowing chuckle, and Nazir was onto him as well. "Nice try, old geezer, but you're needed in Falkreath. Besides, she'll do just fine on her own. Since this is your first job," he said, back to Siari, "I've arranged with Astrid that you get to keep the full pay. Customary. From then on, you pass the pay for all your contracts to the Brotherhood, and we pay you from that money. Ensures that everyone gets paid fairly."

Siari nodded, then motioned for him to go on.

"Right. So, there's not much information apart from the client's name, but she'll be sure to tell you who needs to die, and what the specifics are. Girl's been running her mouth, wants her ex-lover killed, or something. She'll be generous, they always are. That's all I can tell you for now, hoof it to Markarth and see the apothecary. If she's as tasty as they claim, don't forget to mention I'm single."

Siari raised an eyebrow. Mention? Nazir flapped his hand and said, "Ah, you know, just... just write her a note or something."

Yes, she'd file that objective under 'optional'. She went back to her room, which she shared with Babette and Gabrielle, and started to pack. There were a lot of helpful documents in the Sanctuary's book stands, and among them was a nice list of all the things one should pack on a job, according to duration, objective, expected challenges, and so forth. This job was pretty much unknown, but Siari didn't think she'd need climbing gear or a tent or anything of the sort. Markarth wasn't that far away, and it was better to travel light so she could jog most of the way there. She packed fresh undergarments and a few dry snacks for the road, and that was it.

After being told goodbye and good luck by Astrid, she left the Sanctuary and was on her way, jogging along, first through the surrounding woods, then across the plains of Whiterun, past some freaky jester-type who asked her to help him get his cart back on the road, and who she'd simply ignored. When she skirted the city, she saw the freshly-slain cadaver of a giant lying sprawled on the grass. That must have been a battle. She stopped at a windmill, eating a chunk of biscuit in the shade and letting her muscles rest, and then she was off again, running half the way there and paying a few septims for a stay in a farm just off the road.

She reached Markarth the next day, in the afternoon. The trip had felt wonderful, her spirits kept high by the realization that she was helping her brothers and sisters. That she'd be doing so by taking a person's life didn't even occur to her.

Markarth was a city made of heavy, thick-walled stone buildings, most of them nestled against a rock face. In fact, the entire city lay against a rock wall, making it impervious to assault and even inaccessible except from one side. Green moss crept up the buildings, but nobody seemed to mind. The shallow canals that ran along the narrow streets had clear, ice cold water in them, and Siari didn't pass up the opportunity to take a drink, uncaring how people would see her.

The next thing she did was tap one of the town guards on the shoulder. The man was bored anyway, so might as well bother him instead of the working man.

"Yes, young lady?"

Making her most harmless face, she held up the picture she'd drawn in charcoal before leaving, of a mortar and pestle with a big 'A' underneath.

"Ah, you're looking for the Apothecary?"

Siari smiled and nodded.

"Follow this alley upwards, then take a left. Apothecary's the third house."

With a short bow of thanks, she walked up, climbing the steep alleyway until she came to an intersection. She took the left and indeed, there it was, third house, with a signboard hanging from it featuring, yes, a mortar and pestle. The Hag's Cure.

Right, no more fun in the sun now. This was serious. She'd have to make an impression. Sinister, but not overdramatic. Professional, but not arrogant. Neutral, but not unwilling. Tying her brown hair back in a ponytail would make her look more severe. Nothing she could do about the straight-cut fringe over her forehead, but no matter. She swallowed, then pushed the door open, finding herself in a gloomy alchemy shop, with shelves stacked with plants, minerals, and all other kinds of substances. An old woman with wicked facial tattoos stood behind the counter, grinding ingredients in a mortar, while a younger woman with a horizontal tattooed stripe across the bridge of her nose was conversing with a customer, resuming her explanation after being interrupted by the old woman. "… past Solitude, keep following the shoreline East, you'll reach Winterhold eventually."

The owner of the shop let out a grunting sigh of disapproval and resumed her potion-making.

The man, meanwhile, a twenty-ish Nord with sand-coloured curls, abruptly turned on his heels without even muttering a word of thanks, and stomped out, shoulder-checking Siari as he did so. Asshole.

"Yes, can I help you?" the young woman asked, smiling at Siari. Young, apothecary's assistant, and great-looking, yep, this was certain to be her. Siari simply remained silent, hoping just a marked stare would convey the message.

And oh yes, it did.

The girl's breathing briefly stalled and then she nervously said, clearly improvised, "Oh you're, you're here for the, the delivery. It's in the uh, back room, I'll show you."

Siari said nothing and followed the assistant to the back of the store, where she quickly unlatched a door, let Siari in, and then closed it behind her. "You're... you're with them, right?"

Siari crossed her arms and cocked her head, but remained silent. She decided to make it her trademark. It wouldn't be a difficult one to uphold either. Maybe in time, people knew immediately who they were dealing with if they were met with a cold, stony silence. A girl could hope.

"Sorry," the assistant said. "I didn't know, I mean, I wasn't even sure it worked. And... well, I hadn't expected someone so young."

Siari raised an impatient eyebrow. She had to look tough, detached and confident.

"Of course, the, uh... the contract." The girl sat down and took a breath, her cheeks flushed with red. "It's... it's like this. I need someone killed."

The best response to that was an impatient sigh, and so Siari did just that. She had to make sure the woman got the impression she was dealing with a trained killer, not a rookie.

"Yes, yes, of course, you already know that." She sighed and looked at the ground. "Alain Dufont. He's... my former lover. Broke it off with him when I found out he was leading a bunch of cutthroats. Bastard made me give myself away to a murderer." She looked up at Siari. "I need him hunted and put down like the dog that he is."

Well, well. This pretty princess had some spark in her after all. Siari gave a short nod.

"He's... he usually hangs around an old Dwemer ruin with his murdering, thieving friends. Raldbthar. That's where it is. In the mountains just northeast of here. Can't miss it. I don't care about his friends, it's just Alain who needs to die. Of course, if you want to enjoy yourself cutting their throats as well, I won't be sad."

With a shrug, Siari showed her she didn't care one way or the other either. If one got in the way, she'd have to kill him too, but better not to take risks and leave them alone if she could. She had enough to go on for now, but there was one more matter. She held out her hand and made a come-hither gesture with her fingers.

"You want... payment now?"

Siari's face told her enough, apparently. All up front, Astrid had made it very clear. All up front or the client gets a free murder – his own. "I'll... have to see if... I can't just, I mean, I have the money, but could you come by my house to pick it up tonight?"

She supposed she could indulge her client that much.

"Thanks. It's just hard to hand you a big purse right here in the store."

Siari nodded. "Sure."

"The uh, not speaking... is that mandatory Brotherhood stuff? Because you're making me seriously uncomfortable," the woman said with a guilty face. Good, that was the intention. Still, Siari pointed only at herself.

"Oh. So just you, then?"

Yes. Just her.

"Tonight, then?" She quickly scrawled the address on a piece of paper and handed it to Siari. I'm good for it, I promise."

Siari only gave an aloof nod as she slipped the paper in her pocket. You'd better be good for it, potion-pusher. She had no intention or desire to ignore what Astrid had told her.

"Here," the woman said, taking a package off the shelf and handing it to Siari. "You came for a delivery, right?"

Oh. Right.

Nothing stopped her from doing some reconnaissance while she waited for the evening, Siari supposed. The sun was warm for the time of year, and she'd still have light for a few hours, so she left the city again and walked to the northeast, dumping the package of useless herbs by the side of the road. Indeed, the jutting tower of a Dwemer ruin was clearly visible, sticking out of the mountain face, partially collapsed. This must be... that place with the unrememberable name. Where her mark was. She wasn't afraid or nervous. Well, maybe just a bit. But mostly excited. She already imagined herself coming back to the Sanctuary, being asked by Astrid or Nazir if the job had ended well, and giving a self-satisfied nod, answering the way they expected. It'd be the first of a long line, of that she was sure. She would not let her new family down.

She'd walked for about an hour, so it was time to head back to Markarth, treat herself to a warm dinner, and go pick up the gold. Or stab that potion pusher in the tit. Either was fine with her, as long as the job didn't go sour because she'd made a mistake.

Putting on her cold killer face again, Siari rapped on the door of the woman's house. The assistant's face appeared in the crack in the doorway as it opened. "Come in," she hissed. "Quickly."

Siari made an unimpressed face and went inside.

"Here it is," the woman whispered even though there was no one there to hear. "Three hundred, right?"

Siari gave a curt nod and took the purse, picking out a random septim and setting her teeth into it to make sure it was genuine.

"I uh, I know better than to try and scam the Brotherhood," the woman said with a nervous chuckle. "Alain's got a goatee and a ponytail. So that's all you need, then?"

Siari hefted the purse in her hands. The weight felt right. She nodded, turned, and left.

She walked the distance back to the Dwemer ruin, but this time she wouldn't return to Markarth. She didn't need to report to her client or any of that silliness. She'd find out soon enough that her ex-beau had been shanked. Gossip always travelled fast, no matter the size of the city.

Now, time for business.

Alright, she thought to herself, let's do this. She pulled the hood over her head and pulled the mask up, hiding everything but her eyes. Now she was in full assassin mode. She had to admit to herself that it felt pretty badass. She slid her dagger from its sheath and took it in an underhanded grip. Finally, time to put her training into practice.

The Alain character headed a band of cutthroats, so he was bound to not be alone. And even though she felt tough as nails, she had to repeat to herself that these people weren't helpless kittens. They'd probably cut off more than her tongue if they got their hands on her, and despite Nazir's training, she knew she'd be sliced to ribbons in a straight fight. She'd have to remain unseen, at least until the deed was done.

Hunkering behind a rock, she watched the metal door that led to the ruins. No one came in or out for more than an hour, and she figured the jolly band had turned in for the night. The stars told her it was around midnight. Just a little longer, until she was sure they all slept. Hadn't posted a guard, the losers. Part of Siari's training had been to look out for guards and subdue or kill them, but it wasn't even necessary in this case. They were making it easy. With any luck, they'd drink themselves into a stupor and that would make it even more of a cakewalk.

She waited for a few minutes longer, then left her hiding place. She crept closer to the door and encountered her first obstacle. The damn thing was locked. She took out the lockpicks she carried as part of her equipment, but then realized there was no lock to pick. Hmm.

She all but slapped herself on the forehead when she saw the smoothly-polished button set into the wall. Of course, Dwemer were obsessed with machinery and relays, so they wouldn't have a normal way to open a door, no, it had to be with a button hooked to a mechanism. Siari rolled her eyes and slapped her hand on the button.

The door opened with a loud metallic grating, which made Siari wince. Seriously? These wankers couldn't oil the hinges every now and then? Imagine having to hear this noise every day. Of course, it did serve as an efficient warning system, and Siari quickly darted back to her hiding spot to see if anyone came out. No one did. She permitted herself to hope her guess of a drunken stupor was actually accurate. Imagine.

She sneaked closer again, and crept inside. No one was in the antechamber, and she silently went on, past the polished, gray stone walls set with bronze and copper ornaments. The Dwemer ruin had an extremely high ceiling, as they all did, and this made the rooms feel narrower than they actually were. Against the wall, a strange automaton lay motionless, its bronze limbs pitted, bent and scratched. The ruin had apparently not given itself freely to these cutthroats.

She went through an arch, not making a sound, and found herself in an enormous room, the ceiling even higher than before. The room itself was vast, at least fifty metres long and just as wide. She stood at the top of a short step, just a metre in height, and aimed at her were two heavy ballistae, which the Dwemer must have used against attackers. She quickly, silently, side-stepped out of the siege weapons' aim and then took better stock of her surroundings. In the middle of the room, around twenty metres ahead, was a small fire, with a cooking pot suspended above it from a flimsy wooden frame. Around the fire lay several bags, long and narrow. Sleeping bags.

Oh this, this was too good to be true.

Siari's eyes went from the sleeping bags to the ballistae and back again. Astrid had told her to not just depend on her knife, but to always look for ways to use the environment to her advantage, citing the story of a Dark Brotherhood member in Cyrodiil (who may or may not have been the new recruit who'd wiped out the chapter), and this member's creative means of dispatching a Bruma citizen by making a hunting trophy fall on the mark's head, impaling him with the sharp horns. No one had known it had been an assassination.

They'd know now, but in this case, it didn't really matter much. No one would investigate a dead outlaw or two. Besides, these dunderheads had probably made so many enemies the list of suspects would be endless.

Now, the ballista. First thing was to see if it could be rotated, and how far. Siara inspected the foot of the device and saw grind marks go all the way around. Haha, good! Now then, how to fire this thing. It had two large handles, probably the cranequin for drawing the heavy string, and another handle set into the body, a lever that had to be pushed down. That would be the trigger mechanism.

Oh man, this was going to be a joy to behold.

Siari took hold of one of the ballistae and rotated it on its foot so it faced the collection of sleeping bags. The blockheads hadn't even woken up from the grinding sound of the rotating ballista. Even better. She checked to see the string was drawn (it was) and that a bolt was loaded (it was). Good, good. She tiptoed to the other ballista and readied it in a similar fashion.

Her heart raced with anticipation at seeing her cunning plan unfold.

Peering down the thing's sights, she trained it on the collection of sleeping bags. Plan was to shoot one bolt straight into the group, probably impaling a few of them (rude awakening right there!) and then scooting over to the other ballista while the survivors got to their feet, and then fire one massive bolt right in the face of whoever had a goatee and a ponytail.

With a grin, she closed her fingers around the lever and pulled.

A loud blang sounded as the mechanism released, but the bow of the ballista flew off, and the bolt was propelled upwards, going end over end before hitting the ground with a series of painfully loud clangs. Damn it damn it!

"Hey what the sodding shit?"

This had woken them alright.

"Assassin!"one of the men screamed in a panicked voice. "Assassin! Get her!"

More thugs rose now, all in their sleeping clothes, which for some meant clothes and all, and for others meant just undergarments. One of those men had a goatee, and wore his hair in a ponytail, which was messed up from sleeping. That was her mark!

But daedra damn it, that ballista! The second one had better work or she'd be in really, really big shit! She ran over to it as fast as she could, determined not to give the thugs time to grab their weapons and come after her.

An arrow zipped past her, clinking off the wall behind. Oh great, one of them had a bow. She skidded to a halt behind the other ballista, and the gang leader knew what she was doing. Standing there in his loincloth, he swept his hand at his cronies. "Get down! Down!"

Oh, if only he'd followed his own advice. Siari ducked her head out of the way of another arrow and pulled the lever. Please work.

The ballista let fly, its massive bolt unerringly making a stripe through the darkness, impaling the only gang member still standing, lifting him off his feet, his arms and legs trailing behind him, and depositing him back on the ground several metres further, the bolt still embedded in his abdomen. The body came down, and dragged on by its momentum, was lifted up on the bolt that impaled it, then overbalanced and came down again.

The man was dead. Nobody survived such a horrible trauma.

"Get her!"

The other thugs jumped to their feet, fully aware the ballista was discharged. Siari abandoned her position and ran, the four remaining henchmen giving pursuit. There was a sharp pain in her shoulder as an arrow struck her, but from the corner of her eye, Siari saw it glance off and twirl end over end, blood spattering from it as it went. She stumbled from the impact but kept her footing. The next moment, she was back in the antechamber, and out of the bowman's line of sight, leaving only three to deal with. She ran on, the footsteps of her pursuers behind her, and dashed through the still-open door, back into the night sky. Her legs took her down the mountain path, and another arrow zipped past her, this one nowhere near her. The dirt bag with the bow wasn't a quitter, but she was too far now. She risked a look back. One of the thugs had given up already, and only two were pursuing her now. Just as she looked back, though, one of those two slipped, losing his footing on the edge of the path, and his weight and momentum dragged him over, sending him to a screaming, broken death on the sharp rocks tens of metres below. She heard him shriek as he went down, the cry cut short by a wet thudding sound. The sound of the falling body was repeated a few more times, the shrieking wasn't.

The last pursuer was female, and much more lithe and in better shape than the others. She was gaining, Siari noticed as she looked back one more time. Shit, shit. This one would catch her and they'd both be too tired to fight, making it sure and certain who'd bite the dust. But the other thug's grisly death had given her an idea. Abruptly, Siari pulled her weight to the side, throwing herself off the path.

She went with her head down, and slapped her hands against the overhanging rock wall, pulling her weight under the overhang. Her legs swung along, and she planted her feet against the rock as well, keeping her suspended by the overhang under the path. They'd think she'd just fallen to her death.

"Baste my butt, she went over!" Siari heard the woman pant.

There was a brief silence, and the woman shouted back, probably to the thug who'd stopped to catch his breath, "I don't know, I can't tell. Misty down there though. Nobody could have survived that."

Siari remained suspended under the overhang, trying to pant as quietly as possible.

"I said I can't see, dammit! What about Neruf?"

She could hear the other's voice better now. He was apparently coming closer, to check for himself. "Neruf's gone," she heard a male voice say. "Can't see his body for the mist, but rocks are red with blood where he went down. Morghen went to check on Alain."

"Fuck, man," the woman said. "And you can bet Alain's dead too. Well, at least that little cunt burst apart on the rock face. We'll go check when it's daylight. Looking forward to seeing her guts draped over the rocks."

Yeah, you keep looking forward to that, girl.

"Come on. Let's go check on Alain," the man said.

"What's there to check on?" the female snapped back. "He's fucking dead, you know that."

A sigh. "He was an asshole. Not a big loss."

"Who'd you think sent that little whore anyway? I bet it was that bitch from the apothecary. I say we – "

"Ah, shut up," the man said in an annoyed voice. "That dumb ninny doesn't even know what an assassin is. And who cares. Like I said, he was an asshole, and now we can start for ourselves."

Siari's muscles began to burn. Were these two really going to chat the night away on this windswept mountain path? She set her teeth and hung on. Her shoulder, struck by the arrow, pulsated in pain, the muscles of her arm almost powerless.

"Come on, let's go inside. Divide Alain and Neruf's stuff."

The woman suddenly sounded suspicious. "You're not gonna stab me in the back, are you?"

"Of course not. Come on."

Siari heard the voices coming from farther and farther. They'd given up. Good. Her calves and forearms burned from hanging on to the rock, at this almost-upside-down angle. When she was convinced they were far enough, she quietly let her boots detach from the rock and searched for footing. Her boots made contact with the stone below her, and she let her hands go too, so she stood upright on a jutting rock, still hidden under the overhang. Haha, suckers.

It was best not to head back up and go down the mountain path. It was only a descent of about thirty metres, and the rock face wasn't entirely vertical, so with the help of her boots and gloves, she'd be able to descend without much risk. She took a quick breather, squatting on the rock, and then began climbing. It was a tough descent, but manageable, and even in the dark, she could see the hand- and footholds just fine, the waxing moon breaking through the clouds often enough for her to see what she needed to.

It took her about half an hour, and she was down, setting her feet down on the soft grass of the rolling Skyrim plains. Permitting herself a contented look up at the rock face she'd just descended, she took a moment to let her muscles rest, then took off her backpack for a drink of water from her canteen.

As she set the bottle to her lips, she saw a dark shape lying on the ground, around thirty metres further. The rock face above the shape was smeared with blood.

Huh. Seemed like her clumsy friend had come all the way down. She moved closer, still holding her canteen. And as she came closer, she saw that the shape moved. She was close enough to discern details now, and she saw that the man's arms and legs lay at an awkward shape. One of his legs was bent like a strip of boneless meat. His head was broken, and his lower jaw had snapped, the two halves slipped over each other so his chin looked like a stone arch that had cracked under the weight. She could see it even though he had a beard, so that jaw must be completely collapsed.

The man's eyes rested on her. One of his broken arms tried to raise itself, the forearm hanging limp like a dishrag. Broken bone jutted from the elbow. She knew what he was trying to say. Or better, trying to beg for.

Siari shook her head. He wasn't getting any water. It was hers, and all he'd do with it was die with it sloshing around in his ruptured belly.

The eyes pleaded, but Siari simply stoppered her canteen and put it back in her bag. She supposed she should put the man out of his misery, but on the other hand, what would he have done to her if he'd caught her?

No, you can just lie here and die on your own.

Just as Siari put her hand on her shoulder to see how badly the arrow had hurt her, she heard a fwhap! behind her. She whirled around, startled by the sound, and saw another body lie behind her, this one of a woman with a knife in her back, her head split from a not-so-soft contact with the rock face, her brain forced out of her flattened skull in a red and gray cone. A little higher, draped over a jutting rock, hung a man with a quiver on his back.