I dumped a bag of rat's heads at Eydis' feet. She scowled at the bloody canvas sacked, nudged it with a bonemold-plated toe. "What the hell is this?"

"The job," I said. "At the dunmer's house. Where's my pay?"

She didn't hide her scowl well as she turned to open her desk drawer. "If it stains the floorboards, I've half a mind to take it from your cut." A flick of her wrist, and I fumbled to catch the tossed pouch of gold. "Or make you scrub it out yourself."

"We're the Fighters Guild," I said as I fingered through the weathered coins, counting. "Half the place is blood-stained."

Knew I shouldn't have said that, as soon as I saw the scowl on Eydis' face deepen. "Do you want to work off your debt or not?"

That hurt, and hurt more as I finished a rough count of my pay. Fifty septims, half of what'd be expected for a job like stabbing rats. I owed the Balmora branch of the guild for covering a gambling, ah, deficit at the South Wall. And by "cover" I mean Eydis and a pair of sellswords gutted a goldrunner who'd tried to end me when I didn't have what I owed. The Guild protects its own, Eydis always said. Even if its steward doesn't like you. So half my pay went to Eydis, for the forseeable future.

"Yea," I said finally. "Got anything else for me?"

Eydis produced a rolled up parchment from her belt pack. "This just came in from Caldera last night. I held onto it for you, since you know the place."

She gave me a clever grin as I took the paper. Didn't like that grin. Eydis had no reason to be nice. When I unrolled and read it, I knew why. "Four Telvanni agents? The Caldera ebony mines? You've got to be kidding."

"Hundred for each. Four hundred for the job."

"So two hundred."

Eydis shrugged. "It's more than fifty."

"I can't handle four agents. Four Telvanni agents. Who do I look like, King Kurog?"

That bitter grin. "As a matter of fact…"

"Stuff it, nord." I flicked the paper in her face. Probably shouldn't have done that either. "I like my own neck."

I was down the steps before I saw how she reacted. Sorting through a shipment of hammers, Wayn, the Balmora branch's redguard smith, gave me a look somewhere between sympathy and incredulity. Well, maybe not incredulity. Wayn had taught me that word, so I associated it with him, without really knowing what it meant. He's smart, for a smith.

I'm no idiot, either. A job to kill four armed agents? That's a death wish. So I decided I'd skip the Guild for a bit, and make my coin the old-fashioned way.

(())

On second thought, I kind of regret the old-fashioned way.

The cave loomed before me, a gaping black maw yawning from the gap between crags of black volcanic rock. The Mamaea Foyoda valley in which the cave was embedded smelled like ash and soot. Just like the rain, which thankfully wasn't coming down. Rain in the foyoda picks up all the volcanic dust and drags streams of black, foul water southwards. One time I was caught in a storm while traversing Balmora's foyoda. Couldn't stop coughing for three days – the dust gets in your lungs.

I tugged on the neck of my chain hauberk. Well, gold wasn't gonna make itself. I stepped gingerly into the maw, descended into the blackness. No torches. Sneaking is a handy skill, and I've got decent vision in the dark, as long as I don't delve too deep, which I had no intention of doing.

As I picked my way into the cave, I tapped the butt end of my spear on the ground before each step. Every so often I reached behind me to touch the hunting bow strung around my shoulder, just to reassure myself it was there. It was the thing I'd picked up in the dunmer tomb, and while it wasn't in great shape, it'd do in a pinch. Not that it would be terribly useful here. No light, and not a lot of space to pull the draw. What I wouldn't give for a good crossbow…

Wait. Some light, ahead. Probably the roof had caved in. No telling if the way was blocked. A shame, if so. Local bandits liked to hide their goods in these caves, often left it unguarded, thinking no one in their right mind would poke around. Well, Mehmed gro-Yaraz is of right mind, and he's definitely poking around…

…poking around a corner, to find candles arrayed atop rocks and boulders down the length of the cavern. Red flames flickered and morphed, playing crimson on the rocky walls. Strange. I guess some outlaws favor a particular ambiance. I drew the bow. Well, there was light. Might as well make use of it.

Sneaking down the way, I notched an arrow ready. I poked the tip around another bend in the cavern, and slunk back just in time. In a natural chamber about as wide as a silt strider, ringed by guttering candles, stood a silhouetted figure. I thought it faced away from me, but it was hard to tell.

Pressed against the cold stone wall, I weighed the chances of the figure being some poor sap, a traveler who had taken shelter in the cave, pitifully lost a few dozen strides from the entrance. And I found those chances slim.

My arrow took him (or her) in the ribs, and they slumped to the ground. When I approached I expected to find an outlaw arrayed in some mismatch of leathers, maybe a couple daggers or a rusted iron longsword stuffed through a belt. But the fellow whose corpse I crouched next to was a gray-skinned thin dunmer, naked but for a loincloth. His arms weren't much more than twigs. Well. I (probably) hadn't skewered a well-to-do innocent man, which was good, but unless he'd jammed a septim up his arse, I doubt he had anything of value under that loincloth. Wasn't about to check.

Deeper in the cave and down a slope, more candles flickered among rocky recesses. Maybe I'd read this place all wrong, and it wasn't a bandit hideout, but a nudist colony.

Around another bend, a wooden door rose from the murk. Also strange. But why build a door, except to keep people out? Must be some valuables in there. Spear in hand, I took the latch and creaked it open, slowly…

The door burst open, splinters flying. I yelped and stumbled back, nearly lost my footing. I heard cries of "N'wah!" and "S'wit!" but the mass of muscle that had busted down the door didn't look like it had articulated those words.

I'd heard tales of bonewalkers before from the grandstanders who boasted of their exploits at the Eight Plates. But I'd never seen one in the flesh.

It roared and swiped a clawed hand, tearing through my trouser leg. Stung like a dozen netches right in the dongliz. I croaked something – maybe a scream? – and jammed the business end of my chitin spear through its shoulder. The thing roared again and twisted, wrenching the spear from my hands.

"Oh shit."

I booked it back the way I came, spear lost, bow rattling across my shoulder, quiver bouncing along my leg. Or maybe that was piss. A glance to the rear and I saw the monstrosity tear my spear from its arm, and lurch its way after me.

Maybe it was an insane moment of bravado, or some calculating corner of my mind deciding now would be a good time to strike, but in a single motion I halted, unslung my bow, drew and notched an arrow, and readied to loose-

The bow snapped just above the handle.

"Shitty dunmer work!" I gasped, tossing the broken pieces to the ground as I booked it once more.

(())

Wayn wrapped bandages around my bloody leg as I sat atop a crate in the Guild. "A bonewalker, you say?"

"Uh," I grunted. Didn't dare look up at Eydis, who no doubt had a smug look on her face. Arrogant nords.

"Can't imagine one so close to Balmora," Wayn said as he pinned the bandages tight. "Not unless a rogue necromancer set up shop nearby. Where'd you say you were, again?"

I grimaced, rotating the ankle of the injured leg. "The foyoda, east of Fort Moonmoth. Some cave."

Eydis snorted. "A candle-lit cave."

Now I couldn't help myself, and shot her a glare. Sure enough she wore a smug grin. "Yes, a candle-lit cave. Wayn's probably right. Must be some mage's idea of mystical mumbo-jumbo."

"Did you at least make a decent haul?"

"Not that it's any of your business, since it wasn't a Guild matter, but no, I did not." I gave her a rude gesture. "Maybe if I had my own bonemold armor, I would've been just fine."

"Save some coin and you can order a set from Meldor."

"I'd have that coin if you didn't swipe it from under my nose."

"And you'd have it if you weren't a chronic gambler."

I felt the blood rising in my face. "Or maybe I would have it, if those pink-skins at the South Wall didn't toss loaded dice."

Wayn sighed as he finished patching me up. "You know South Wall's full of Thieves Guild. That's what they do. They thieve."

I gave him an incredulous look. Or, a look I hoped was properly incredulous. "You're taking her side, now?"

The redguard shrugged and got to his feet. "She's right."

"And don't forget it," Eydis said, arms crossed. "You want climb the ranks? Be a steward one day? Pay attention."

"To what?" I grumbled, getting to my feet. Leg didn't hurt as bad as I'd thought it would.

Eydis snapped her fingers in my face. "To Balmora. To its people. To what's going on, who hangs out where, who answers to whom, and where the money goes. You need to know these things if you want to rise in the Guild, Mehmed."

"I'm not interested in ranks," I said. "I'm an orc, and I can fight, and fighting pays. That's why it's called the Fighters Guild."

Eydis gave me a look that suggested a sense of superiority. Damn nords always thought they were the better warriors. I say, put your average orsimer and nord in a ring, bare-bones or armed, and the greenskin'll come out on top more times than not.

It just so happened to be a good thing that Wayn was my friend, because I wouldn't bet against a redguard. He put a hand on my shoulder. "No one's asking you to rise in the ranks. You do you."

Eydis snorted. "If that's all you want in this world…" she pulled a rolled up paper from inside the cuff of a bonemold bracer and flicked it at me. "Here. The job's still open."

This time I caught her unceremoniously offered item. Four Telvanni agents. Better than a bonewalker. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Your leg's okay," Wayn said, "but I'd go to the dunmer temple, or Fort Moonmoth, and have the healers take a look at you. Never trust a bonewalker wound."

"I don't trust a lot of things," I said, looking at Wayn but meaning something else. "But I'll take the job." I waved. "But get me a bow, if you could. Orcish made."