Chapter 21 – Endgame
Vicente blinked and raised his head tiredly. Had he just heard something? He felt exhausted, it had been so long ago since the last time he was fed. Or interrogated. It was like they had finally forgotten about him, left him here to starve. His once so quiet life was reduced to this damp cell and constant pain. His wrists were raw and his shoulders throbbed with dull pain from being suspended in this unnatural angle for months now. But the worst was his hunger. It was gnawing away on his insides and nearly drove him crazy. He huffed. Maybe he had already lost his mind. He could not tell. He had screamed and growled for days until his throat was raw and his voice only a harsh whisper, but no one ever came. By now he had lost all hope of being rescued and stopped struggling. He had hoped then, that the sun would take him, he had neither the will nor the strength to keep out of the square of bright light, wandering through his cell every day. But he found out, that the light never hit him directly and all his previous struggle had been in vain. It came close enough to hurt but it would not kill him. Again he thought, he heard voices drifting down the long hallway. The gaze of his pale red eyes drifted towards the window. It was dark outside. With a long drawn out sigh he shook his head.
I've lost my mind...
He thought, wondering how long he would still linger in this suffering. He tried to sink back into the world of his happier memories when the jingling of heavy keys captured his attention. His brows furrowed together. It wasn't a good sign if the guards came to him at this hour of the night.
Maybe Indarys will finally get rid of me. But I swear by Sithis, I will not go down without a fight!
He thought while gathering his remaining strength. He could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Soft footfalls of someone treating lightly.
Doesn't sound like a guard...
Moments later a tall Dunmer in a dark robe appeared at his cell door, staring at him with a grim expression. Out of habit Vicente exposed his sharp fangs and growled deeply. As far as he was concerned, this was none of Indary's men. The Breton tensed. No, this guy was with the Mages Guild, he had seen him lurking around Cheydinhal a few couple of times. He did not know the Dunmer's name, but he had the reputation of being a loner, a quite grumpy loner. His cell door creaked open and the tall, slender mage entered, the grim expression never leaving his face. With a warning hiss, Vicente glared right into the Dunmer's blood red eyes. These eyes held a cruel coldness that made Vicente's inner alarms go off. Surely that was no mage to fool with. For a moment the Dunmer just stared at him, watching the emaciated figure closely. The vampire inhaled deeply, as the metallic scent of freshly shed blood hit him. It woke his inner beast, made his hunger unbearable. He was able to hear the beating of the mer's heart, a slow and steady rhythm. That man was not the least afraid of him. A smirk appeared on the mages face and he raised his hands to the tight iron shackle around the Breton's wrist but had to retract his hand quickly as the angry vampire tried to bite him. Sorilkad huffed, slapping the growling beast across the face. Vicente blinked a couple of times, before he bared his fangs yet again, hissing at the mage. His spirit had not yet been broken completely, there was still a spark left. And he would surely not become a plaything for the mages guild. Sorilkad's smirk widened into a cruel smile.
"So the creature wants to play?"
He asked with a voice that matched his cold gaze.
"I like that!"
The Dunmeri mage took a couple of steps back and summoned a spell in his hands. The crackling of magic filled the small dank cell and then he released the bright glowing spell at the vampire. Vicente braced himself, but instead of pain, he heard the clicking of locks and then the chains released him. The Breton fell forwards on hands and knees with a little gasp. For a moment he stayed down, gathering his strength. He had only one try to overpower that arrogant Dunmer. Only one try to kill, feed and escape this place. And then he would kill Bellamont for what he had done to him. He looked up and met the Dark Elf's calm gaze. He leant against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a smug expression plastered all over his face. He waited for Vicente to make the first move. Rage began to boil in the starved man and slowly he stood up on sore shaking legs. But the promise of a meal was just too tempting. Vicente licked his dry lips before baring his long fangs in a snarl.
"That was your last mistake, Dunmer!"
Chuckling deeply, Sorilkad raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so, creature?"
Vicente drew his lips back angered and with a feral growl, he lunged at the slender mer. The constant smell of blood had already clouded his judgement and his vampiric instinct had taken over. Too late he saw the eerie green glow wafting around Sorilkad's hands. Vicente was hit by the spell square in his chest with such force, that he was knocked backwards. His back scraped painfully over the rough stone floor ripping barely healed wounds open. The old Breton cried out in pain and lay still on the floor. He knew that he needed to get up. Needed to fight as long as he could. But he could not get up, could not move at all. So he lay still on the cold ground, staring up at the ceiling, his last hopes fading away. He could hear the Dunmer's soft footfalls coming closer and moments later Sorilkad's face moved into view. He grinned down at the beaten man, his eyes as cold as the stone floor Vicente lay on.
"Haven't worked with a vampire in a long time."
The dark mage stated calmly.
"I'm sure we will have a lot of fun together."
Vicente's stomach churned with slight fear. He could bear the bodily torture, but he was sure that this mage had something for him in store that would leave him to beg for the whip. Sorilkad's eyes glowed green briefly. A glow that was reflected in Vicente's eyes.
"Get up, pet."
The mage said in a commanding tone and turned towards the door. Behind him, Vicente rose wide eyed and followed the mage out of the cell on wobbly legs, like a puppet. It was there in the light of the torches that the Breton finally got a better look on the mages dark robes. He drew in a shocked breath, while he tried to fight the spell he was under. Almost gleefully Sorilkad bit his lower lip and nibbled at the golden ring, watching the vampire struggle.
"Forget it pet. You are under my control now."
He said, still that smug smile on his face. He received a low growl as an answer that made him laugh.
"I admire your spirit. But this is how it goes. You are dead and I'm a necromancer. You are my thrall, end of story."
He gave the vampire a last good look over.
"And now come, your meal is waiting."
He led Vicente Valtieri down the corridor and through a door. The Breton's eyes widened slightly as he saw the jailor sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, his mouth gagged with a dirty cloth and hands bound together behind the backrest. Beside him stood an older guard with a blank expression and a drawn sword. Faintly he remembered those men. Suspiciously Vicente looked from Sorilkad to the two Imperials. The Dark Elf made a gesture towards the bound Cassius Pupius who's eyes were wide with fear. Sweat stood in thick droplets on this forehead.
"I thought you were hungry."
Vicente did not move, though the smell of Cassius fear was intoxicating.
"Why are you doing this?"
The vampire asked. Sorilkad chuckled and stepped over to the guards. He made a quick sign towards Flavius to give him some room and the guard obeyed instantly. The slender hands with the pointed fingernails landed on Cassius' shoulders, curling into a tight grip. Tight enough to make jailor shriek through his gag. Sorilkad's evil grin widened a little.
"You were not supposed to get out of the Sanctuary, Vicente. But I guess you just could not disobey your new Speaker, am I right? Even though he was the real traitor."
Vicente's eyes narrowed.
"How do..."
"I know? Oh my little pet, you would be surprised. For now, lets just say I found a nice body in a remote cabin."
The Breton's eyes widened.
"What did you do to him?"
The Dunmer only smiled, licking over his lip.
"When I found him, he was still warm."
"What did you do to him!"
Vicente shouted, his hands curled into tight fists. The Dunmer chuckled dangerously low.
"Maybe I'll show you later. But enough for now, my pet. Feed!"
Against his will, Vicente's feet moved forward, but then he gave in. His hunger was too great and seconds later he viciously sunk his fangs into the jailor's neck. The Imperial tried to scream and struggle, which prompted the vampire to readjust his bite and drove his fangs in even deeper. A wet spot appeared between the Imperial's legs, that grew constantly until a yellowish liquid dropped down to the floor, building a growing puddle. Vicente didn't care, he greedily sucked the crimson blood up until Cassius was dead and dry. Panting he released his grip on the neck, he already could feel his strength return. Slowly he straightened and turned to look at Sorilkad. The necromancer had watched him silently the whole time.
"You look better."
The mage commented dryly.
"I feel better ... and stronger."
There was no kindness in Vicente's voice, only a silent promise, that he would hurt him, as soon as he was able too.
"But you are still hungry right?"
The Breton did not answer, but his gaze that wandered towards Flavius betrayed him. The necromancer smirked.
"You can have him..."
Sorilkad turned towards the Imperial that had stood silently aside the whole time. A green glow briefly appeared in his eyes, then Sorilkad snapped his fingers, releasing his spell he had on the guard. Flavius instantly sunk to the ground, lifeless. Suspicious, Vicente turned him over. That man already felt cold to the touch, a sign that he had been dead for a while now. He raised a surprised eyebrow. The necromancer had controlled the guard ever since he killed him. That would explain how he had gotten in here. But it also raised the question of how powerful the mage really was. The Dunmer still seemed as calm as ever, as if the spell did not take any toll on him at all. Vicente pushed his thoughts into the back of his mind. That was something he could wonder about when he was done eating. For now, he needed all the strength he could get and maybe even heal a little. He sunk his fangs into the dead man's neck.
When he finally had finished and got up, his cheeks had filled out considerably and he wasn't shaking any longer. It was then, he got aware, that he was still naked. He turned towards the taller man, who still had this smug smile on his face, that annoyed and angered the vampire so much. How he would love to rip that smile of the man's face, but still he was under his control. Sorilkad bent down to a chest and took something out. To Vicente's delight, he recognized his clothes only moments later.
"Here. Dress up."
Sorilkad commanded, even though the vampire was happy to oblige this time. Everything was still there, even the necklace his mother had given him so long ago. When he was dressed his gaze met with Sorilkad's again.
"Why are you doing this?"
He asked again, his voice stern and cold. The Dunmer shrugged.
"I was asked to get you home."
Was his cryptic answer, which raised only more questions in the Breton.
"Asked? By whom?"
He inquired, but the look on Sorilkad's face told him, that he would not get any answers. Instead the mage straightened his robe out and walked over to the door.
"Come now, pet. We need to go. Changing of the guards will be soon."
Without further ado the mage walked out of the room, knowing that Vicente would follow him. As the Breton entered the small tower room, he was hit by the smell of shed blood. He inhaled deeply.
"You had fun in here, didn't you?"
He asked the mer sarcastically, receiving a deep chuckle from Sorilkad. The mage however did not slow down and exited the tower swiftly. Outside Vicente was finally able to catch up with the mage, who walked in a steady even pace down the steep hill.
"Aren't you afraid of being seen?"
The Breton asked.
"With an undead...thrall? In that robe? They could have you hanged you know."
The Dunmer shot him a glare from out of the corner of his eyes. A small victorious smile tugged on Vicente's lips.
"Looks like I hit a soft spot didn't I?"
Sorilkad drew a deep breath, before he raised his hand. Vicente's eyes widened a little as he saw the ominous green glow around it.
"Aldmardi!"
Sorilkad hissed and the vampires eyes widened even more, as he found himself unable to utter even one more word. He now was completely under the mage's control. Sorilkad smiled wickedly at his unwanting companion.
"Better now, isn't it."
He paused, reaching into the folds of his robe.
"Try anything else and I will use this on you."
He held up a garlic bulb.
"I was told you have an allergy against it."
The incredulous look the vampire shot him, made him laugh. He would have to thank Lucien later. He was enjoying this quite lot.
Arquen tossed and turned on the bed, her beaten body covered in sweat, before waking up from her nightmare. Memories of her past had come back to haunt her. She had dreamt of her uncle, her father and brother abusing her again. They came for her from their graves, the gruesome wounds they had received from young Arquen still bloody and gaping. For a moment the Altmer woman just lay there panting, staring up at the ceiling. Exhausted she closed her eyes and forced her breath to calm down. She had racked her brain over a way to flee for so long now, but finally came to the conclusion, that she would die here. Would suffer at the hands of Bellamont. This time, there was no way out.
She sighed, trying to ease her aching body into a slightly different position, without any success. It was then she got aware of the presence beside her, aware of the set of eyes staring down at her. Her eyes snapped open with a gasp, fearing that Bellamont had returned to her, to have his way with her again. But instead, she found herself staring up into cold green eyes, framed by red hair, that shone like blood in the candlelight. Delicate black lines of a tattoo framed a black hand print on the stranger's forehead. A handprint not unlike the Black Hand but she recognised it to be the Hand of the Tribunal, even though he was apparently an Altmer male. A quite handsome man, even though his ears had been cut. Quickly she recovered from her initial shock.
"You need to get me out of here!"
She almost hissed, still fearing that Bellamont might be in earshot. A smirk appeared on the tall Altmer's face as he straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Now do I?"
He asked with an sardonic voice. A slight frown appeared on Arquen's face. She quickly blinked it away, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"Please."
She said and though she hated to beg, she knew that men would often fall for helpless women.
"I was kidnapped and tortured. Please get me out before he comes back."
Caman nodded, slowly letting his gaze wander over her body. She was indeed covered in blood and bruises, cuts were all across her belly and they already looked infected. His gaze travelled further down to her legs. Her inner thighs were badly bruised as well and a pool of blood had built between them. It gave him a pretty good idea, what Bellamont had done to the Altmer female. And yet, Caman had never been one to let an opportunity slip by.
"I can see that. I'm not blind."
He said in a chilling tone.
"You enjoyed it?"
Her gaze darkened and though she was aching and weak she hissed.
"Are you crazy? How dare you talk to..."
"Shut up, you hypocrite bitch!"
The tall warrior cut her off. Arquen's eyes widened. Slowly Caman uncrossed his arms and light fell on the sharp blade of his elven dagger, he had in his hand.
"Let me tell you a little story."
He said calmly, playing with his blade, staring down at the bound woman with a cold stare.
"I had a friend once. He was framed for something he hadn't done and though he fled he was captured and tortured."
He paused, leaning down towards Arquen.
"First they broke his fingers, one by one. Then his back was shred into a bloody mess."
Caman's smirk widened, as he saw suspicion creep into her gaze.
"Why are you telling me this?"
She asked in a flat voice. Caman shrugged.
"Oh I was just having the impression you were fucking enjoying yourself back then. How did it feel to watch him die? A fucking helpless man?"
She stared up at him with wide eyes, while the warrior straightened up to his full impressive hight. Slowly he put the dagger away and drew his swords out.
"Tell me Arquen. How did it feel to rip his bloody guts out?"
She slowly shook her head.
"How do you know my name?"
Caman didn't answer, instead he growled.
"You should fucking die here, you bitch! You call yourself assassin? Pfff a bloody butcher you are, Arquen!"
He paused again, staring at her for a long moment. When he continued his voice was dangerously low.
"You gutted Lucien like a pig, let him die in his own piss and blood and didn't even have the courtesy of cutting his throat to end it! You have no honour!"
He stared down at her, anger barely hidden in his blazing green eyes.
"And now tell me you slag, why should I not just kill you?"
Arquen had no answer for him. Caman raised his swords, tips pointing downwards.
"If I had come to you first, I'd done more than rip your piss-flaps. I would have shoved my sword up your tight little elven ass till you choked on it!"
He raised his swords over his head, an angry gleam in his eyes.
"You stinking assassin whore!"
He brought his swords down in a powerful swing. Arquen pressed her eyes shut and waited for the pain to come. Metal screamed on metal and orange sparks flew away in every direction. And then her arms were free. She watched him hack the shackles apart on her feet as well before turning away from the bed. Slowly she sat up, rubbing her aching raw wrists, before pulling her legs up and hugging her knees. Though free, she knew she was completely at the Altmer warrior's mercy. When Caman turned towards her again, he flung a black cloth at her.
"Cover your stinking body up, you useless cunt!"
The Altmer growled, glaring down at her with cold eyes. Arquen let the material run through her hand, recognizing that it was a Black Hand robe. She inhaled deeply, holding the robe close to her face. It still had Lucien's faint smell. With a sigh, she slowly pulled the robe over her head and laced it up, before turning her gaze back to the red haired warrior. He had turned his back towards her. For a moment, Arquen wished for a dagger to plunge into his back. But she doubted that he would be an easy target. There was a dangerous air about this Altmer warrior. She eyed him a little closer. He moved with the elegance and strength of a lion.
"You don't like assassins."
She stated after a long while of silence. Caman turned, lifting his chin a bit and running the back side of his hand over the underside of his jaw. There was a thin white line across his throat, spanning from jaw to jaw right where the jaw met the neck. Someone obviously had tried to cut his throat once.
"Not at all."
He answered after a while. Carefully Arquen swung her legs out of the bed, not yet daring to stand up.
"Lachance... you had dealings with him, right?"
Caman huffed turning away from the woman and walked towards the desk.
"That's non of your bloody business."
He looked up at the ladder, leading towards the secret entrance before glancing back to her over his shoulder, realizing that she would not be able to climb up there in her current state. He cursed under his breath. The prospect that he had to take her back through the entire ruin evading the various traps was non he was looking for.
"Can you walk?"
Arquen looked up.
"I don't know."
Caman sighed rolling his eyes.
"Then fucking try it!"
Arquen made a sour face, yet she carefully tried to stand up, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. Stubborn as she was she tried to make a step forward, but collapsed on hands and knees. Caman sighed yet again.
"Oh bugger. You are as useful as tits on a bull."
With long strides he walked over and bent down, looping one arm around her chest, the other one through her knees, picking her up bridal style. She hissed out in pain, yet did not struggle. Her gaze wandered to the swords at his hips, a movement which went not unnoticed by Caman.
"If you try something, I'll rip your fucking arms out and beat you to a bloody heap with them."
She froze.
"Understood?"
Arquen nodded trying to ease her aching tense body a little. She felt like being lit on fire. Finally Caman swallowed his anger down, after all this woman had been heavily beaten.
"Put your arm around my neck, it'll be easier for you. We have a long way ahead of us."
She did as she was told, even leaning her head against his shoulder, while he walked her out of the dimly lit room and took her through an eerily lit hallway and then down into a long dark tunnel. She felt eerily safe in his arms, knowing that Bellamont would not be able to hurt her at the moment.
"Where are you taking me?"
She asked after a while.
"To the Sanctuary."
Was the mer's short answer. Arquen blinked. The sanctuary... Suddenly she tensed.
"To Bellamont?"
Caman chuckled.
"To his remains maybe."
Confused she tried to meet his gaze. A smile lifted his grazegfully swung lips up.
"The night is dark and full of terrors, little Arquen. And blood will spill upon this night."
He said cryptically, before lapsing into silence, leaving her with more questions than answers.
A young Dunmer stabled his horse in the middle of the night and returned to the road, leading up towards the main gate of Cheydinhal. An older mer was waiting for him there. Alval Uvani hated horses, though he would have never made the journey on foot in time. Having to sit behind Banus and clinging to his Silencer like a backpack for the entirety of their ride did nothing to improve his already foul mood. But they had arrived in Cheydinhal shortly after midnight. Alval looked up at the double towers lining the main gate. It was a long time ago since the last time he had been here, but he still remembered the basic outline of the town. Behind him, Banus lingered back, watching his Speaker closely. Uvani looked downright exhausted, his eyes sunken in with deep circles around them, his skin a shade to pale to look healthy. Banus was concerned, he knew that Bellamont's attempt on Uvani's life had taken a greater toll on his body than Uvani let on. And indeed, Uvani felt just as exhausted as he looked. Every single step he took, send waves of pain through his sore aching body. The Cure Poison potion, Banus had given him, might have saved his life, yet it did not reverse all effects of his allergy. His joints still were a little stiff and the older mer wasn't so sure how he would do in a fight. But yet he was too stubborn to just rest for a couple of hours. He turned to look at Banus, who tarried behind him and frowned deeply.
"Come on, Alor. Or do you want to put down roots?"
The young man blinked, his train of thoughts obviously destroyed, and hurried to his seniors side, before they continued down the road. The guards on either side of the huge gate already had spied the pair of elves and straightened up.
"Don't worry, I'm fine."
Uvani whispered only loud enough for his Silencer to hear. He had guessed, what plagued the young man's mind and after Banus had been so emotional earlier about his near passing, it wasn't his intent to scare the boy further.
As soon as they reached the gate a city guard stepped in front of them.
"Stop right there! State your names and business!"
Alor swallowed nervously trying to think of something believable, but beside him, Uvani bowed his head slightly and stated all matter of factly.
"I'm Alval Uvani, travelling merchant and this is my son Banus. We're here for continuation and development of business relations."
The guard looked from mer to mer a second, before stepping aside.
"Enjoy your stay. You might find housing in the Newlands Lodge. First house on the left."
Alval gave the guard a short curt nod and entered through the high gate. But as soon as he was past the gate, his smile faded and turned into his trademark scowl. He turned towards his Silencer.
"Keep your eyes peeled for an abandoned house. That's where we need to go."
Bellamont slowly backed away from the sinister figure of Lucien Lachance, eyes wide in sheer horror.
"Stay...stay away from me! You're not real! You're dead!"
The young Breton snapped, his voice a little to shrill for his own liking. Lucien's smirk widened with an low menacing chuckle.
"Not so smug any more, are we?"
He taunted, his voice a dangerously low growl, while circling the other in a slow and steady pace. Bellamont's grip on his shaking blade's handle grew so tight, his knuckles cracked loudly in the otherwise silent room. The ghostly Imperial held his empty hands out at his side.
"I'm not often impressed, by our clients and our kin alike. But your plan was … spectacular."
Lucien almost purred, while he watched pearls of sweat run down Bellamont's temples.
"To fool the Black Hand, everybody in the Brotherhood, an elaborate plan to frame me."
He paused again with an eerie smile on his features.
"Such a waste of talent. Shame!"
Mathieu swallowed heavily and slashed his dagger through the air in front of him, a vain attempt to keep the spectre at bay, yet stayed silent. But the ghost did not seem to be intimidated by those half hearted attempts to defend himself. The Imperial just kept smiling, which weirded the young man out even more. But behind that creepy smile, Lucien silently thanked both Sorilkad and Caman for their relentless training. The Altmer had been right, after all, they had raised a warrior and his subtle moves to evade the swiping blade went unnoticed by Bellamont. The Breton's eyes darted around the room as if he was looking for a way to hide away. Lucien chuckled darkly.
"Say nothing? I can appreciate that. For silence is the music of Sithis."
Mathieu's eyes widened at those sinister spoken words. He had to swallow a couple of times, though his throat felt dry and raw until he found his voice again. With a raised dagger he shrieked.
"I killed you once. I saw your intestines hanging out! I can do that to you again!"
The spectre gave him a low laugh.
"Great words for a scared little boy. And a lie. You wish to kill me? Well you know someone else already had that honour."
Mathieu's eyes shifted to the floor a moment. True, he hadn't dealt the killing blow, that honour did indeed go to Arquen.
"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"
The ghostly assassin teased him and Mathieu's head snapped back up, eyes narrowing in anger.
"Oh wait, I killed her!"
Mathieu gasped, his grip around his dagger tightening again, while his rage finally overruled his fear.
"Die!"
The young Breton roared, jumping forward, dagger pointing at Lucien's heart. The proud Imperial sidestepped the oncoming blade easily, blocking Bellamont's arm by the elbow, before giving him a hard shove to the back. Mathieu stumbled forwards a couple of steps. Catching his balance he turned around with wild eyes, that finally revealed his madness. Again he charged at Lucien, who's hands suddenly held a set of daggers. Blades, Bellamont should have recognised easily, if he only cared to take a closer look. But in his rage, he blindly attacked the ghostly assassin again and again. And while the Breton's attacks were led by emotion, the Imperial blocks were well measured and precise. Still, the younger man was a trained assassin and quick on his feet.
Again Mathieu jumped back and shifted his weight as if he would bring his left foot forward and attack with the dagger, that was in his left hand as well. Lucien tried to turn away to the right, but Mathieu let his dagger fly forward, right into Lucien's path. For a moment, Mathieu thought he had ended their fight with that move. And against a less well-trained adversary, he surely would have won. But then it dawned on him, that Lucien had anticipated that move and that the Imperial's turn to the right was nothing more than a bluff. A bluff that brought him right in front of the Blade of Woe. With a quick movement, more guided by luck than talent, he brought his dagger up to block the enchanted blade, while he ducked himself away. With a little jump, Mathieu brought himself out of the reach of Lucien's daggers. A smirk grew on the Imperial's face. His tactic worked perfectly. While he had only been defensive so far, the young attacker began to tire out. As for now, Bellamont stood panting and sweating, hands planted firmly against his thighs while he tried to regain his breath. Assassins were not made for lengthy fights, he had learned that the hard way. The weeks of training in heavy armour, as senseless as they had occurred to him, now paid off. His smirk grew into an evil grin. Bellamont was ready. Now was his time to strike.
A low menacing chuckle drew Mathieu's attention to the ghost. Daggers in hand, the apparition began to circle him again. Bellamont knew he should attack, but his heart raced in his chest and his muscles protested already. He needed more time. He swallowed and raised his weapon defensively, while he felt like a sheep stalked by a wolf. The Breton's pale blue eyes shifted to the weapon's in the older man's hands. He held both daggers with the tip pointing backwards. It was then Bellamont's eye narrowed on them before they grew wide in horror. One was Lucien's Blade of Woe, an enchanted ebony blade. But the other one was Scalding, a fine silver dagger with runes edged into its blade, that gave it a strong fire enchantment. He knew that blade too well since it had been Uvani's blade.
How can that be?
He thought, his mind hazed by panic. Uvani was dead as well and the Dunmeri Speaker died weeks after they had dealt with Lachance. Lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed, that Lucien had stopped circling him and now stood right in front of him. It was only when the spectre spoke that he came out of his thoughts.
"You look lost, my dear Brother."
Bellamont's gaze met Lucien's and for once his wit had left him and he found himself at a loss of words. The Imperial smirked.
"Don't worry, soon you will sit in the darkness of the Void, where you will answer for what you have done."
Still Mathieu found himself not able to answer or move. It almost felt like he had been paralysed. With a dry laugh, Lucien turned away, before whirling back around in a blur of motion. Metal clattered on the stone floor.
"Darkness rises, when silence dies."
The Imperial said cryptically, his eyes fixed on the smaller man. Mathieu followed that gaze to his hand, he still had raised in defence. Only that his hand was gone, cut cleanly off, exposing muscles and bones of his arms, with blood seeping out of curled up arteries. His eyes grew round and with a shaking hand, he gripped his wrist. And with pain starting to register, he started screaming. Lucien turned away laughing deeply, slowly walking around the crying Breton.
With another blood curdling scream Bellamont fell forward on his knees, as both of his hamstrings were cut. Tears were now flowing freely from his eyes and his mind was nearly overwhelmed by pain and fear. He winced as he felt Lucien stand directly behind him.
"You are pathetic."
The Imperial purred into his ear.
"Crying like a little kid."
The hood was ripped from his head, followed by the sound of a sharp knife cutting through clothes and then the dark robe was gone as well, leaving him only in his leather pants.
"You are not worthy."
The spectre said, rounding him again and gazing down at him with hard dark eyes. Mathieu felt something warm and sticky form in his pants and run down his thighs. It took him a moment to realise that he had more than only pissed himself. Lucien shook his head in disappointment, before grabbing a handful of Mathieu's hair and forcing him to look up.
"You should smile more."
The Imperial said almost fatherly, while the Blade of Woe left a crimson trail from the Breton's mouth up to his ear, cutting a permanent smile into his face. Still holding the man's head up by the hair he stepped around him once more, carefully avoiding the puddles of blood, piss and crap that formed on the ground. With one fluid motion, he cut the Breton's back from shoulder to the waist, leaving a deep gaping wound.
"Tell me Mathieu, how do you like it?"
The young man groaned in pain and sputtered blood, before he fell forwards, as his head was suddenly released. His gaze fell on his own dagger, that was still in his now cold dead hand. Slowly he reached for it straining his muscles to reach a weapon. But just as his fingers touched the handle a foot landed on his hand, crushing every bone in it. Bellamont couldn't help from screaming out.
"Manning up I see? Shame."
Lucien said, crouching down, without releasing the crushed hand from under his boot. A bubble of snot formed in front of Bellamont's nose as he squirmed under the Imperial's weight.
"But I'll relieve you of that pain."
With a strong hand, he grabbed the Breton's lower arm and cut it off at the elbow. Bellamont fell to the side, his face red and distorted but not able to cry out anymore. With a low chuckle, Lucien turned the young man over on his back. As much as he liked to torture that little worm a little more, his time was running out. He stabbed his blade up to the hilt into the other man's abdomen. Mathieu flailed around helplessly, before coughing up blood. For a brief moment, the pained gaze of his blue eyes met Lucien's dark once and he shuttered. There was nothing in them. No mercy no remorse, just the promise of a painful death. Again and again, the dagger found his way into the stomach of the tortured man. And then, just as Bellamont thought he could not take it anymore it stopped. A moment, Lucien's blade hovered over Mathieu's sternum, before crashing down, cutting through the bone like parchment. Mathieu gasped in shocked surprise, staring into Lucien's face as the Imperial said.
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother look upon your child and smile. For the unworthy have been cleansed in blood and fear. His heart shines with the colour of night, his song sings with the music of life."
Almost careful he pulled his Blade of Woe out, meeting Bellamont's gaze one last time, but the light had already left his eyes, leaving a crippled, empty shell behind.
The assassin rose, sheathing his Blade of Woe while unsheathing Scalding. A moment he stood over the corpse silently his grim expression meeting the faces of his family. And for the first time this night he wasn't sure what he should do. He took a couple of steps forward, his grip on Scalding tightening. And then with a low growl, he stabbed the blade into the wooden handle of a torch. For a brief moment, light exploded out of the blade, before the room was plunged into darkness once more. As the lights flickered back on, Lucien was gone, taking with him the chill of the Void, that had surrounded him.