Chapter Twenty:

Blast From the Past

My head was ringing when I woke up. I groaned and tried to stretch my arms, but they were bound to the seat I was in. That's when I remembered that Milos and I were attacked, but... where was Milos?

I shook my head from side-to-side quickly so I could clear my head. Not only was I bound, but someone had taken the liberty of tieing a cloth around and inside of my mouth. Even my curses weren't coming out!

A door suddenly slammed open. One look at the man walking through, and I knew that Milos and I weren't just attacked randomly. This was for a grudge. This was personal. Between us, and us alone.

The man was a Breton, who was dressed in green finery, blue suede pants, and fine shoes. His eyes were sharp and cunning, and everything about him screamed, "holier-than-thou". This person I would hate for the rest of my life.

Arnand Bienne.

Flipping a lock of his brown hair out of his face, Arnand glared down at me. "Long time no see, Taryn," he growled.

It's not that I didn't want to say anything. It was just that I couldn't. Instead I narrowed my eyes and hoped he felt the absolute loathing I was feeling for him.

"You have been a very bad girl," Arnand continued. "With you gone from Anvil, the Thalmor were looking for someone to blame for what you did. Did you know that your little 'group' has been disbanded? Most of them are jailed now. I told them I'd give their regards to you once I'd found you." Arnand put a hand on my face. I quickly pulled my face back. "You've been very busy since I last saw you. I see you found that stupid Argonian. And even the assassin I sent after you is following your lead. I've always hated that about you. You never seem to understand that you're one of those stupid 'natural-born leaders'."

Take this thing off and I'll Shout your damn ears off!

"The Count is still alive, you know." All of a sudden, I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders. "I saw the little piece of paper in your pack, though. I saw you escape the Embassy, too, so I can only assume that you didn't read this." Arnand waved the piece of paper I found with Esbern's dossier. "It details that the Thalmor are looking for the Imperial who attacked the Count of Anvil. Not that he's dead. How lucky you are, Taryn. How very lucky indeed."

I felt so relieved at the fact that I definitely was't a murderer that I barely even noticed the two other people entering the room. One, the Nord with the warhammer on his back, started to stoke the fire. The other, easily a Mage by the robes and hood over his face, stood near Arnand.

"Isn't it about time, then?" the Mage asked, crossing his arms. "Or did you just hire me for my company?"

Arnand grinned. "Place a few runes around her. Don't let her use any sort of magicka. I'm not taking any chances with her."

"She improvises then, huh?" The Mage did as he was told and placed runes around my chair. They worked quickly. I was feeling weak already. "There. Done. Should be safe."

Arnand tore the cloth and tossed it into a corner. "Now we can talk properly."

"Fuck. You," I growled.

He smiled, and again touched my face. "I missed you, Taryn."

"Get your hand off!" I launched forward, slamming my head into his chest and knocking the wind out of him. I took a lot of pleasure seeing him like that.

Arnand touched his chest. "You there! Get over here!"

The big Nord at the fire looked at Arnand. "Yes, boss?"

"Hit her right arm. It's wounded," the Breton ordered.

"Got it."

The Nord lumbered over to me and put his left hand on my shoulder. Curling his right fist, he slammed it hard into the wound I'd recieved from the Embassy. Pain exploded through my arm, but I gritted my teeth and bit back the scream. I wouldn't give Arnand the pleasure.

"Again!" Arnand snapped.

The huge fist of the Nord barrelled hard into my arm. I grunted in pain. My head was ringing, I was starting to become dazed, and I knew I couldn't Shout. Those runes around me were doing their job well.

Arnand ordered my arm to be hit at least five more times before I finally screamed, unable to take the pain. I'd felt like I failed myself, but there was no way I was going to lose here. Not when there was still so much at stake!

Ordering the Nord to stop, Arnand drew a dagger and gazed at it. "It almost pains me to hurt a creature such as yourself, Taryn. But I can't stand the sight of you any longer. After all, your face is already scarred. What's the difference of adding just one more?"

"You... don't have... the guts!" I spat venomously. "I was gone... for, like, a few weeks... and you... couldn't even hold... control for that... long!"

"Shut up!" Arnand back-handed me across the face, hard. I spat out blood onto the floor. "You bitch! You stuck-up bitch!"

"Can't think... of a better insult?" I goaded. "Your ancestors... must be proud... of you!"

"Hold her face!" Arnand yelled to the Nord. Each of the Nord's large hands grabbed hold of a side of my face, forcing me to look straight to Arnand. "You're going to regret every single moment of your miserable life!"

"Bring. It. On." I grinned. "Life's full... of regrets!"

Arnand spun the blade around in his hand and then pressed it against my face, right where my scar from the rock had finished.

"And that's the first thing you're going to regret," he whispered.

I screamed in agony as Arnand dug the blade into my face and dragged it down. What lasted only a few seconds had felt like eras of pain, and Arnand didn't stop until he'd reached my chin. I'd get a new jagged scar on my face, but it wasn't in much of a straight line from the previous one. This one went a bit diagonal, across my lips and to the centre of my chin. It was hard to find where the blood began, or where it'd stop.

Arnand tossed the dagger into a corner and put his hands on my face. "Now, do you see what I had to do? You need to realize that it's better not to defy me, Taryn."

I spat out more blood, this time onto his face. He recoiled and used the sleeve of his fine garbs to wipe the blood away. Arnand glared at me, his eyes filled with hate.

Too bad for him I wasn't paying attention. The blood... it wasn't from what I'd swallowed. It was because I was sick. I was sick again! That meant... I was really going to die. Hiemdall wasn't around with those... whatever they were. And Milos was nowhere. I was going to die alone, in my own blood, with the person I hated the most in the Nirn standing over me.

Or, maybe I just jump to conclusions too fast.

The door burst open off of its hinges as more blood came up and a massively large wolf came inside, on its hind legs. My mind raced, the fear suddenly clouding the pain I was in. It wasn't just a wolf: it was a Werewolf.

It roared and leapt at the Nord man, who had abandoned his post to grab his warhammer. The Werewolf mauled him, sinking its teeth and its claws into him and ripping him limb from limb. The Mage summoned fire into his palms, but a greatsword stopped him from casting. Hiemdall pulled his blade out of the Mage while Arnand ran out of the building, screaming in fear.

I was paralyzed, but only got sicker. Hiemdall hurried over to me, ignoring the screams of Arnand, and cut through the ropes tieing me to the chair. I struggled to get to my feet, but Hiemdall took it a step further and swung me up onto his back, piggy-back style.

The Werewolf behind us growled, finished with its victim. I expected it to attack us, but it just followed us out, ensuring that we weren't being followed. We emerged out of the building and into the snow. I felt bad that all my blood was getting on Hiemdall, but I couldn't do much about it.

"Hold on, Taryn! Just hold on!" Hiemdall began to trudge through the snow. He was going as fast as he could, but he was being hindered a lot by the snowbanks, and the stinging little snowflakes that so kindly decided to attack us. "Shit, where's Milos?!"

On the bright side, I wasn't going to die alone. But then again, I was going to die. I wasn't exactly the happiest camper.

But then, a new pain sprang forth. One I hadn't experienced yet. One I definitely didn't want to ever again. Like when I absorbed the souls of slain Dragons, I felt like I was on fire. It was hard to breathe, and even holding on to Hiemdall became an impossible task. I felt so weak, as if my energy was being sapped, but at the same time, I knew where it was headed. I knew where all of my strength was in my body, and I couldn't call it to me.

I fell backwards into the snow, Hiemdall's attempts to catch me failing miserably. I screamed, suddenly wishing that Arnand would cut me a million times rather than go through the agony I was in now. I wrapped my arms around myself, as it felt like my body was ripping apart, but it was no use. The pain, the blood... it was unbearable. I wanted to die. I wanted to die just so that it would end. I think I even begged Hiemdall to kill me.

"Don't worry," Hiemdall said. "Milos is coming. He's coming to help."

Milos. As long as I could hold out until he came, I'd be all right. Maybe. I hoped I would. I didn't know what I'd do without him.

The Werewolf by Hiemdall folded its ears against its head and bared its teeth, growling low. Hiemdall shushed it quickly. I wondered how he'd come to control it, but I didn't waste breath to ask him. Again, the Werewolf started growling. The pain in my body intensified, and I was practically sweating buckets.

I gave up. I just gave up. I couldn't do it any longer. I couldn't fight, couldn't scream, couldn't hold on...

Closing my eyes was the biggest mistake of my life.